An old man named Raheem Kak lived in a quiet village below the hills. He was once a legend in our neighbourhood. He spent his days herding animals in open fields and orchards. He told us stories about his past, about myths, and sometimes about ghosts.
We, as children, waited for holidays to meet him. Sundays were never dull around him. His storytelling was full of energy and humor. He was also sharp in his talk and quick with calculations. One of his favorite sayings was “Ungji tull kam trakh.”
Raheem Kaks nature was peaceful, gentle, and caring. Once, my friends and I sat around him listening to his tales. Suddenly, a snake crawled out near him along the bund of the Zaingair canal. He shouted, “The Jinn has become a snake!” and lay down pretending to die. We panicked and ran away crying. Later, he stood up laughing, saying he had eaten the snake alive.
I was terrified and rushed home shouting for my mother. I told her everything. She locked me inside the compound and forbade me from going out again. It felt like a bad dream.
Besides rearing cows, Raheem Kumar also sold fried potatoes, which he called Till Munj. He did this after returning from the fields. His business worked on barter. People gave him paddy, rice, or eggs in exchange for his fried potatoes. Those days were full of love, respect, and brotherhood. No one can forget them. They shine in memory like the sun among stars.
Raheem Kak was a truly entertaining man. The simplicity and kindness I saw in elders like him are missing in today’s world. Now everything feels fake—love, promises, relationships, even friendship. The honesty and warmth of the old days have faded.
Those were the days of true peace when every morning began with the soft sound of prayers and the melodious recitation of Durood Sharif echoing from the mosque loudspeakers. The air itself felt sacred, filled with calm and faith. That gentle beginning of the day, rooted in devotion and love for the Divine, was like a healing medicine that gave strength and peace for the entire day. Life then moved slowly and gracefully, each day stretching with meaning, each month feeling as long as a year, and each year carrying the weight of timeless contentment. But when I look at the present times, I see a different world fast, restless, and far removed from the peace and tranquility that once defined our lives.
The month of Ramadan was truly the healing therapy of the year. Elderly people like Raheem Kak carried golden wisdom, narrating hadiths and guiding us to recite verses from the Holy Quran throughout the sacred month. The evenings were unforgettable, especially near the time of breaking the fast. We children would gather on the small bridge of Lone Mohalla, watching groups of crows and other birds returning home, a sight that became part of our daily rhythm. When the call for iftar echoed, we sat together, shared our food, and laughed without worry. We exchanged topis, khazar, and our favorite sweet dish of mixed sugar and rice, known as khand tumul. Those moments remain etched in memory—the time when we lived with open hearts, sharing and caring for one another without limits or boundaries.
Time has moved on, but the warmth of those days still lives within me. The voices, the laughter, the simple togetherness of people like Raheem Kak feel like treasures now buried under the noise of modern life. We were not rich, yet we were content. We had less, but we cared more. Faith was not just a ritual, it was a way of living !
It has been almost ten years since I last met him, though he still lives nearby. One day, while returning from duty, I saw him in the market, walking with a stick. I was shocked to see him after so long. I greeted him warmly. He replied, “Gobra theek chuka ch kohund govak.” His words brought back a flood of childhood memories.
I smiled and answered with his old saying, “Ungji tull trakh kotah go.” He laughed and said, “You made me smile after a long time. You must be my friend.”
We talked for a while. I reminded him of his ghost stories and his fried potatoes. He was surprised and happy to hear it all. Before we parted, I promised to write about him and his life. He blessed me with a smile full of peace and pride.
Looking back, I realize that the true beauty of life lies in simplicity, in genuine relationships, and in moments shared without expectation. The peace we search for today was once found in open hearts and honest prayers. Those old days remind me that no wealth or technology can replace the calm that comes from compassion, faith, and unity. If we can bring even a part of that spirit back into our lives, we will once again find the healing we have lost with time.

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