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Chapter Two: Recrudescence

It was a baked and stale day in the desert. He couldn't remember that last time it rained, let alone that anything grew. The occupiers did not support the Pakistanis, they were shunned and ridiculed at most, some were even followed under the excuse of espionage or terrorism. He looked upon his land and was filled by sorrow, but he knew his purpose now. Unlike the day it had all began, the day he fell.

He remembered the day, as if it were yesterday. He was awoken by the tremors in his area, the region of Punjab have these once and a while and ever since that day it is a bad omen for Imran. He was startled by the rumbling and he heard some plates break in the kitchen. He stayed in his bed as the dust fell upon his sheets and the rumbling slowed down to a gurgling halt. It seemed like forever but it lasted only a mere 20 seconds. Imran quickly jumped up, praying to Dio Brando that his son was fine. He rushed through to the other side of the hut, a mere 3 meters, and found Zohaib cowering under the bed, covering his head with his hands. Imran quickly took Zohaib's hand and pulled him out from under the bed and hastily they fled to outside, in fear the house could collapse. Unfortunately, it did indeed collapse, burying the entire past of the family, or what was left of it, under the straw and mud of the poor little hut. Just as Imran was about to open the closed door by the handle, there was a creek and a crack and the hut fell down upon itself in front of him. He was surrounded by dust and the rubble in front of him lay before him unbothered. The door handle was firmly in his hand and the door-frame was the only rememberence of his family's hut.

At the time he was glad that at least the goats and chickens survived, but time took it's toll and they were eaten for the little meat they had on them. His wife, Sapna, had died of famine many moons ago, just after he and his son Zohaib had rebuilt the hut after a few tiring weeks. Sapna was pale and only skin, Imran gave all of his food to her to keep her alive, for it was her love that kept the cold nights warm and the scorching days bearable. Sadly, she was too weak and she passed away after suffering for so long. Lastly, Imran was happy she was free from this world, for in death she had peace. She had no suffering, no pain, only peace and tranquility. A peace so long and distant from where they are.

Since then it was only Imran and Zohaib, father and son. They tried to rebuild what they had and occasionally helped out on the market, working for the Romanian traders. They paid more than they would another Romanian, but it was more closer to slavery than decent work. The Romanians gave them no food, allowed them no breaks and punished them if they stole food. Often with death, to state an example.

Imran was growing old and could not help as good as he wanted to for the Romanian traders, so his son would cover for him when he hid from the Romanian traders from work, and whenever he could, Zohaib would help his father. Unfortunately for Imran he fell down and broke his wrist when carrying a load of Romanian potatoes to a stand. The Romanian boss of Imran did not hesitate to fire Imran and tell him not to come back until he gets his wrist fixed. Imran knew that this broken wrist was his death sentence. Pakistani's are forbidden to enter hospitals as the Romanians think they are carry diseases, the apothecaries would not sell him anything, for the Romanians thought the Pakistanis were drug abusers. Imran begged the Romanian trader to hire him again, he groveled and cried and threw himself to the Romanian's feet, trying to kiss them and in that moment the trader kicked Imran swiftly in the face, knocking him out. Zohaib quickly protested and attacked the trader. Zohaib pushed down the trader and insulted him for doing this to his family. Zohaib was immediately attacked by two Romanian guards and was accused of terrorism and attempted murder and was beaten down, then dragged away in chains and Imran's unconcious body was dragged away by two samaritan Pakistanis.

When he awoke, Imran was told to lay and rest and sleep, for he had a broken wrist and a concussion due to the heavy blow from the Romanian's foot. Imran however, could not rest without knowing the fate of his son, Zohaib. Panickly he requested that the samaritans tell him the whereabouts of his son. Hesistantly, they informed him that his son, Zohaib, had been sentenced to death. Imran, so surprised by the shocking news laid on the straw bed, gaping emptily to the cieling. He had lost everything. He had lost his house, his wife, his only son. He had lost everything in life that he found worth living. He asked if the kind Pakistani samaritans would leave him alone, so he could recover from this shocking message. The Pakistani comrades agreed and left the room. Imran first cried and cried. He cried, so it seemed to him, for days on end. Everytime he would calm down he would think about his son, wife or house and the sick path that fate had led him upon. It was in those days of solitude in that hot and muggy room somewhere in the city of Punjab, that he would get his revenge.

Yet, he was weak. His wrist was broken, his figure was feeble and he was incapable of even rising from the bed. The food the Pakistani samaritans gave him was barely enough and he could feel his life running through his hands every day. He wanted to move, he wanted to do something but he could not. He only felt hate and rage towards the Romanians and due to his lack of power or capability to do anything, he lied paralyzed in bed, sighing and sorrowing over his horrible fate.

It was on the verge of his transition from a peaceful man of loving, to a vengeful, depressive, misanthrope when he awoke one day to a bright blinding light on the side of his bed. On a chair, staring at him was a divine creature of such beauty that he could've swore he still had been dreaming. He pinched himself absent-mindedly to assure himself that this was not the case and was paralyzed in awe. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a voice so clear and divine that it tickled his eardrums:

'Imran, my son. I have come here to avert you from your path of hate and pain. Go to the dunes where the blind serpent wanders. There, you shall find salvation.'

And with these words Dio Brando, the holy and immortal god emperor passed his hand upon Imran's head slowly, Imran closed his eyes and felt a soothing feeling come upon his entire body, and when he opened his eyes, the holy and immortal god emperor had disappeared. He rose from his straw bed and looked upon himself. His arms were well in form, his body seemed as though chiseled from stone and his legs had the circumreference of many a man's arm or member. He felt no thirst nor hunger and only felt happiness.

The Pakistani samaritans entered the room immediately therafter, for they could not have entered nay a moment earlier for the divine Dio Brando had halted time for but a mere milisecond to speak to Imran, yet it appeared as if it was a day. They had prepared a final meal on a try for Imran, for his former appearance bode his death. The Pakistani woman who prepared the meal screeched in shock and dropped the tray. The other Pakistanis gasped in awe as they saw the new form of Imran in all of it's glory. Imran smiled and waved his hand in a dull fashion and the Pakistani samaritans followed him with mouths still wide open as he passed through the hut to the light of day in the midst of the Pakistani slum in the city.

'Pakistanis! Comrades! Friends!' Imran bellowed in a voice unknown to him. He continued, fueled and high by his new found strength: 'Follow me, my friends, for we will release this land of torment! We will free ourselves from this bond of pain and suffering! To victory! Pride! Power! Pakistan!' he proclaimed throughout the slums as he passed through every street and alley. Soon thereafter a large crowd had gathered behind him, surpassing the thousands in numbers. At it's front paraded Imran, his head and chest high in spirit as he came closer and closer to the market stands where the Romanian traders sold their overpriced wares. He strode quickly to the one stand where he almost gave up his life, the stand where he was knocked unconcious by the filthy Romanian trader that destroyed his hopes for life. He stood before the Romanian trader, peering down to him for he had grown larger through his transformation through Dio Brando. The Romanian trader could not emit any words, for his mouth only gaped open like a hole in his face at the sight before him. Imran however, did not try to kill him. Instead he forgave the Romanian trader there and then and all of his Pakistani followers stopped to watch this amazing display of mercy.

Imran slowly laid his head upon the Romanian trader and the Romanian trader closed his eyes and mouth and his muscles relaxed. Imran then slowly and clearly spoke to the Romanian trader 'I forgive you.' and then continued past him towards the prison where his son was being held captive. As fate would so have it, the Romanian trader was so strucken by Imran's compassion despite his fate and his power to forgive him, that he left Punjab and continued a hermit life in the deserts. There he stayed until the end of his days, praising Dio to anyone who would happen to pass by and praying every waking minute.

As Imran approached the prison, the walls to the prison gave way as he laid his hand upon the walls. The shots from the prison guards deflected off of Imran and he smiled as he continued to the prison building, walls desintegrating all around him and the Pakistani followers unarming the Romanian guards and dragging them away in the background. Imran released all of the Pakistani prisoners and went to find the director of the Prison. He found the director of the prison, a fat and ugly Romanian pig cowering under his desk. Imran lifted the desk away and asked where his son was. The prison director pleaded not to kill him and told him he did not know any Zohaib. Imran turned away, for he knew the director was telling the truth, he could smell it. As he left the prison and all the Pakistani prisoners escaped, the director shot himself with his revolver before the enraged Pakistani followers managed to get to him.

Imran, saddened by the absence of his son and not knowing his whereabouts then continued to the place where Dio told him to go. 'The dunes where the blind serpent wanders'... It echoed in his mind as he walked through the sands of the deserts before him. He wandered day and night, endlessly wandering to find the dunes of the blind serpent. Eventually, he came across the land where his former home used to stand. Low and behold, the door and frame were still there exactly has he had left it. Imran slowly walked towards the door, staring into his past. He held the handle and looked at it. In that moment he felt the past events pass before his mind in such speed that it baffled him. When the visions stopped, he slowly opened the door.

Before him he saw something so large and majestic he could not believe his eyes. He did not even believe they existed, but before him he saw one of the rare dune worms. He did not want to believe what he saw, but it was before him in it's true form, in all of it's glory. And upon the great and majestic dune worm, he saw his son with a banner in the colours of Pakistan. Behind the sand worm were the armies of Pakistani men, and beyond the hill yet more, ready to encounter the menace that haunts Pakistan. Ready to free Pakistan. Ready for peace.