a simple people

It was the highest polo field in the world. It had a storied past. It was one of the wonders for those who knew. Most didn’t. Most didn’t care. What was polo to them. But the ones that did, they worshipped this place. Most figuratively, some literally. It was chilly with winds strong enough that you would want to zip up your jacket all the way up to and beyond your neck. You would try to pull the collars over your neck. But the air here was fresh. So you wouldn’t mind the cold that much. Breathing in that much clean oxygen would make you dizzy as blood pumped through your head faster and more efficient than you had ever experienced. The field was green but you could also see the sparseness of greenery all around. Patches of green surrounded by cool dirt. Dust rising as the wind blew over it. The smell of wood and trees in the air. You could almost taste the daal and the meat as they were cooked over fires made in the center of circles made of rocks, of fires started with logs. It was the highest polo field in the world. Few knew about it. Fewer made the effort to come up here. And that was why it was still preserved. Otherwise it would have been gone, many, many years ago. Corrupted by money. Big buildings made on all sides. The players distracted by dollar signs in their eyes. Flashy things glinting off their eyeballs. The locals being pushed further and further away from their home. Till their grandchildren forgot where they had lived and considered their home someplace else. It was not the case here. The ejaculate stain of the human condition had not reached this high. The dua was that it never would. Very soon, a different kind of original sin would reach these high heights. Very soon, these people too would be corrupted by the thick black clouds that hung over the human mind, and turned the heart dark. Very soon. Then they would continue to play polo but as if blinded to the fact that they had swapped out balls for human heads. Some would notice. And those would laugh. Others wouldn’t care. Still others yet would choose to ignore. Others still would think it was normal. They had always done it this way. For now, it was peaceful. The sun shone bright. The oxygen was heady. The grassy slopes shone green and bright. The ground felt soft and comforting and embracing under the feet. The sounds of chatter, of birds, trees swaying gently in the wind all permeated the clean, thin air. The taste of the last vestiges of the human past was in the air, pre industrial revolution and all. The men were walking around, garbed in loose shalwaar kameez, muted colors, brown, white, off white. Something in between. The women were at home, working, washing, cooking, calling out to one another from the windows. It was peaceful.