A Dead Revenge of a Brave Man

It was 16th year of my age, after falling back upon in one subject in 10th grade, I was fully busy in making
myself a pure and fine loafer. One evening, at the start of my 3rd season as a hardball cricket player, I,
Mubashar Bajwa (Balu Bajwa), Talha Prince, and Dani khokhar, carrying a Kookaburra bat, a pair of pads,
and three new wickets were coming back from Qila Dedar Singh riding on an old outdated Yamaha bike.
After Maghrib, Dani turned the bike to Kelaskay road behind a black rikshaw, loaded with three women
in black dressing on the back side, on the front, there were five bulky men in black.

When rikshaw was passing by a treacherous graveyard on some piled ruins, we were an acre behind
near an ancient, wrecked brick company which was reminding me of a teared down and multilated drain
of queen ‘Loona’. At once as per persuaded by a Great Red Dragon, we all started vociferating our
throats. On reaching by that Burak of Death Angels, Talha Prince hit the wicket which proved to be most
mischievous for me, as Angels once at the verge of capturing my soul. They snatched wicket from him,
we tried to snatch them back but in vein in front of those death messengers. Near ‘Ladha Targga’ we
were surrounded by many more other companions of them- looked like they had called down for some
urgent acolyte from heaven. One was gripping me from my collar, other were slapping and slugging me
on my face, head, and belly; from front, back, left, right, and from every direction.

Then they took me to ‘Kot Bhavaani Das’ at the Dera of their Darogha named, Sardar Allah Rakha Gujjar.
He be seated me on the ground, right in between her legs; like He was the “Darogha over Hell”, and I
was a poor, helpless murderer, who had killed a hundred innocent in his mortal life. He slapped me in a
such a loathing and severe way like I even had wasted one eye of Darogha.