The onion tree had stood just inside the gates of the Sufi house for maybe 300 years, and in all that time had never once borne an onion. But right at this moment, in the hot summer afternoon sun, it bore a strange new kind of leaf. A small patch of grey fabric hung from one of the lower branches. Baaghy’s large grey moustache curled down as he inspected the new hole in his trousers. He had first climbed this tree 60 years ago. His wiry limbs should have the hang of it by now.
Read the full narrative in Issue 86 SUFI