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Even as I stepped upon the soils of the Indian province of Punjab, I could feel an impenetrable aroma of spices and the famous masala chai, ‘spiced tea’, overpowering the atmosphere. I came out of the tonga, an open carriage, and took in the scene around me. I was standing in the centre of a small, crowded market. It was situated right in the heart of the village, Bedian, which rested a quarter kilometers from the historical city of Lahore.7
It was a complete mess, typical for a rural Indian village but disturbing to me nonetheless. There were wooden stands here and there, supporting fresh fruits and vegetables. Tongas ran right past them, spewing dust into the air in large, billowing brown clouds. Clothes lay on large, dirty carpets and the shopkeepers bellowed at their customers, their everyday hagglings heating up. 8
The market was absolutely bustling with activity; women stood in clusters around garment shops, fingering smooth Chinese silks and men lay basking in the glorious sunshine, sipping on cool, sour lassi. Their dress was unusual - few were clad in ankle-length kameez and printed shalwars but most were wearing simple cloths tied around their bellies, called tehmads. The women wore brighter clothes, called saris, explicitly designed and wrapped fashionably around the entire body. 9
I felt out of character amongst the, like the odd one out. Surely, with my hat and my simple-cut, brown safari suit, I must have seemed an eccentricity.10
“Aaao! Tusi bheto, tuaadhe liye lassi mangaiee!” bellowed an obese man, his moustache jiggling. I admit it, I loved Indian people. There was something about them you never found in any other race. It was their openness, their carefree personalities. 11
“I – I don’t speak your language, dear man,” I said hesitantly, almost everyone was throwing curious glances at me.12
“Tusi kee boli bolde ho?” said the man, still making as little sense as my being in this place. 13
“Englistaan se ai ho?” someone asked. I turned around to face a thin, balding man, peering at me from behind a long pipe. “Hookah lo gai?” he asked, turning the smoking pipe towards me. I shook my head. 14
I looked at the map in my hand, it showed the five different paths going outwards from the main market; one of them was red. Just at the starting of the path there was a small, red dot, labeled ‘bethak’. I had never been to this village before, and not only the market but the entire village seemed to be a mess. There seemed no sense of organization.15
I stopped a woman, draped in a black chaddar, a cloth to cover the body, and asked her, “Is there a bethak around here?” She just stood there, disbelief clear in her eyes and walked away. Oh, I had forgotten again, women here were not supposed to talk to strangers – it was a sign of their modesty.16
I put the same question to some men, and they all pointed to a stone building. I walked towards it. It seemed misplaced in the katchi abbadi, the mud-housed community and was, as it seemed, the gathering-house of the village. It had an open court in the front, which was strewn with charpai’s, rope-made sitting stools. There was a small, narrow street on the right of the bethak. 17
I walked on and the deep spicy smell became lighter. Doors upon door passed, and as I looked at the map, my eyes came across another small dot, indicating ‘Usman’s’. I thought that must be the place. I walked on still and saw a door with a silver mark upon it. It was my mark. I smiled at the sight of it and entered into the house. 18
I found myself in an inner courtyard, littered with charpai’s and tables. A young, thin man sat upon one of the stools, his hair ruffled and glasses askew. He was pondering over a map. He looked up at my entry and smiled, but just then, a sudden rage erupted inside me and approaching him, I slapped him across the face. He sighed and motioned for me to sit. I did. 19
“I suppose you’re mad at me,” he said. 20
“Oh no, it’s an old hobby of mine, slapping nephews across the face,” I said. 21
He chuckled, but so did I. I wrapped him in my arms, kissing his cheek. “It’s been a long time,” I said, a silent tear escaping my eyes.22
“Yea, it has,” he said. He then turned and bellowed a few words. I caught the words ‘masala chai’. A small boy came out of a room and handed me a cup, filled with spiced tea. I took a sip, it was hot and I caught tastes of different flavors. 23
“So, Evan, I seem to get it that you’ve made great progress,” I said to my nephew, who had returned to the map. “Tell me all about it.”24
Evan looked at me, those green eyes had lost their juvenile twinkle, the mischievous little kid had vanished, replaced with a worn out, yet mature man. “First, tell me about England,”25
“Oh, it’s still a great place, child,” I said. “Perhaps if we find what we are looking for, we shall be out of here and bathing in a jewels in no time!”26
“I love the sound of that …”27
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The lost religion is an ambiguous subject, vast and unknown. It is said to be one of heaven’s most guarded secrets. It is of unknown origin, and is a dazzling mystery. No one is sure if it even existed for there is no trace of evidence about it, or, at least there was not. I came to India fourteen years ago, a peaceful, superstitious community, harmoniously living under Raja Babur. I embarked upon a secret journey with an old friend – to find as much as we could about the lost religion. 31
Our searches varied across India. We snooped around ancient temples and spoke to the highest orders of the Priests, finding all we could. Soon, we were sure that the religion existed. Then, we came across one of its existing followers, and I guess now that fortune had smiled upon us for there are not many left. From him, we found scriptures and ancient books of wisdom and in those; I came across the legend of Kohi-Khubsurat, the ‘Stone of Beauty’. It was said to be the largest amethyst in the world, a priceless gem of great power. The word ‘priceless’ remained in my mind.32
Temptation got better of me and I murdered my dear friend, and began searching then for the stone. I found ancient temples, lost and forgotten. I was then lost myself. Reckless did I become, I began loosing priceless maps and books and suddenly, eleven years of hard labor seemed to have been wasted.33
I traveled back to England, finding James, orphaned and homeless, I took him in, raised him and he become a son, a companion. Soon, acting upon his mischievous side, he snuck into my private libraries, coming across my journeys of India. It then became his ambition to find the stone. I forbade him, condemning him to a small, local church but even then, he found a way to travel to India. He sent me letters, explaining everything and though my anger and sadness was beyond anything, I felt proud.34
It had been my belief that Evan’s knowledge of the lost religion would have been limited, but now, listening to all that he had to say, I was astounded; the boy was a miracle. Three years and he already found much on the stone itself, one of the most sacred subjects of the ancient scriptures. Indeed, he had toiled and labored, and it seemed that his harvest would be fruitful. 35
He had something I did not, the one thing that kept me at bay, he had the map to the temple, the one standing shrine devoted to the lost religion, the only place sacred enough to keep the stone. It was, as he said, near a small town by the name of Gujranwala in one of the greener parts of Punjab.36
Now that we were together, it was time both uncle and nephew went on their expedition … together. 37
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Our journey to the small town was vague, perhaps I was too apprehensive, a little too excited to notice anything. Bedian was miles away from Gujranwala and the voyage took two days. Exchanging tongas and stopping at various villages to rest, we at last came to the farmers’ haven. 42
I had never been to the western parts of the sub-continent, I had always preferred the fertile plains of southern India and I was surprised to see how this meager town seemed to show Indian culture at its peak. 43
The roads themselves had become markets; the sides were crowded with small stands and tables and charpai’s. Shopkeepers shouted around - their voices booming even in the unstoppable chattering - for people to come and view their merchandize, beautifully embroidered carpets hung from wires and men and women concentrated around them in large numbers. 44
I stood at the seat of the tonga, waving at them – a sign of insanity for them, but plain excitement for me. I was elated, perhaps too much for my own good. Evan simply watched me, grinning at seeing my joy. I did not notice, but somehow or the other I ended up in a small house, rented from Evan’s contacts. 45
That night, Evan prepared a feast – he had fantastically adopted an Indian taste to his cuisines. As he brought in the food, I smacked my lips. Indians have a very common food; people in the plains eat a round, thin bread, called chapatti and boiled and spiced vegetables with pulses. It is delicious, extremely spicy and richly flavored. Today however, he prepared the famous biryani, boiled rice stewed in chicken and curry. As I sat down after dinner, Evan and I talked of our plans and of how to steal the stone. 46
“Evan, are you positive that this is where the temple is located, because boy – you have my hopes pretty high indeed,” I said to him.47
“I am quite sure Uncle,” he said, taking out the map and looking at it once more. “Yes, it’s a few kilometers from this town.”48
“Gracious! I’m an old man boy!” I laughed. “I cannot walk that much!”49
“I know there’s something inside you that’ll drive you on!” he said. 50
“Greed - and yes, it’ll do a good job of keeping me going,” I said, turning around and pulling the covers onto my body. “Oh, and that was a spectacular feast Evan!”51
“Thanks …”52
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The following evening, we went out into the town, passing alleys and dark streets until we came, unnoticed, into the silenced wilderness. The dense vegetation was found to be hindering, for we had to beat our own path. I could feel a cool breeze along my face, and as we walked on, the candles in the sky blew out, covering us in semi-darkness, the silver glare of the moon becoming our only light. 56
I do not know for how long we walked, but it must have been hours before we finally came to a small clearing. Here Evan stopped to study the skies, and traced his finger along the map he held in his hand. I was envious – the boy was indeed a genius. He then began stomping, his feet thudding upon the ground. He walked around, imitating the same motion, until he halted at a place where the sound came hollowed. He knelt down, and began searching and then, just as he came to his feet, an entrance opened to reveal itself. 57
He pushed himself inside and I followed, taking one step at a time, my feet and hands searching for stones to hold on to. Just as my feet touched the ground, a torch flickered on. Evan began leading the way, the flame held high above him. 58
We walked along the dark, narrow hallway. I was beginning to feel quite weary. At last, we came to an archway, adorned with beautiful gems and gold plates. Evan passed through and I pursued. I found myself standing in a small room, aligned with awkward shapes and idols in the corners, their features illuminated by the red glow. I felt frightened just looking at them. 59
Evan walked on into another room, this one seemingly the same as the previous, but with different idols. I took the torch from Evan’s hand and quickly moved along, passing along room, my eyes keenly searching for any sign of my treasure. I became restless, but the feeling soon turned to glee as I came across a hall. I entered, but as I did, the flame died, engulfing us in darkness. 60
“Evan, I’m scared …” I said to my nephew.61
“It’s the fear of ending a destiny Uncle,” Evan replied. 62
I walked onwards; there was something strange about the room, an eerie glow that gave it a haunted aura. I could see a large statue at the end, the face of a beautiful woman, exotic and mesmerizing. Her hands were stretched out, folded in a cup and I knew what was inside. 63
I broke into a run, but my legs gave away, sending me crashing to the floor as a deep, commanding voice boomed throughout the hall. 64
“Come no further,” said the voice and I watched in awe as a women came into view. She was a replica of the statue behind her, a radiant beauty in the shadow. 65
“Come no further, thief of stones! Be gone!” she said, approaching me with a defensive ferocity. I looked around, Evan was nowhere in sight, I could hear heavy footsteps in the distance. I trembled as I looked at the woman once more. 66
“I – who – who are you?” I asked, my firm voice now wavering. 67
“Be gone you spawn of dirt! Be one stone in this temple befouled with your touch and I shall tear you apart!” she spoke, and her overwhelming power was indeed too great to behold. 68
I was weeping now, my tears falling to the ground. I repeated the question. “Who are you?” I shouted, my legs still too weak to walk. I whimpered as the woman inched nearer.69
“I! You ask of who I am?” the women said, disgust clear upon her face. “I am the essence of a religion long gone, I herald the swords of truth, I am the need of this age, the bringer of the might of God, I am nothing … just Justice,” she said and cold, terrible force swept through the hall. Her hair whipped around her face and her eyes shown silver in the dark shade, two white stones amidst the blackness. 70
I simply watched her, tears speeding past my cheek. A pain erupted in my body, a stinging feeling as an inner fire ate my soul away. I could not believe this was happening. It seemed the lost religion had never died.71
“But – where is the stone?” I asked her - a desperate man, eaten away by his voracity for riches.72
She sighed and turned away, a grieved smile dawning upon her face. 73
"There never was a stone ..."74
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Silver trophy winner
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
thanks for entering in my contest and good luck! I was incapable of finding any mistakes, because for sure in such a polished peice I wanted to find one. Just one and then laugh at you for it. But I couldn't 
So that makes it even better done! 
