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Sleep brought with it a sense of relief, and visions of days past. A life not idyllic by any means; especially when the rains came and washed away entire sections of the village. To rebuild year after year was an ongoing struggle, but it was something the people of the village had learned to live with – a part and parcel of their lives amidst the secluded forests along the eastern border. To say that they had integrated themselves with the rest of their tiny nation would be incorrect – apart from trade with the towns across the river, they were a self-sufficient society. They had to be, for during the monsoon the swollen river made it impossible to have any contact with the outside world. Many brave men had tried crossing the river during these perilous months, only to be swept downstream by raging waters that rivalled the fury of the blackest thunderstorms. Instead, their village along with neighbouring ones on their side of the river had established routes through which they transported grain and other produce, and received essentials like jute, salt and the famously intoxicating rice wine. From across the river came the occasional batteries for radios, and kerosene for stoves and lamps.

Akimi shifted uncomfortably on his makeshift, mossy bed, only to be startled awake by the sound of dogs barking in the distance. He sat up in terror, afraid they’d sniffed out the cave he’d been hiding in for the past two nights. Maybe he had miscalculated the time it would take them to navigate to this end of the forest, but it would seem even unfamiliar terrain did not stand a chance against contraptions that spewed fire with ferocity he had never seen, leaving a charred wasteland in their wake. The metronomic dripping of water from the roof of the cave rang in his ears as the sound of the dogs seemed to recede into the distance. It was possible they had smelled out some poor wretched soul hiding out amongst the trees, following the trail to rip his life from him. Either way, he couldn’t afford to stay in the cave much longer, for who could tell if another group of searchers stumbled across it?

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Their troubles had begun a few months after the new leader of the country had seized power. They had heard on the radio that this new leader was a god-fearing man; that he held beliefs not shared by the most of their countrymen. That he had been known to be what they called ‘a zealot’ as he rose through military ranks. But these revelations lasted only for a day. The very next day, the voice on the public radio had changed. What followed were claims that everything that had been said before was a lie spread by enemies of the leader; that all he wanted was their nation to reach new heights. These public bulletins about peace and prosperity went on for many weeks, and the people of Akimi’s village went about their daily lives without consequence. Until the day a trader from the southernmost village, an unfamiliar face, stumbled into the centre of the village where the great banyan tree stood. His ashen face was stricken with terror, and he had a stump for a hand; dry blood caked over the filthy, torn fabric he’d wrapped around it. Akimi had been on his way back home from afternoon school when he saw the crowd of village elders surround this man with concern over his almost maniacal condition. He spotted his father in the crowd, and made his way over to him, tugging at his arm whilst trying to squeeze himself into the ring that had formed around this man. His father shooed him away, telling him to run along home as matters like this were for the elders. The screams of the man proclaiming they were killing them, rang in Akimi’s head as he helped his mother prepare the evening meal. He wondered who ‘they’ were, and how they had created this much fear in the mind of this man. Later that night, as he lay in his bed pretending to be asleep, he overheard his father telling his mother how groups of men had started invading villages from the south, destroying everything in their path as they killed anyone in sight and left corpses hanging from the trees. His father in hushed tones, explained how it had to do with the different gods they worshipped. This puzzled Akimi to no end. What did his father mean by different gods? Didn’t they all pray to the gods that had been passed down from the fathers of their fathers, and their fathers before him, like the master at school had explained? He had known no other than what he had grown up with, to think villagers were being killed because of it made him shudder, and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

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Akimi had been skirting the edges of the forest for days now, as he tried to make his way to the northern border. The final glimpse of his mother’s face as she pushed him out the back door of their hut still ran fresh in his mind. Look to the sky, my love, she had said, an expression of fear and concern plastered over her face, reminiscent of the man under the banyan tree. Follow the tops of the trees and don’t wait on tomorrow, were the last words Akimi heard – her voice breaking as she swallowed her tears. He ran, not daring to look back; only when he reached the small hillock did he turn around - the sight of his village, a blazing inferno consuming everything he had ever loved. The screams rang out in the night, drowning out his own wail as he felt his gut ripped out from inside him.

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It had been a week, possibly more, since he’d escaped. He had lost track of time, and it was only the thought of reaching the border that kept him going. He had learnt to climb the massive trees when he was a young boy, and felt comfortable perching on the branches as he tried to get some rest in places pursuers couldn’t easily access. He peered out through the branches, and in the distance saw the edge of the forest, visible over the treetops. It was the last stretch he had to navigate – his freedom was almost within arm’s reach. As he made his way through the trees, he took extra care to hide behind the large trunks and tread stealthily; avoiding patches of dry leaves so as to not alert anyone who might be around. But to his dismay, he saw two men deep in conversation as they passed around a tobacco pipe, the large hound sniffing at the ground as its ears perked up and down. He stopped to think. If he timed it right, Akimi could make a run for it when their backs were turned, and they would be none the wiser. He waited till they moved farther away, before making a run for it; his heart swelling up in bittersweet jubilation – only for fate to deal its cruel hand as he stumbled and fell over a small rock, the dull thud ringing out in the silence of the night. As he scrambled away, a sharp pain raging through his foot, he could hear the snarl of the hound getting closer. The beast was on him in a flash, its jowls dribbling all over his face as the two men rushed towards him. They could see the terror in Akimi’s eyes – he knew it was the end for him. The view from the top of the hillock flashed before his eyes as he felt the searing hot nozzle singe the surface of his skin, his memories melting away.

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