WHERE THE HUMANS HOWL

"

I first learned that Ditha was a human when my father one day tested my learning about numbers and counting.

"Son, how many animals are in our courtyard?" he asked me one afternoon in early fall before the winter rain began.

Ten," I replied with a triumphant smile.

"No. Try again," he encouraged.

Eager to prove my prowess, I counted on my fingers to ensure none were missed."Three goats, two cows, one buffalo, one horse, one donkey, one dog, and one Ditha."

"Oh, no, son. Ditha is not an animal. He is human, just like us."

I balked. "How could that be? He lives above the barnhe is as filthy as a goat and he barely speaks."

"Perhaps," my father replied softly, "that is because people don't bother to speak with him. What if we treated Ditha not as livestock, but as a person the same as you and me? Does he not feel pain and love, just as other people do?"

Ditha moved as the animals did slow and lumbering around the yard, and only with purpose to get to food. He smelled as they did, and his hair was unkempt like theirs. He did not look anything like we do, yet my father told me he was a human.

I couldn't sleep that night. My brain raced with questions. If he is a man, why does he live like animals? Why does he sleep in barnyard? In my dreams I saw Ditha run like a horse and eat grass like a goat. I couldn't help but feel pity for him."

"Deleir Khan has bought a new mare and a Bengali woman." This news murmured through the square where villagers gathered to wag their tongues. People jostled and bustled, busier than on the holiest of holidays. Gossip was the only entertainment in my remote village. The favorite subjects were horses, dogs, and women. The latest juicy topic stirred their bored souls to life.

On my way home from school, I heard them chortling. Men spoke at the public places, and women addressed passersby from the doorways.

"Have you seen her? I hear she's beautiful," one woman clucked, holding a child in her arms.

"I saw her. She is a desirable beauty," added another.

"You two harp on about her beauty, but what has it gotten her?" a third woman knotted her wrinkled hands and said, "Her looks have made her nothing but a slave. Bangladesh defamed Pakistan, and now this Bengali girl will malign our village. May Allah save us." She drew a prayer symbol."

"Through the safety of a window, I watched them march purposefully under the glow of the full moon. A mangy wolf, maw white with age, sniffed, flipped his tail, and raised his head. His haunting howl produced a visible jet of steam in the chilly air. Others bolted from the shadows to accompany him. A younger wolf bowed to the alpha. They joined in a chorus of yips and yowls. The sound terrified me as it resonated throughout the village and sliced far into the night. Birds abandoned their nests. Baying dogs turned, tucked their tails, and fled."

"In the years that followed, the wolves morphed into the shapes of human predators. These intruders brought a new kind of terror. Where the four-legged wolves left shredded livestock, the two-legged left the charred remains of our fellow men. Some of our people resisted.

I joined the rebels. We chose the high mountains' freedom."

"

Victory bonfires blazed on the India-Pakistan border. The proud generals stood on high ground, blaring out the same message to the goose-stepping soldiers below:

"We salute all who sacrificed their lives to save our Motherland."

Commandos, lined on both sides of the border, raised their legs high and slammed their feet as if to pierce the earth.

Rumble of thunder in the distance mocked the transience of human victories.

###

Not far from the celebrations, Kumla, a ten-year-old autistic boy, squatted in the corner of a refugee camp building, gnawing on a rock hard hunk of bread. His eyes squeezed shut with every bite, the sharp c

Dettagli