Closing Pakistan

The Jeep had duct tape holding it together. It rattled down the road as the Pakistani border gates rose in the distance.

Our driver parked in a dusty field alongside a hundred similar vehicles and promised to wait for our return.

I had no idea how I would ever find him again.

~

Now on foot, I followed the crowds, wading into the sea of people—tourists and locals alike who had come to this remote place.

Metal bleachers climbed the Indian side of the road.

I found seats halfway up, the afternoon sun heating the steel beneath us as the crowd slowly filled the rows.

Across the gate, I saw another crowd doing the same.

Ob the street before us, children ran flags to the border gate and back.

Someone with a microphone held a single note impossibly long.

Then the crowd erupted—cheering, dancing, and chanting:

“Goodbye, India! See you tomorrow, Pakistan!”

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the guards emerged.

Boots snapped skyward.

Feathered crests bobbed with every stamp.

They charged the gate in sharp, hurried steps until Indian and Pakistani soldiers stood face-to-face.

Flags lowered through the gates, the hazy sun settling between them.

Families gave one last wave, and the gates between India and Pakistan closed with the overtaking night.

~

I walked into the shadows with the dispersing crowds, wondering how I would ever find my ride.

Somehow, among the dust, darkness, and people, my driver stepped forward.

“Hey. Let’s get you home.”