By Adnan Adnan
They feared the worst, but the stubborn old man walked twenty kilometers to his son’s house that night.
His father had died when he was nineteen, still a boy who occasionally saw a gigantic owl in their tamarind tree that no one else could see; he was suddenly in charge of fifteen siblings, a stepmother, his father’s lovers, and one thousand acres of land. British India split and he was a Pakistani and then a Bangladeshi. He was always there for his family.
Then one day, his soul flew away with the owl, on his hundredth birthday, as he had predicted.
Very touching; reads like a folk tale…and I would suppose that’s what it is.
This is lovely. I can visualize the young man and the old. Thank you.