At the Bridge

Nayal, a 30-year-old man, lived alone in the mountains of Udder. One afternoon, as he was walking along a narrow path, he happened to glance at a girl passing by. A few men standing across the road noticed this moment and immediately assumed he was harassing her. In Udder’s deeply patriarchal society, women are kept out of men’s sight under the pretext of preserving their honor. Even a fleeting look can be twisted into a crime. The villagers interpreted Nayal’s glance as suspicious.

Just then, a loud transformer blast echoed through the street. Startled, Nayal turned his head in the direction of the sound, pure reflex. At the same moment, the girl also turned to look back. To the onlookers, it confirmed their worst assumptions.

Driven by anxiety and anger, the men abruptly crossed the road and began beating Nayal without a word of inquiry. In a matter of seconds, judgment had been passed. His innocence didn’t matter. The truth didn’t matter. The mob had made up its mind.

The next day, Nayal opened the eyes, he found himself lying on the hospital bed. For ten to fifteen seconds, he remained in shock, his mind blank. Then slowly, the memory of the previous day returned to him. As, he regained full consciousness, he tried to stand, but the sharp pain in his shoulder stopped him. It was wrapped tightly in bandages.

The doctors had operated on his fractured shoulder during the night. A nurse entered the room holding a payment receipt and handed it to him silently. He took the slip and moved toward the billing counter.

Suddenly, three policemen appeared around him and ordered him to hurry up.
“You have to come with us to the police station.”

Nayal froze, like a statue, stunned and confused.
“What happened yesterday?” he whispered to himself.

Then, turning to the officers, he said, “You must be mistaken. I think you’re looking for someone else.”

Before he could say another word, one of the policemen handcuffed him.

During the police investigation, Nayal was asked for his permanent address. The officers grew more suspicious when they learned he wasn’t from Udder. He explained that he taught mathematics at the village’s primary school and lived alone in a small house a single room, a kitchen, and a bathroom.

“I’m here because I was appointed here,” he said calmly.

One of the officers, a sharp-eyed man, questioned him further.
“How is it possible that you’re not from this region, yet you’re working here?”

Nayal smiled faintly and replied, “If I’m here, it means it’s possible.”

“Why did you choose this place?” the officer asked.

Nayal looked outside the window and said,

Because this is the place I admire. The scenery gives me hope.

It connects me with nature. I speak to birds when I feel lonely. When I’m upset, I go stand before the mountain and cry loudly enough that even I can hear the pain I carry.

When people tire me, I walk into the nearby forest and talk to the trees. They’re the only companions I have. They listen. The villagers, on the other hand, barely speak to me. I try to reach out, but they keep their distance. They still treat me like a foreigner who has come to steal something from them.”

He paused.
“What happened yesterday was nothing but a coincidence. When the village transformer exploded, I reflexively looked back at the sound. So did the girl. But these people decided I was harassing her.”

After a brief interrogation, the officer nodded slowly and released him.

Nayal returned to the village and went straight home. But word had already spread. The villagers were not only shocked by his return, they were disappointed. Now, they no longer wanted him there. They stopped speaking to him, alienating him completely.

For even basic necessities, he had to cross a river. Even on the other side, people were suspicious of him. Though they didn’t expel him, he remained an outsider.

A year passed.

He was alone. Emotionally unstable. He longed for companionship, for love, for someone to hear him. He wanted to get married, but no one accepted his proposals. Some even warned him not to dare.

Living without family or friends was unbearable. His physical and emotional needs had become severe. Yet, there was no one who cared.

One day, at the village bazaar while buying fruit, he spotted the clever police officer who had once interrogated him. Nayal walked up and greeted him.

The officer recognized him instantly.
“How have you been?” he asked.

Nayal sighed and began explaining his situation. The officer listened carefully and then asked, “Why are you still living among these people? They don’t respect you.”

Nayal lowered his head. A single tear escaped his eye.
“I wish I could tell you, “he said, “but I can’t.”

The officer gently insisted. After a moment of silence, Nayal finally opened up.

“Sir,” he began,

I wasn’t always alone in this world.

I wasn’t born this way. I had a family a mother, father, one brother, and two sisters. We lived a good life. We were respected.

Then I married the love of my life. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, bold, independent, modern, and secular. We had met at university. She was from the city, and I was from a rural background. But she embraced my life wholeheartedly.

My family welcomed her with open arms. But some of the filth in our village couldn’t stand her. They started whispering rumors. They claimed she was a prostitute. They said they saw her near a red-light area.

When I confronted her, she told me the truth: there was a medical emergency in that area, and a woman was giving birth. She had gone to help. That’s all.

But the village didn’t care. One night, they gathered in the Hujra (common gathering place in Pashtun culture) and decided to attack us. They killed my entire family. I barely escaped. I ran from my village and found shelter in Udder.

Rumors spread across the district that we had been running a brothel.

It’s been four years. I’ve heard nothing about my family. Every time I go into the mountains, I cry myself to death. I imagine unloading my pain onto the mountains but even they might crumble under its weight.

Officer, I need company. I’m desperate. I have no friend, no soul to share my thoughts with. I want to talk about how beautiful the world is, how trees and clouds are kinder than humans. But I have no one.

The officer looked at him with empathy. “I wish I could help you,” he said.

Suddenly, a voice came from behind a nearby wall. An old man with white hair and beard, yet full of youthful energy, stepped forward.

Oh, Zwana (young man), why do you look so lifeless like you’re buried alive?

You cry out, but no one hears you. They know you exist, but your presence doesn’t matter.”

Nayal gave a weak smile.
“Mashara (elder), I wish I could speak, but I have neither the strength nor the will.”

“I heard you,” the old man replied.

Nayal panicked and covered the elder’s mouth.
“Please don’t tell anyone”, he pleaded. “They already misunderstand me. If they hear I was near a red-light area, they’ll throw me out.”

The old man calmly placed his hand on Nayal’s shoulder.
“Relax, zwana. The place that gave you your greatest pain… perhaps there is another place that can heal you. A place where lost souls find comfort. Where both emotional and physical suffering is eased. Where you won’t feel like a stranger.”

Nayal’s curiosity awakened. “Where is this place?” he asked.

The old man pointed to a hidden path leading out of the village. Nayal began walking, hesitant and unsure. The road was silent. He looked around like a thief, afraid of being seen.

When he reached the destination, he was welcomed warmly at the reception.

“How much can you pay?” the manager asked.

“I can offer five thousand rupees,” Nayal replied.

The manager stood up and led him upstairs. “Follow me, Nayal.”

As Nayal climbed the wooden staircase, it felt like he was rising to heaven. With each step, his burdens grew lighter.

When he entered the room, he saw a woman waiting for him. In that moment, he realized: this was a brothel, the very type of place that had once destroyed his life.

But something stopped him from turning away.

He sat across from the woman and looked at her, for more than ten seconds. For the first time in four years, he was face to face with a woman. It felt fresh. Peaceful.

He stared at her for five minutes. His mind floated, detached from the world, as if he were drifting through space where no pain existed.

But then, reality struck like lightning.

This would never be acceptable to the villagers. Fear rushed in like a storm. Suddenly, her presence felt like a coffin, a sign of death.

He fled the room. In the corridor, he saw two villagers leaving another room two of the very men who had once beaten him for a misunderstood glance.

They stared at each other in stunned silence.

The villagers were worried about their honor. Nayal was overwhelmed by guilt. To him, they looked like death angels.

They walked side by side out of the building, wordless.

When they reached a narrow bridge, one of them turned to him and asked, “What is your last wish?” before he could react.

Nayal was pushed out roughly. He stumbled, still weak from his stitched shoulder, the bandages spotted with blood and dirt. The handcuffs around his wrists were gone now, but their mark remained faint, metallic, humiliating.

Nayal tried to speak. His lips trembled, but the words refused to form. What could he say that they would hear?

They dragged him toward the center of the bridge. The river below roared, swollen from monsoon rains, its waters brown and fierce.

One man shouted, “Let the river cleanse his filth!”

Then a hard push.

Time stopped for a second.

Nayal’s body flew into the air, like a discarded object, not a human being.
The night swallowed his scream. The water swallowed his body.

For a moment, the villagers stood silent, satisfied, righteous.

The river roared on, indifferent.

Nayal disappeared. The villagers never heard of him again.

Abu Bakar Ahmad

24/07/2025