I and Rasool entered the hospital minutes after winter sun arose. Rasool had been in extreme pain ever since he fell on a river stone fracturing his wrist. It must have taken some hit being the wrist of a boatman of six decades. I remember when he had appeared after the accident; his face inflamed, eyes crowded, jammed as if all the pain had run like water to get collected there. Yet I couldn’t have assumed. Only after he had not spoken for more minutes than usual I asked what happened. He had kept working and folding the tent, at the same place where he took this film forty years ago. We had decided to turn back and strangely I couldn’t have imagined how was he working and still picking up things then. I saw two x-rays of his left hand, each side few days later. A pigeon outside without a leg or having one sitting over chinar. Its shadows appearing on my being many feet away. There I stood looking at quiet Rasool, who …