Nomads

Chapter 3, Pt 2- Black is a Cold Colour

The next day, he spent on the streets of Kolachi, exploring the city and selling some of his items from Karawa. After selling, he explored the local cuisine, mildly spiced and sweet; he loved it. He spent the rest of the evening searching for other local objects for his trade. In the night, he went down to the bar and bid all his merchant friends and sailors a goodbye.

The next morning, he woke up earlier than the sun. He carefully packed items, he thought were necessary, in a big backpack that he had bought from the local market. He took in his backpack, clothes and an extra pair of boots, a dagger, a waterskin, a dry compass, his journal, some dry fruits, a tinder box to light fires, some scrap cotton cloth and spirit and herbs for wounds if he occurred any. He also kept a few gold coins his father had given him, an amulet his mother had given and the dagger he kept had been given to him by his brother. He kept them in order to respect the memories of his family.

He dressed himself in shirt, robe, and trousers. He hung his sword along with his belt like always. He picked up his bag and wore it when he saw that that the sun had risen. He went downstairs, thanked the innkeeper, bid his family a farewell and wished them good luck as he made his way out into the city. A peaceful, light fog had set over the city as the rays from the rising sun barely peeped through it. He saw the pigeons and sparrows gather on a street near a man who was scattering seeds to feed them, he walked past an old lady hanging washed clothes, and a few shopkeepers who were washing and cleaning their shops getting ready to open. He walked past a small shop where an old man was brewing something and a few morning people had gathered around him. He walked up to him, curious, "What are you brewing, old man?" he asked in his broken Urdu. Speaking and understanding Urdu was rather easy for him as it contained a lot of Persian, and Arabic derived words.

The old man looked at him and smiled. "This is Chai."

Alsaqr went closer and was bewitched by the warm, sweet aroma of the tea leaves.

"This is tea in milk?" he said in Arabic and the old man gave a confused look. But sweet and warm aroma from the bubbling hot milk tea had enchanted him already.

"How much for?" Alsaqr asked.

"A quarter." The old man said as he handed a small glass tumbler filled with brown tea, "But you can have it, no need to pay son. You are our guest. Many foreigners come to trade in Kolachi, it is our duty to make them feel home."

'Home', Alsaqr thought as he took the tumbler from the old man, 'yes, this feels like home. Traveling distant lands and meeting people like the old tea-selling man. This is home, not the place, but the emotion.'

He blew on the tea with his mouth to cool it down and sipped it a bit. He let a sigh of pleasure and relief as the warm tea traveled down his throat, giving a warm sensation in his stomach. What else could he want? Sipping Chai on a cold, foggy morning, in a distant land, about to go off on foot to the mountains, not knowing when he would return, or if ever he would return.

He thanked the old man and asked the way out of the city, some of them showed him the way and told him to hike across the Kirthar Mountains and head northeast to Lahore in Punjab. From there he would be able to enter into the Himalayas in Kashmir and go to Tibet.

He thanked them and made his way up north. Passing through narrow streets and small houses as the streets widened into an open field, where before him stood the huge foothills of the Kirthar mountains. Barely visible through the fog, large dark outlines of the hills stood in front of him. He stared at them in awe, completely spellbound by the majestic hills that stood proudly in front of him, beckoning him to take the great step.