March 12, 1657

عزيز صديقة

I will not be arriving as soon as I had hoped. But I will arrive all the same. There’s been a slight...complication. 

I've been traveling on foot for the past two weeks. I made it out of the پہاڑ village in the mountains, and I am writing this letter from a hut in the تلہٹی village in foothills. A family was kind enough to let me stay the night with them. I played them some music--the children were delighted. There were three: the eldest, Aaima, is about 12 years of age with eyes that light up every time she asks me to play another song. The boy, Jabari, must be 8 years old. He pretends to not take interest when I play, but I see him watch me out of the corner of his eye. The baby, Quadriyyah, can’t be any older than two. At first she would run away whenever she saw me, but now she tries to sing along to my songs. She creates her own words of course. She babbles in broken Urdu and sings high pitched notes for long periods of time. I think the children are warming up to me. They especially love our dear mother’s lullaby: 

The light of the sun shines through the trees

Shines through the trees in the wood

The sun’s scattered rays race across the pond

The pond in heart of the wood

And the girl leans her sweet little head over the edge

She leans for she thought that she could

Well you know how it goes. 

Anyway, about my delay. Early yesterday morning, I noticed that one of my toes was beginning to look a little darker in color than the rest of my foot. I didn't think much of it, but then that evening it turned purple. I woke up the next morning and my toe was completely black. I went to the village physician and she informed me that if the signs continue in this matter, it will fall off. If that is the case, I will have to stay in the village until I can heal enough to continue on my journey.

I will not be dismayed by this setback. If I am to lose my toe, so be it. I will do whatever it takes to get to the imperial city. 

تمہارے پیارے بھائی

رضوان