The Enigma of Chitterpari

Chapter 15 - "Plan B"

The sun blazed in its noonday throne, pouring rivers of gold across the endless fields that cradled the village in their embrace. Its warmth wrapped the earth like a thick, invisible blanket, yet beneath the ancient tree, the boys huddled in the cool sanctuary of shifting shade. Overhead, the leaves whispered secrets to the wind, trembling as shafts of sunlight pierced through, creating a dance of light and shadow. Abdullah reclined against the rugged bark, eyes lost in the fathomless blue above, where the sky seemed to stretch on forever. For a brief, fragile moment, peace hovered in the air, though the unspoken weight of recent memories coiled tightly within their silence, waiting for its time to break through.
Ali shifted slightly, letting the cool breeze graze his skin. He stared at the horizon, where the land met the sky, and for a brief moment, the stillness around him felt almost deceptive. Daniyal sat cross-legged, plucking at the grass, his fingers moving absentmindedly, eyes downcast. Abbas leaned forward, elbows on his knees, lost in thought.
The peaceful facade shattered when Daniyal finally spoke.
"The police... They're calling it a suicide," he said, his words laced with disbelief. "They say the preacher couldn't take it ... his son disappearing like that."
A tense silence followed. The wind, which had once felt like a soothing presence, now felt colder. Ali frowned, staring at the ground. "That trash....," he said, his voice firm but quiet. "That's not what happened, I am sure of it."
"I don't believe it either," Abbas muttered, almost to himself, Abdullah nodded in agreement, his brow furrowing. "They're just trying to close the case and move on." His voice was steady, but there was anger in his eyes. He stood up, pacing in the small patch of shade as if trying to shake off the growing frustration.

The distant figure moving toward them caught Ali's attention, pulling him out of his thoughts. He squinted, trying to make sense of the shape approaching, and then his body stiffened. The others noticed his change in posture, each one following his gaze. A shared unease settled between them. The figure's steps were deliberate, almost slow, but with a purpose behind them. As it came closer, the sharp afternoon light stretched long shadows across the ground, making the approaching figure seem larger than life. A flash of metal caught Ali's eye, a glint from the buckles of a backpack swinging at the person's side.
"It's Hamza," Ali murmured as Abdullah was the first to rise, a mix of relief and concern on his face. "Hamza!" he called out, his voice carrying across the field.
Hamza finally reached them, his usual grin replaced by a serious, almost unreadable expression. His eyes darted between the group, pausing on each of them as if weighing something in his mind. The quiet that had fallen over the clearing seemed heavier now, as if the air itself was bracing for what he would say. He dropped the backpack to the ground. No one asked what was inside. The tension hung between them, thick and suffocating, a contrast to the bright day unfolding above.
"We need to talk,"
Hamza said, his voice low and measured. He looked each of them in the eye, waiting. No one moved, the weight of his words sinking in like stones thrown into a still pond, rippling through them all. Abdullah stepped closer, "What is it?"
Hamza glanced at the bag, then back at them. Ali's eyes flicked to the backpack slung over Hamza's shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was Abbas who finally broke the silence, his voice sharper than intended. "What's in the bag?"
Hamza didn't answer immediately, his hands gripping the straps tightly. He looked at the ground, his voice emerging soft, almost a whisper.
"I'm leaving the village."
The words hung there, heavy and unmoving. The four of them, rooted in place, felt the ground shift beneath them. Ali's gaze hardened. "You're what?"
"I can't stay here, anymore." Hamza continued, still not meeting their eyes. "After everything we've seen... it's too much."
The quiet that followed wasn't calm. It was the kind of silence that sits between people who know exactly what's coming but are still trying to catch up with the words being said. Abbas shook his head, muttering something under his breath, but it was Ali who spoke next.
"You think running's going to make it better?" His voice cut through the stillness. "You really think leaving behind what we know is the answer?"
Hamza finally looked up, his eyes weary. "You tell me, Ali. What else is left? People are disappearing, the preacher's dead. We don't know anything about that other stuff..." He glanced around at the others, his gaze softening on each of them. "It's not safe here. We have to face that."
Abdullah, who had been silent, let out a long breath, his hands balled into fists. "He's right," he admitted, not looking at anyone in particular. "I hate saying it, but Hamza's right. It's not home anymore. Not for any of us, not for anyone."
The word "home" stirred something inside them all. It wasn't just a place; it was supposed to be the heart of everything familiar. But now, the village had turned on them—like a dream warped into a nightmare.
Ali shifted on his feet, the bark of the tree rough against his back. "What are we even leaving for? To start over somewhere else? Pretend none of this happened?"
Abbas, standing a little farther back, stared at Hamza. "That's right... we'll pretend nothing happened and we never saw a thing..."