THE KITE OF DREAMS

My mobile's battery was dead. I had the charger with me, but there was no sign of electricity anywhere. I thought I might have to live here for the rest of my life. Frustrated, I placed my mobile and charger back in my bag, hid it, and tried to hold back the tears. I stepped out to wash my face and clear my mind.

Just as I was wiping my face, the landlord, who had been teaching me the local language, walked by. "What happened, son? Why are you crying?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. "You've learned our language now. How about we start a business and earn some money? You can stay here as long as you want. But if anyone asks who you are or where you're from, tell them you're Mansoor Ali's nephew. If they find out you're a foreigner, they'll kidnap you and sell you into slavery. You'd live the rest of your life as a slave."

I wiped my eyes, still shaken, and asked, "I need some information. Will you help me?"

"If I know, I will tell you," he replied.

"Do you know where India is?" I asked, desperate for any link to my homeland.

"I don't know. Is there such a country?" he replied with a puzzled look.

I pressed on, "Do you know the Ganga or Sindhu rivers? You've heard of them, right?"

"I've heard the names," he said, "but I don't know where they are. People say life there is pleasant, but I don't know the location."

I couldn't stop myself. "What about the snowy mountains called the Himalayas?"

He nodded, "Yes, I've heard of them. They are in the east. But they are dangerous—ferocious animals live there, and the people are very brave."

"Does anyone go there?" I asked, hopeful.

"Once a year, a caravan of merchants travels there. They say the kings are very generous, rewarding those who bring goods. The people there are kind, and their land is called the Bird of Gold in our country."

Pride swelled in my chest at the mention of my homeland. "When is the next caravan going there?" I asked eagerly.

He shook his head. "No one has gone for two years."

"Why?" I asked.

"The old man who knew the way died with a group of merchants. Nature's wrath killed them all. No one dares to go now. Even the queen of our country is searching for someone who knows the way—not for trade, but to invade and plunder that land."

The mention of my country being attacked filled me with a deep sense of unease. It hit me that escaping wouldn't be easy, and survival would require more than just good intentions. I realized that if I wanted to escape, I would need to make electricity myself. Until then, I would stick to the path the landlord suggested and stay safe.

"Uncle, what work should I do?" I asked.

He smiled knowingly. "Work is for slaves, son. You'll do business. But what business will you do? We'll decide that tomorrow. Go sleep now."

The next morning, Uncle Mansoor called me early. I dressed in a long robe and round cap, just as he suggested. "Son, you look good," he said approvingly. "Wear these clothes often. But you also need a good name. What is your name?"

"I'm about twenty," I replied.

"From today, you will be called Umar," he said firmly.

I was filled with joy. A new name—one that would allow me to blend in and find my way. "Come," Uncle said. "Let's go to the market. You can choose the business you want to pursue."

The market was alive with vibrant activity. Vendors called out, promoting their goods with fervor. The air was thick with the aromas of spices, fresh bread, and perfumes. The marketplace was the city's heartbeat—a place where every deal told a story, and every item for sale had a purpose.

"Umar," Uncle said, guiding me through the crowd, "this is where you'll find inspiration. Look carefully. Listen to what the people want, what they lack. That's where opportunity lies."

I began observing the market with fresh eyes. A pottery stall caught my attention. The intricate designs of the pots were fascinating. "What about painted pots, Uncle? We could add vibrant colors and unique patterns to make them stand out," I suggested.

Uncle thought for a moment before shaking his head. "Pottery is a long-established trade here. The craftsmen have perfected their craft over generations. Competing with them would be difficult. And painted pots may not be practical for everyone."

We moved further, and I spotted a stall selling silk fabrics. The rich colors and smooth textures intrigued me. "How about we start a silk business, Uncle? I could learn about the trade and maybe create unique designs to set us apart."

Uncle smiled but gently shook his head. "Silk is a luxury here, Umar. The silk trade is controlled by the wealthy merchants. It would take years to build a reputation, and the investment required is substantial. Let's keep looking."

Feeling a bit disheartened, I noticed children playing with wooden carvings near another stall. They were laughing, admiring the tiny animals and toys. An idea sparked in my mind. "What about creating toys for kids? Wooden animals, puzzles, or small figurines? Something fun and unique."

Uncle raised an eyebrow. "Toys could work, but they must be simple and affordable for the people here. It's a possibility, but keep your eyes open. You might find something better."

We continued walking, passing by a stall selling clay lamps. "What about making decorative lamps, Uncle? We could design them uniquely and use different materials to make them stand out," I suggested, trying to remain optimistic.

Uncle looked thoughtful. "Lamps are necessary, especially during festivals, but they aren't something people buy often. You need a product that is both unique and in regular demand."

Frustrated, I sighed and looked around, unsure of what to focus on. Just then, a group of children came running after a small bird that had flown into the market. They were laughing, clapping, and pointing at the bird with delight. The joy on their faces was contagious. I approached them and asked, "What are you looking at, children?"

"We're looking at the flying bird!" one of them exclaimed. "We wish we could have a bird that we could fly with a gesture, bring it home whenever we want. It would be so much fun."

I smiled and said, "It is possible! The children's looked at me and laughed they said, giggling. Their disbelief and laughter echoed around me, but I remained determined and I went inside.