A cold front raced through the world. It careened through the woods, shaking fallen leaves and picking up weak flowers. Its touch ruffled the short wheat shoots emerging from fields like green hairs of a sleeping giant and rippled the water standing in the field. It moved forward whistling down the road toward the village and got excited to see two boys competing with it. They were running, speeding up faster and faster. Their eyes serious, but their lips were smiling. They were Mannat and Pandit.
Pandit was obviously the faster one between the two. He had a lead of more than ten meters. Mannat was trying his hardest but he couldn’t catch up with the butcher boy no matter what. Worse, the distance between them was increasing. The winner was already set; Pandit only needed to cross the finish line.
He looked back and yelled, “I’ll wait for you ahead,” holding a sneer on his face, and sped up. He was mocking Mannat. Prideful as Mannat was, he didn’t give up either and pushed toward his limits.
Then the wind playfully intercepted them. It didn’t like the tallboy for making fun of the handsome one, picked up dirt from the road, and threw it at Pandit. The boy turned blind for a few seconds and went sideways, into the field. He shrieked and set off into the world splashing water everywhere. Momentum kept him going until his foot stabbed deep in the mud and he fell face first in the mud, dirtying his clothes, face, and dignity at the same time.
Hurray, the wind silently whistled and pushed Mannat toward the illusionary finish line. However, to the wind's dismay, the boy stopped near the place where Pandit fell off. Was he trying to help his opponent? The wind couldn’t understand.
Pandit was harrying abuses at the mud but yelled at Mannat to stop when he saw the boy getting ready to get in the thick of it.
“Stay there, stupid. It mud, not quicksand! I don’t need your help.”
“Are you sure?” Mannat mocked. He held a familiar sneer on his face, and Pandit threw a ball of mud at him. It flew past three-four feet above Mannat’s head, causing him to shrug his shoulders and sit down on the bank.
The wind didn’t like him slacking off. It wanted him to win the race, not sit down and stare at the endless fields of green! It caught his shirt and angrily pulled, filling and puffing it from inside. However, no matter what, it couldn’t get Mannat to get up. The boy simply closed his eyes to let it pass, and then set his eyes back at Pandit and the endless fields behind him. The wind moaned in anger and left him. It had a long tail, which kept his hair swaying even after the gust was long gone.
Mannat was looking at the lone tree standing a couple of hundred meters behind Pandit. It was barely visible in reality, but Mannat remembered it explicitly in his memories. There was a time when the two of them had helped the old man plow the land. They had spent more time under that tree than working. The three of them had inscribed their initials on its trunk with a sharp stone. He wondered if the initials were still there or had faded over time. He had spent a lot of time with Sharmilla there. She took care of them. He hadn’t forgotten the emotions behind her big brown eyes. He didn’t think he ever would.
“What are you looking at?” He heard and saw Pandit stepping on the road, splashing mud everywhere. His clothes were ruined, as was his day.
“Nothing,” Mannat smiled.
Pandit ignored the mocking smile of his friend. “Unfortunately, I can’t go on.’” He said raising his mud-covered arms for his friend to see. “We’ll stop here for today. I’m going to wash up at the ravine. You go home, and we’ll meet tomorrow?”
“I’ll accompany you.”
“You want to wash my shorts?” Pandit let out. “We are only friend’s man! Don’t try to take advantage of me.”
Mannat glared at him, clicked his tongue, and stood up. “Suit yourself.” He said, dusted his pants, and walked away. His mind was beginning to wonder again when he heard Pandit calling him.
“Are you coming tomorrow?” He heard and looked back. Pandit looked funny covered in mud, and he was not sorry for him. The boy had been acting overconfident since they met in the morning. A bit of dirt would do him good, and keep his character clean. He thought.
Mannat said, “I’ll come to your home, like always.” and sprinted down the road at full speed toward the smithy. He didn’t sweat much on the way. Though there weren’t any clouds in the sky, the weather was pretty cold. A playful wind was blowing through the village and keeping the temperature low.
At the smithy, Mannat saw the open doors and went straight in. He felt like the first time he had entered the shop. His heart had been racing then, just as they were now. There was a customer at the shop up front and his father was talking to the middle-aged man. There wasn’t anything on display as everything was stored in the back room. Not many people bought new things in the village anyways. Customers mostly came to get tools repaired. His father still kept a stock of common items like skillets, nails, tongs, and handlebars among other things.
They were finalization the deal when Raesh saw Mannat coming and told him the job.
“The man wants three strong bolts. We don’t have any in-house, so you’ll have to forge them for him.” Raesh was still speaking when the customer, a man with grey hair and dark skin –a laborer by trade-- interrupted him.
“Wait,” the man said hurriedly. “I want you to make them.”
“He’s my apprentice.” Raesh calmly told him. “You don’t have to worry about the quality. He’ll give you want.”
However, the man had different thoughts. “You don’t understand.” He barked, glaring at Mannat. “I don’t want the witch boy to touch the things of my house. Either you make me the bolts or—“
“OUT!” Raesh barked. He pushed the man with such intensity he stumbled back and only managed to keep his feet by using the wall for support.
The man’s face had gone pale when he raised his head. His eyes were wide open in fear. “No-now listen…” the man stammered and tried to contain the situation, but Raesh had already lost his temper and wanted nothing to hear from him.
“Get out of my shop!” Raesh snapped. He picked the shivering man and threw him out. “Don’t ever come back here. You are not welcome!” He yelled from the door and banged it shut from the inside. His anger was gone as quickly as I had come, but so was his mood. How happy he was for Mannat’s return to the smithy! All that joy ruined by a shallow-minded man.
Raesh struggled with the bolt for a few seconds before turning back to face Mannat. The boy was staring at him with his big green eyes, silent, stiff, and cold.
“Do I still have to make the bolts?’ The boy suddenly asked. There was not a hint of anger or sadness in his voice. Did he not hear the man or he simply didn’t care?
Raesh sighed. “Don’t take what the fool said to your heart. He--”
“I won’t.” Mannat interrupted. “It’s his problem.” His nonchalant tone made the hair of Raesh’s arm stand up in attention.
He had also heard the woman call him a freak the previous evening. He didn’t know what to say then, and he didn’t know that day. ‘Maybe I’ll never know,’ he thought walking ahead of Mannat. Whatever the case, he wasn’t going to let others change the boy.
Unfortunately, he only knew to beat things up; Noor was the emotional support of the family. She would know what to do in the situation. Since she wasn’t around to help, Raesh decided to deal with it is the only way he knew--
“Come then,” Raesh said. “Let’s see how much you have forgotten.”
“It’s only been a week, father,” Mannat replied helplessly.
Raesh paused and Mannat heard him mumble, “It felt like a lot longer to be honest,” before the large man walked through the narrow corridor to the heart of the smithy.
“Check your feet when you enter. The smithy is a mess right now.” Mannat heard from ahead. His father went straight to the storeroom, while Mannat stopped at the threshold and looked around.
Light from the skylight had the smithy glow brightly. Mannat had to shade his eyes with a hand to let them adjust to the radiance. There were a few changes around the smithy. There were three full-sized barrels near the storeroom, and his father had moved the mechanical grinding wheel near the drain hole. However, his anvil was still sitting where he had last left it.
“Father finished the consignment?” It had only been a week since he left, and his father worked alone. The bigger surprise was that he had already taken a new order. His father used to take a small break between each big order to fill the village's needs.
“No wonder someone was at the door in the morning,” Mannat mumbled.
As for the mess that his father talked about-- a bit of dirt and slag was unavoidable since he was the only one working, but his father had kept the workshop properly ventilated. He didn’t smell smoke in the air. Smoke would mean a leak in the chimney somewhere, which would be big trouble in general. His father wasn’t simply being polite, Mannat had indeed seen the place in better shape.
