Like a wounded tigress, she jumped over his body. Her own nose was bleeding. But equally red were her eyes, spitting fire. She was ready to wreak vengeance on him. She raised the burning log over her head and then, with all her strength, thrust it into Ismail’s face. The woollen sweater immediately caught fire and burnt his face. Screaming in pain and rubbing his eyes, Ismail pushed her off and rushed to the small balcony. The fire had engulfed his face and was rapidly spreading to his chest and back.

Writhing in pain and bleeding profusely, Ismail struggled to unlatch the door leading to the balcony. He somehow managed to open it and leapt off from the guard rail, falling with a loud thud. Bibi followed him. The log in her hand was still aglow with embers and so were her eyes, matching the very shade of crimson. She saw Ismail lying head down on the concrete floor, crying in pain, bleeding and screaming out loud for help. The Valley reverberated with his sharp, blood-curdling shrieks.

Then suddenly, as if on cue, dozens of houses lit up one by one. Scores of lanterns came alive. Windows were flung open and inquisitive heads popped out. But no door opened. No one came out. Seeing the tiny dots of light, Ismail’s wails grew louder. But nothing happened. His cries went unanswered. The burning wicks flickered at first and then went out almost as suddenly as they had come on, engulfing the Valley in darkness once again. The villagers had identified the man but were not willing to help him. Standing on the balcony, Bibi witnessed the Valley plunge into darkness. She was about to turn towards her room when she heard the sound of Allah Rakha’s front door creaking. He stepped out and pushed his foot beneath the goon’s half-burnt face to check his injuries. Ismail screamed out aloud again and begged for help. The kitchen knife was still embedded in his back.

Taking a step back, Allah Rakha looked up and waved his hands, motioning Bibi to go inside. She obeyed but not quite. She stood behind the half-closed door and watched the action under way. She saw Allah Rakha pulling Ismail by his arms. He dragged his body across the dusty, dark road and then pushed him down the valley. Alive. The heavy body rolled down the steep hill till it hit the sharp rocks. His one last painful cry reverberated across the valley. But this time, no oil lamp lit up and no window opened.