Rainy day

By Athar Mudasir 

A short story 

The old noble man Abdul Gaffar was walking in the streets of Anantnag Town near Eid gah road. He rushed in hurry. Despite his years and thoughtful demeanor, found himself caught off guard by the sudden fury of the sky. One moment, a gentle gray had blanketed the world; the next, icy pellets were stinging his face. Instinctively, he turned to seek shelter, his pace quickening to a clumsy run. His foot caught on an uneven stone, and down he went, landing with a surprised grunt on the muddy verge.

Just then, a ragged figure emerged from the shadows beneath a sprawling chinar tree. His eyes were wild, his hair disheveled, and a strange, unsettling laughter bubbled from his throat. "Ha! Gaffara, they call you Master?" A man cackled, his voice sharp with mockery. "Don't you even know how to walk when the sky weeps ice?"

Mr Abdul Gaffar, brushing mud from his robes, looked at the man. He saw not malice in those wild eyes, but a distorted perception of the world, a mind untethered from reason. He could have retorted, could have pointed out the unexpected nature of the hailstorm, or the treacherous loose stone. But he remained silent for a moment, a flicker of understanding in his gaze.

He is a unsound man, Then, slowly, Abdul Gaffar smiled. It wasn't a smile of amusement, but of gentle acceptance. "Indeed," he said softly, his voice calm against the receding clatter of the hail. "It seems even the wisest among us can stumble when life throws unexpected stones in our path. And sometimes," he added, his eyes meeting the madman's, "it takes another to remind us of our fallibility, albeit in their own unique way."

He rose, dusted himself off, and offered the madman a small, respectful nod before continuing on his way. The madman watched him go, the mocking laughter fading into a confused silence.