Eyes of the Forgotten

“Ahsaan, y-you are bleeding.”

Daniyal’s tense voice cut through a windy, sleepy early afternoon silence of a dense forest like a fallen tree branch cracking underneath a foot.

However, lost in dark thoughts, Ahsaan did not answer.

*I know I have seen that suited-up man before… Hang on, I saw him with Pa…*

His thoughts broke when Daniyal said again, “Y-you are bleeding, Ahsaan.”

To Ahsaan’s dismay, a soft noise like a pair of heavy boots answered.

Gnashing his teeth and hoping that Daniyal’s voice would not give away their position, Ahsaan ducked underneath a bunch of tall, thick, leafy trees fused together.

Feeling apprehensive, twelve-year-old Daniyal followed Ahsaan, staring nervously at his wrist.

“I have a bandage, a-and wound cleaner,” said Daniyal.

He squatted next to Ahsaan, who seemed to be listening intently, his eyes on the path that they had just left.

After a moment of silence, Ahsaan looked at Daniyal, who was watching him with a worried look on his innocent face.

He smiled faintly and breathed, “Keep your voice down, please.”

Underneath the pale face, Daniyal noticed extreme wariness, and a mind that seemed to be processing too much.

Silently, he handed Ahsaan the bandage and wound cleaner and muttered, “May I put on my spider costume and attack?”

Moistening his tongue with his lips, Ahsaan looked at Daniyal, whose usually neat, smooth brownish-blonde hair lay tousled slightly.

*Do not shatter his confidence. Let him act out the part. After all, you would be prepared to act.*

Nodding at Daniyal, he began to clean his wound.

He did not pay attention until an oddly soft, spider-like voice breathed, “I… am… ready.”

Astonished, Ahsaan turned around and had to fight an impulse to step back.

A white face adorned with blood-red lips, dark-circled eyes, and black pincer-like teeth, a mass of dark, tarantula-like hair—the figure stood facing him.

“That is my web,” said Daniyal.

He held out a bunch of thread used for flying a kite.

Still trying to process the costume, Ahsaan took the bunch, and watched Daniyal climb onto one of the trees. He then sat himself on a sturdy branch, ready to jump.

Underneath the tree, Ahsaan watched a tall figure, robed and hooded, materialise on the path.

*That is not the police officer… hang on.*

He peered at the figure; it looked as if it was struggling to contain someone, who was putting up a terrific fight.

Then, as the trees swayed, sunlight fell on the grappling figures. A sharp intake of breath escaped him.

On the tree branch, Daniyal reacted the same way. The duo could not help it.

A pale-faced boy, hardly eleven years old, in a fitted black t-shirt, shorts, and a black thread around his wrist, was trying to escape the figure’s clutches.

*This man is heading towards the officer.*

Quietly, and cautiously, he withdrew his shuriken star—still covered in blood and slightly bent from the struggle with the police officer—and his tanto, and waited.

On the topmost edge of his vision, he could see Daniyal trying to sit unmoving, and quiet, exactly like a spider observing its prey. Then, at the right moment, he spread his arms wide open, and let himself fall noiselessly behind the dark figure, now bent close to the earth as if trying to make out footsteps.

Daniyal covered his face with a black mask painted with a tarantula’s face, and clicked his pincers.

Taken by surprise, the dark figure stopped abruptly, and for a moment kept looking up the path.

Daniyal made another clicking noise, and crept out of low-hanging branches, face first.

The hooded figure looked, and went milk-white.

Feeling encouraged, Daniyal crawled forward slightly, letting his drool slide down his mouth.

With a cry, the figure flattened him, face-down, on the forest floor.

Taking advantage, the young boy mouthed thanks at Daniyal and scarpered away.

“Wait a second,” the figure said after a moment. “A spider cannot be that big.”

As he laboured to get back on his feet, a sarcastic, spider-like, soft voice said, “Then how big are they, Mr Smartarse?”

Feeling shocked, he turned around, and could not help feeling part impressed, part afraid and humiliated.

*Oh oh,* thought Daniyal, watching the figure going utterly still as if getting over the surprise.

He readied the small squirt gun in his hand that lay on the forest floor.

With a snarl, the dark figure stepped forward.

“Why, you—”

A frustrated screech left his mouth, as Daniyal squirted red chilli water at his face.

“Little,” added Daniyal.

His voice sounded helpful.

However, the robed figure, busy with cursing and cleaning his eyes, neither answered, nor saw Daniyal hauled back up the tree.

Beyond the trees, a vigilant Ahsaan, who had noticed the dark figure straighten, without a second’s lag had pulled the thread, yanking Daniyal back onto the tree branch, and tied the bunch of threads around a sturdy root.

Then, carefully darting out of the trees, he stole his way towards the dark figure.

Still cursing, the figure did not see him.

Ahsaan drove his tanto through the figure’s heart, and punched him in the face. As a hot gush of blood spilled over his hand, the figure swayed around in agony.

“Quiet,” muttered Ahsaan, kicking the figure with full force in the face.

Without waiting to see the result, Ahsaan hurried back to the clump of trees, helped Daniyal pack his costume, and then, taking cover of the trees, hurried towards the spot that Khan Sahib had pointed out.

Reeling in shock and pain, his body losing blood rapidly, the figure lay flat on his back on the forest floor.

*Is… that how… death… is supposed to feel?*

Still trying to make sense of the direction, Ahsaan kept running.

After a moment, Daniyal’s voice panted suddenly.

“What is that black thing?”

Still running silently, Ahsaan answered, “A car, I guess.”

“Can we take it to get to Khan Sahib?” asked Daniyal.

Ahsaan stopped short, looking at Daniyal, who was inhaling and exhaling rapidly, clutching at his chest, sweating profusely.

“P-please,” stammered Daniyal.

“Alright,” said Ahsaan after a pause.

Listening intently for sudden odd sounds, looking around warily, he slipped towards the car guardedly.

It was a white Jaguar XJ6 Series 3. Dust adorning it told them it had been parked there for days.

Ahsaan opened the door, saying, “After you, Daniyal.”

Stunned, Daniyal gazed at Ahsaan.

“You want me to drive…”

“I have never driven before either,” answered Ahsaan gently.

“But you are taller, and older, and that makes you much wiser than me,” said Daniyal innocently.

Feeling part impressed, and part annoyed, Ahsaan stared at Daniyal as if hoping that the innocent face would dissipate the mounting tension and simmering anger.

*He is a child… why worry him, when he is feeling proud and happy?*

Sighing deeply, he sat in the driver’s seat, while Daniyal walked around the car, opened the passenger side door, and sat in.

“What do I do now?” asked Ahsaan, watching the dashboard, steering wheel, and buttons.

“Turn the key on, press the brake, put the gearstick in D mode, and then press the pedal on the left,” explained Daniyal.

A sigh of relief escaped them as the dashboard lights flicked on. Ahsaan turned the key in its ignition; the car clicked, and did not start.

“What now?” he asked patiently, staring at Daniyal.

“Eh… Maybe the battery terminal is loose,” Daniyal, answered quietly, opening the bonnet.

With a sigh, Ahsaan got out of the car, walked around the driver’s side, opened the bonnet, and felt his jaw drop open.

He had never expected a bonnet to contain so many things.

Shaking his head, and trying to keep his wits, he located the battery from the mass of parts, and clamped his hands around what he hoped were the battery terminals.

Inside the car, Daniyal, who had been watching Ahsaan, turned the key.

With an odd fizzling sound, the engine cranked on after a click-like noise.

Closing the bonnet, Ahsaan hurried back around the car and opened the passenger side door.

“You are driving, Ahsaan,” said Daniyal.

“Oh, alright,” said Ahsaan.

He stepped onto the passenger side footwell, stepped over the gearbox, and sat in the driver’s seat.

Before, however, he or Daniyal could do more than take a breath, a soft but sharp noise blasted around the car’s cabin. Startled, Daniyal cried out in shock and muffled his ears, while Ahsaan withdrew his tanto, looking around wildly, forcing Daniyal down.

*Hang on… a cultist would not have waited this long…*

Ahsaan’s thoughts broke as he saw lights shining on the car’s central console. Then it hit him. The car’s stereo had come on. It was playing some kind of old song. As his surprised-self looked at Daniyal, words rang around the Jaguar’s cabin:

*Run, Rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run.*

Daniyal, one-handed, turned a knob.

Instead of dying, the stereo merely changed the song.

While Ahsaan started the engine, another set of words came out of the speaker.

*Sailing over a cardboard sea.*

Ahsaan grabbed the wheel, and said, “Look, if you want me to drive the car, then shut it down, please.”

He sounded irritated now, as if the noise was getting to his nerves or breaking his thought process.

“Are you mad at me, Ahsaan?” asked Daniyal innocently, staring into Ahsaan’s face.

Ahsaan could distantly hear the stereo playing.

*It’s a Barnum & Bailey world*

*Just as phony as it can be*

Trying to think straight, and blot out the song, he looked at Daniyal. His innocent face was worried.

*Lord, he is charming.*

“No,” he answered kindly.

While a satisfied Daniyal began twiddling with the buttons, Ahsaan pressed the brake, put the gear in D mode, and said, “I just… whoa.”

He had pressed the accelerator, and the car had shot forwards, causing him to slip backwards in his seat with a sharp jerk.

Daniyal, who had buckled himself in as soon as he had climbed into the car, did not say anything. He kept staring straight out the windscreen as if counting the seconds left before a fatal crash.

Beside him, valiantly trying to control the car while keeping the song from getting to his head, a sweating Ahsaan turned in his seat, but froze.

The Jaguar was heading head-on towards a tree now, and as if to glorify the moment, the stereo blared with a newer song:

*Say nighty-night and kiss me*

*Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me*

*While I’m alone and blue as can be*

*Dream a little dream of me*

Triggered by the words, Ahsaan swung the wheel sharply. “No,” he cried.

Beside him, Daniyal closed his eyes, and covered his face with his arms, as the out-of-control Jaguar crashed into what seemed like a small, dark hill and came to a heart-stopping halt.

For a moment, dizzy, Ahsaan clutched his head—he had raised his arms to his face to avoid careering into the steering wheel—distantly aware that the stereo was still playing.

*Stars fading but I linger on, dear (oh, how you linger on)*

*Still craving your kiss (how you crave my kiss)*

*Now I’m longing to linger ’til dawn, dear*

*Just saying this (give me a little kiss)*

Slowly, he looked up. Dust swirled around the Jaguar, while his mind processed sounds of soft creaking of trees, chirruping of birds, and an odd metallic groaning. A small movement made him look around. Another spasm of unease twisted his stomach.

Wide-eyed, white-faced, sweating, heart thrumming, Daniyal sat breathing unevenly, watching out the windscreen. Ahsaan followed his gaze and stiffened. Steam hissed up from underneath the crumpled bonnet.

Before he could do anything, the song broke the blissful silence again.

*Sweet dreams ’til sunbeams find you*

*Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you*

*But in your dreams whatever they be*

*Dream a little dream of me*

Gnashing his teeth, he mastered his impulse to punch the stereo, opened the door, and grabbed hold of Daniyal, while saying, “Come on, Daniyal.”

Daniyal did not answer, and kept staring at the steam.

Feeling alarmed now, Ahsaan got out of the car, hurried around it, and opened the passenger side door.

“Are you hurt, Daniyal?” he asked, peering anxiously at Daniyal.

After a brief pause, Daniyal took a deep, calming breath, and looked at Ahsaan as if still lost in thought.

“You killed a Jaguar,” he said tonelessly.

There was a pause, before a bewildered Ahsaan stammered, “W-what… w-where?”

For a moment, a deeply breathing Daniyal remained unmoved, and then slowly, he raised his arm. The dim early afternoon sunlight fell on it, illuminating his golden arm hair.

“It is there,” he muttered.

His soft voice, blank look, stiff body rooted Ahsaan to the spot. Then, feeling slightly guilty, he followed Daniyal’s arm and found the monogram on the dashboard.

Relief flooded him, and he almost laughed—not aloud—as he whispered, “Cars cannot die, Daniyal…”

He broke off, feeling a tingling in his stomach.

“It is true, cars do not die,” said Daniyal in the same eerily toneless voice.

Ahsaan felt a shiver run down the length of his spine. Daniyal’s look matched the song’s lyrics.

*Stars fading but I linger on, dear*

*Still craving your kiss*

*Yeah, I’m longing to linger ’til dawn, dear*

*Just saying this*

For a moment, his dazed self stared between Daniyal and the stereo—it was on a loop now.

*Great… Now it is getting to my head… what am I saying? It is a car. It cannot breathe or die.*

He strode back to the driver’s side, and switched the engine off.

To his relief, the stereo turned off and silence fell. It was a deeply blissful silence, as if even the birds were preparing to take a nap. Trying to ignore the mounting anxiety, he shook his head a little, and refocused on the task.

*Get to Khan Sahib.*