The waves crashed against the shore with a relentless rhythm, each surge reaching a different length, as if nature itself revelled in chaos. Their deafening roar filled the air, an unbroken hymn to the restless sea. Beyond the tide’s reach, a lone rooster croaked into the emptiness, its desperate call for a mate swallowed by the vastness of the deserted island.
A short distance away, a goat gnawed at the remnants of fallen coconuts, indifferent to the solitude that surrounded it. Towering coconut trees swayed violently, their fronds whipping against the wind in wild, unchoreographed dance—a celebration, perhaps, of an untouched world, free from the presence of man.
The relentless noise of the waves, the swaying of the trees, and the rustling of the leaves were momentarily interrupted by a sudden thud—the heavy impact of a ripe coconut crashing onto the sand. Just a foot away from where Siddharth lay, another coconut dropped, the sound slicing through his unconscious state like a blade.
His body jerked awake. His chest rose and fell in quick, ragged breaths as he gasped for air. His throat burned with dryness, his skin slick with sweat. The sun bore down on him mercilessly, its heat pressing into his teenage frame. He blinked rapidly, his red-rimmed eyes struggling to adjust to the brightness.
“Where the fuck am I?” The words tumbled out, raw with panic. His gaze darted around—nothing but endless stretches of sand, towering trees, and the vast, indifferent ocean. No one. Not a single soul.
Then, as if his terror wasn’t enough, his eyes dropped to himself. His breath caught in his throat.
“What the fuck am I wearing?” he muttered, his hands grabbing at the crude loincloth wrapped around his waist—the only thing covering his body. His pulse pounded in his ears as a new wave of fear crashed over him.
“Hello, brother.”
The voice came from behind him.
Siddharth’s body tensed. Another jolt of panic surged through him as he whipped around, half-expecting to see a ghost, or worse, something beyond his understanding.
Instead, a man, roughly in his early 30s, sat calmly on the sand, his expression disturbingly serene. He wore the same crude loincloth, his dark hair tousled by the wind. His hands worked methodically, gathering dried coconut leaves into a neat heap as if he had been here forever.
“Who the fuck are you now?” Siddharth snapped, his voice sharp with fear.
The man—who didn’t seem the least bit startled by Sid’s aggression—looked up with a knowing smile. A strange, almost spiritual calm radiated from his eyes.
“I was exactly in the same state of mind as you, two hours ago,” he said, his voice steady. “But then I saw you, lying there in deep sleep, and for some reason, I felt better.”
Siddharth stared at him, his heart still hammering. There was something unnervingly composed about this man as if he had already made peace with whatever the hell was going on.
“But where are we? Who brought us here? And what the fuck is happening?” Siddharth’s voice trembled with fear, confusion, and just the right amount of frustration. His mind was a tangled mess of unanswered questions, and the more he thought about them, the more they suffocated him.
Malik, however, remained unbothered. He simply dusted off his hands, looking up at Siddharth with a calm, almost amused expression. “Before we get into all that, let me introduce myself. I’m Malik,” he said smoothly. “And as for your questions, I’ve got just one answer—” he paused, stretching his arms lazily, “—I have no idea.”
Siddharth’s nostrils flared. He was in no mood for riddles. “Then why the hell are you acting like you’ve been living in this godforsaken place for eternity?” he snapped.
Malik let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Simple,” he said, picking up another dried coconut leaf. “I’m hungry.”
Siddharth blinked. “What?”
Malik shrugged, still focused on his pile of leaves. “I told myself—let me solve the first problem at hand before I sit around panicking about the rest. And right now, the first problem is food.”
“Food? What about water?” Siddharth groaned, rubbing his dry throat. “I feel like I’m going to die of dehydration!”
Malik didn’t even look up. “See? I told you,” he said coolly. “First, solve the problem at hand. The rest we’ll sit, discuss, and decide.”
Siddharth shot him an exasperated glare. “Your philosophy ain’t helping quench my thirst, unfortunately.”
Malik chuckled, reaching for two stones. He tossed them toward Siddharth—one small and sharp, the other slightly bigger and flat.
Siddharth caught them clumsily, staring at them in confusion. “What the hell am I
supposed to do with these?”
Malik smirked. “Two things, actually. If you know how to climb a tree, you can pluck a fresh coconut and break it open. If you don’t—” he gestured toward the ground with a knowing look, “—then maybe break open the coconut that was given to you by the Almighty.”
Siddharth frowned. “When the hell did the Almighty give me a coconut?”
Malik laughed. “You’re a thankless brat, you know that?” He pointed at the spot where Siddharth had been lying just minutes ago. “You forgot the coconut that nearly crushed your head?”
After ripping open three coconuts and gulping down their sweet water, Siddharth sat back, finally feeling a little human again. His stomach wasn’t full, but at least the unbearable thirst was gone. He watched as Malik continued stacking the dry leaves, effortlessly scraping bits of coconut flesh with his teeth.
“So… what’s the plan for lunch?” Siddharth asked, stretching his legs.
Malik didn’t even pause. “For today, we shall have chicken roasted in honey, tossed with almonds, thyme, parsley, and olive oil,” he said, his tone completely serious.
For the first time that day, Siddharth grinned. “Oh, come on, man. Seriously. What’s for lunch?”
Malik looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Did you hear the rooster croaking earlier?”
Siddharth frowned, thinking back. “Yeah… I thought it was part of my dream.”
Malik smirked. “Nope. It’s real. Very real. Unfortunately, today’s going to be its last day.”
“And what about fire?” Siddharth asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Well, we need to make one,” Malik replied nonchalantly.
“Make one?” Siddharth repeated, as if the idea itself was absurd.
“Yes. Unless you’d rather eat your chicken raw.” Malik smirked. “If we can’t get a fire going, we’ll have no choice but to enjoy some chicken sushi.”
Siddharth wrinkled his nose. “Isn’t sushi made of raw fish?”
“Of course,” Malik said, picking up two dry sticks. “I just haven’t found time to come up with a fancy name for raw chicken. Maybe I will—after my stomach is full.”
Without another word, he began rubbing the sticks together vigorously, his movements growing faster by the second.
Siddharth watched him with a mix of fascination and doubt. “Have you ever actually made fire with sticks before?”
“Nope. Never.” Malik didn’t even look up. “But I did watch Tom Hanks do it in Cast Away a long time ago. And honestly, our situation isn’t much different—except, of course, there’s two of us instead of one… and we’ve got a rooster and a goat for company on this bloody island.”
His hands kept moving, determination flickering in his eyes.
“And what about tomorrow?” Siddharth asked.
“Tomorrow what?” Malik replied, still focused on the sticks in his hands.
“I mean… tomorrow’s lunch?” Siddharth asked, his tone almost innocent.
Malik froze mid-motion. He slowly looked up, his eyes narrowing. “You seem to have really settled into this damn place already,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “We need to find a way out of here.”
Then, as if snapping back to reality, he returned to rubbing the sticks—this time with even more vigor. “But… if we don’t get out,” he added dryly, “that depends entirely on the life span of the goat that’s grazing.”
Before Siddharth could respond, a wisp of smoke curled up from the sticks. His eyes widened. “Wait… is that…?”
“Quick!” Malik said, his voice urgent.
Siddharth scrambled to grab some dry coconut fibre and tossed it onto the smoldering embers. Both of them bent down, their faces inches from the tiny flame, and blew softly.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then—voilà!—a bright red ember flared up, licking at the fibres hungrily. In moments, the first flames of their survival flickered to life.
They exchanged a look. For the first time, amidst all the confusion, panic, and exhaustion—something felt possible.
The rooster was gone. The goat was gone.
All that remained of their once lively island companions were two pairs of goat trotters, slowly smoking over the fire—the same fire they had ignited a week ago and managed to keep alive ever since.
Siddharth chewed on the tough, charred meat, his thoughts heavy. “What next?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.
Malik took his time before answering, his incisors tearing into the sinewy flesh. “Mmm… we either survive on coconuts or try our luck at fishing.”
Siddharth nodded, but another thought struck him. “What about crabs?”
Malik instantly pulled a face. “Three problems with that,” he said, holding up three fingers.
“One—I’m shit scared of their claws. Two—I’m allergic to crabs. And three—I have no idea which parts to eat and which to throw away.” He glanced at Siddharth. “You ever eaten crabs before?”
Siddharth shook his head. “No, not really. And honestly, I don’t think I could catch one even if I wanted to.” He exhaled, tossing the bone from his trotter into the sea. “For now… coconuts and fish sound good enough.”
Siddharth and Malik lay under the swaying coconut trees, both staring at the vast expanse of stars in complete silence.
The waves had softened, their rhythmic crashing against the shore now more of a lullaby than a force of nature. The cold breeze whispered through the trees, cradling them, as if cleansing them of all the burdens and miseries life had thrust upon them since birth. For the first time in what felt like eternity, they felt free. No memories of the past. No hopes for the future. Just now.
Time stood still tonight, especially after devouring the last bits of the goat trotters.
Siddharth exhaled deeply, his body sinking further into the sand. “No pep talks or philosophy tonight?” he murmured, still gazing at the endless night sky.
Just as Malik was about to reply—
“Moooooo.”
The low, unmistakable sound of a cow filled the air.
Siddharth shot up. “What the fuck?” he yelled, his heart slamming against his ribs.
Malik was already on his feet, tightening his loincloth. His eyes were wide, alert. “Did that sound like…?”
Siddharth nodded furiously. “A cow?! Here?!”
They stared at each other for a second before Malik muttered, “This island is getting weirder by the day.”
“Follow me,” Malik said urgently, already breaking into a sprint toward the sound.
Siddharth didn’t hesitate. He ran after him, feet sinking into the soft sand before hitting uneven ground. The night was dark, the crescent moon barely offering any light. Branches scratched their arms and legs as they pushed through dense shrubs, their breaths heavy with both exhaustion and anticipation.
Then they saw it.
A white cow, standing still, grazing meditatively on the shrubs. It looked peaceful, unbothered by their intrusion. But what caught their attention even more was the rope tied around its neck.
Malik slowed down, Siddharth right beside him. Both of them inched closer, their eyes locked onto the animal.
The cow didn’t react. It remained perfectly still, chewing lazily, as if their presence meant nothing.
Malik reached out carefully, fingers brushing against the rope. But the moment he tugged at it—
He froze.
Siddharth saw the change in Malik’s face. “What?” he whispered.
Malik swallowed, his grip tightening on the rope. “The other end of the rope…” he muttered.
Siddharth followed his gaze—and felt his stomach drop.
Lying there on the ground, at the end of the rope, was an old man.
He was naked, his frail body stretched out on the cold earth, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The only thing on him was a single white cross-thread draped over his shoulder.
For a moment, neither Siddharth nor Malik spoke.
The cow kept chewing. The waves crashed in the distance. The night felt heavier than ever.
“Who the fuck is he now?” Siddharth hissed, his voice laced with panic. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the frail, unconscious man lying on the ground.
Malik didn’t answer immediately. He crouched down, studying the old man’s face in the dim moonlight. “No idea,” he muttered. “But the real question is—what the hell happened to his bloody loincloth?”
Siddharth shot him a look. “That’s your biggest concern right now?”
Malik shrugged. “I mean, yeah. It’s one thing to be stranded on an island. It’s another to end up naked on one.”
Without another word, Malik grabbed the old man and hoisted him onto his shoulder, grunting under the weight. “Let’s go.”
Siddharth hesitated before taking hold of the cow’s rope. The animal barely acknowledged him, still chewing, its eyes half-lidded with complete indifference to the chaos around it.
With Malik walking ahead, the old man slumped over his back, Siddharth followed, dragging the cow along.
Every few minutes, he glanced over his shoulder—not just to check on the cow, but to make sure nothing else was following them.
All four of them—Siddharth, Malik, the cow, and the unconscious old man—finally reached their makeshift camp near the fire.
Malik carefully laid the old man down on the leaf bed he had originally made for himself. The flames crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the old man’s frail, motionless body.
Now, in the firelight, they could finally see him clearly.
His skin was wrinkled and sunburnt, his ribs slightly visible beneath his thin frame. The white cross-thread draped over his shoulder was the only thing covering him, and it did little to protect what little dignity he had left.
Meanwhile, Siddharth tied the cow to a nearby tree and placed a few coconut pieces in front of her. The animal let out a small huff and immediately started munching, completely content.
Siddharth, however, was far from relaxed. His eyes flickered between the old man and Malik. “Is he… is he going to die?”
Malik exhaled, still looking at the naked figure with evident discomfort. “Even if he did, we cannot eat him.”
Siddharth groaned. “Dude, seriously?”
Malik ignored him. Something was still bothering him. He stood up abruptly. “Hang on,” he muttered.
“Where the hell are you going?” Siddharth asked, suddenly feeling uneasy.
“I need to find something I threw away last week,” Malik said, already stepping away from the fire.
Siddharth shot up. “Wait—where are you going, leaving me alone?”
Malik turned back with a smirk. “Alone?” He gestured at the camp. “You got two people for company. I’m the one going alone.”
And with that, he disappeared into the darkness, leaving Siddharth standing there, staring at an unconscious old man and a very content cow.
Siddharth stood there awkwardly, shifting his gaze between the cow, the old man’s stomach—to make sure he was still breathing—the stars, and the waves.
Anything but the groin area.
He made extra sure that, even by accident, his eyes didn’t wander there.
But as he focused more on the old man, something caught his attention. His right fist was tightly clenched, gripping something. Siddharth leaned in slightly, squinting in the firelight. It was a stone. Smooth, well-shaped, and polished, as if it had been deliberately carved or worn down over time.
Before he could examine it further—
“Here you go!”
Malik’s voice broke the silence as he barged back into the camp, carrying something in his hands.
“Hold this,” he said, shoving a bundle into Siddharth’s arms.
Siddharth looked down. Goat skin.
Malik wasted no time. He dropped to his knees beside the old man, lifting his frail waist off the leaf bed. “Alright, place it under him,” he instructed.
Siddharth hesitated for half a second before obeying.
With practiced efficiency, Malik wrapped the goat skin around the old man’s waist, securing it firmly.
Only then did he exhale in relief. “Now we can talk,” he said, dusting off his hands.
“Break some coconuts,” Malik instructed, his voice calm but firm.
As he settled down, placing the old man’s head gently on his lap, Siddharth immediately got to work. He grabbed two coconuts, smashed them open, and handed them over.
Malik held the old man’s head steady and carefully poured the coconut water into his mouth.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—gulp.
Siddharth’s eyes widened. “He’s drinking it!”
Malik nodded, focused, and continued to feed him. The old man’s throat moved with each sip, and soon his eyelids began to flicker—a faint but unmistakable sign of life.
They exchanged a glance. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
After finishing two coconuts, Malik rested the old man’s head back onto the leaf bed, adjusting it lightly. He sat there for a moment, watching the man’s slow, steady breaths.
Then, stretching his arms, he exhaled. “Let’s get some shut-eye. We have no idea what tomorrow holds for us.”
Without waiting for a response, he stood up and made his way toward his usual sleeping spot. Siddharth hesitated, glancing once more at the old man and the cow before finally following him.
They lay there once again beneath the starry sky, the crescent moon casting its quiet glow upon their exhausted bodies.
Tonight had been an adventure—one they hadn’t signed up for, but one that had unfolded nonetheless.
Tomorrow, their little team had two more members to care for: an unconscious old man and a cow who seemed far too content for the madness surrounding them.
Malik let out a small chuckle, his eyes still fixed on the stars. “Remember your ‘What’s next?’ question?” he mused. “Well, tomorrow, you get milk, curds, and butter.”
Siddharth exhaled, stretching his arms. “Mmm.”
A long pause hung between them, the sound of the waves lulling them into stillness.
Then, Siddharth’s voice cut through the night. “Did you notice that stone the old man was holding? What was it?”
Silence.
Siddharth turned his head.
Malik was already snoring—loud, deep, and completely unbothered.
Siddharth sighed. “Figures,” he muttered, closing his eyes.
“Eeeeeeaaaaaaaaa!”
A loud, eerie cry shattered the morning silence.
Malik shot up instantly, his heart pounding. “What now?!” he yelled, rubbing his eyes as he scrambled to his feet.
Siddharth’s breath hitched. For a brief, terrifying moment, his mind conjured the worst possible scenario—a grizzly bear attack.
Then, logic kicked in. Grizzlies don’t live in the tropics, dumbass.
He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to shake off the panic. His eyes darted toward the cow—still there, still chewing, blissfully unaware of whatever had just startled them.
But something was off.
The old man.
His position had changed. He wasn’t sprawled out the way they had left him. Instead, his body was unnaturally stiff, his limbs too still, his chest unmoving.
Like a log.
Siddharth and Malik exchanged a glance before rushing over.
The old man wasn’t breathing.
He wasn’t moving.
Malik crouched down, placing a hesitant hand on the old man’s chest. Cold.
Siddharth swallowed hard. “Is he…?”
Malik didn’t answer immediately. He sat there, staring at the unmoving body. Then, finally, he exhaled.
“Dead.”
“What now?” Siddharth asked, his voice laced with unease.
Malik didn’t hesitate. “We either need to bury him or cremate him.”
Siddharth frowned, glancing around at the sandy terrain. “Cremating sounds like a better idea… we won’t have to dig, and we don’t even have a spade.”
Malik nodded. “Mmm.”
Without another word, he stood up and began gathering wood, dried leaves, and coconut husks—whatever he could find to build a proper pyre.
Siddharth watched for a moment before sighing and joining him.
They placed the old man carefully onto the pyre, arranging the wood and dried leaves around him. The fire was ready to be lit.
But just as Malik was about to strike the first spark, his eyes fell on something—
The polished stone.
Still tightly clenched in the old man’s fist.
Frowning, Malik knelt down and tried to pry the fingers open. But even in death, the grip was impossibly firm.
He looked up at Siddharth.
“I noticed that last night,” Siddharth admitted. “Before I could tell you, you slept off.”
Malik huffed, giving the fist one last attempt before shaking his head. “Must’ve been something this old guy really cared about,” he muttered.
With that, he gave up, letting the stone stay where it was.
Some things, perhaps, were meant to be left untouched.
As the pyre roared, flames crackling and twisting against the morning sky, Malik and Siddharth sat in silence on the beach.
The waves crashed rhythmically against the shore, uncaring, unbothered—just as they had the day before, and just as they would tomorrow.
Siddharth exhaled, watching the fire. “Maybe his only purpose was to gift us a cow,” he mused.
Malik didn’t reply right away. Instead, he stretched out, grabbing a half-broken coconut shell from the sand. Then he stood up. “Hang on,” he muttered, already moving toward the cow tied to the tree.
Siddharth felt a slight sense of relief. At least food won’t be an issue for a while. Milk, curds, and butter—those alone could help them survive for weeks.
But when Malik returned, he didn’t look triumphant. Instead, he slumped down beside Siddharth, his face unreadable. Then, without a word, he flung the coconut shell into the sea.
Siddharth’s stomach tightened. “What happened?” he asked, his voice cautious.
Malik let out a long sigh. “The cow isn’t a milking cow.”
Siddharth blinked. “What does that even mean? All cows give milk! How come this one doesn’t?”
Malik ran a hand through his hair, trying to find a way to explain. “They don’t milk forever,” he said finally. “At some point, they just… stop.”
Siddharth stared at him, his jaw tightening. “So you’re saying we’re stuck on this godforsaken island with a useless cow?”
Malik groaned, lying back on the sand. “Well… useless for now,” he muttered, staring at the sky.
Siddharth turned to look at the cow.
There she was, standing calmly, chewing endlessly. She didn’t care. She wasn’t concerned. She just kept chewing, as if none of this was her problem.
The night settled over the island, wrapping the duo in darkness and the familiar lull of crashing waves.
Coconut water and scraps of coconut flesh had kept them alive for the day, but hunger gnawed at Siddharth’s stomach. They had tried to catch fish—nothing. Not a single one had washed ashore.
Lying under the vast, indifferent sky, Siddharth’s mind buzzed with questions. Too many questions. And no answers.
After a moment of hesitation, he finally broke the silence.
“Malik… what was that stone the old man was holding?”
Malik didn’t respond.
Siddharth frowned and continued, “And why was he grazing a non-milking cow? He could have easily killed it and eaten it. Maybe that would’ve helped him survive a few more days?”
Still, silence.
Siddharth turned his head. “Malik… are you even awake?”
A long pause. Then, finally, Malik’s voice came through the darkness. “Yeah, I’m awake.”
Another pause. Then—
“I need to meditate on them.”
Siddharth blinked. “Meditate? Why the hell would you need to meditate?”
Malik exhaled, stretching out. “Like Gautama Buddha said—the answers lie within. I need to dwell deep inside me to figure them out.”
And just like that—he fell into deep sleep.
Siddharth sighed, staring up at the stars.
“Unbelievable.”
The pyre had burned to nothing but embers and ash. The waves continued their endless rhythm, whispering against the shore. The trees swayed in a slow, divine dance, as if indifferent to the events of the past days.
Now and then, a coconut fell with a dull thud, marking time in its own way.
Siddharth stirred, rubbing his eyes as he woke to yet another day of survival.
The first thing he saw was Malik—standing near a tree, carefully stretching and drying the cow’s skin on a thick branch.
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