How long had it been since I had seen the beaming sun? Four or five weeks ago, I couldn’t tell. All that was clearest to me was the bleak nothingness wherein I wasted daily. If years had passed, it wouldn’t be a surprise to me. I had lost track of time, and time held no memory of me any longer. So, it could have been days, months, or years since I had been here: this stockade, this void, this lightlessness. All I ever tasted of freedom these past infinite-odd days, months, or years had been when the door was opened a crack, and my bowl of frowsy soup pushed in. From what I could make of hunger pangs, I could calculate that I was only served a meal once a day. I chose to believe that was the closest I could come to telling time. However, once, I had almost died waiting for a meal. It had to have been up to a week that the meal never came. Possibly, they would have concluded it was best I starved to death. I had laughed because I knew hunger wouldn’t be the end of me. Truly, a lot of things ate into the framework of my life, intent on leaving nothing for me, but hunger was the bottommost on the list. The retribution I was served was just enough for my absolute waste, but even more envenomed was the guilt that spread across my heart. Guilt was slow in its pace, but it killed every bit of me. I was paid what I deserved. If I were allowed to die in this blackness, it would be good riddance. The lawfulness out there needed not be corrupted by me anymore. If I were taken out and served a cruel death — hanged on a tree, pulled around the village by a horse, stoned, set ablaze, or speared on all sides by a handful of soldiers and allowed to bleed till it came to an end, just as was befitting an evil like myself — then, that would be even better! All I wanted was to take this guilt off. If there was to be any beginning to the story of what I have made of this thing called life, it would be when I had completed my first assignment — I was to snatch a purse and flee! Master had made it so easy with his excellent explanations. He had told me that all I had to do was to have faith in the swiftness of my hands. He had taken me to the market that fateful, heated noon and shown me the plump woman whose purse was to be taken. He had asked me to walk boldly through the dirt path and get to the store where the plump woman stood, haggling over the price of fruits she wanted to buy. Master had instructed that once I laid my hands on the purse, I should run as fast as I could. I did as Master bade, walked down the path with confidence, and as the plump woman still tried to save herself some cost, I pulled at the purse in her hands and hurried off to the south, through a dark alleyway. I could hear the woman scream the word ‘Thief!’ behind me, but I kept running as south as my legs could get. I knew she was so fat that she wouldn’t come after me. I could imagine the huge smile on Master’s face as he had watched me execute my first robbery. I became a fulfilled seven-year-old stooge that day. I began to look forward to more robberies and I soon became Master’s favourite. He wouldn’t give the other boys a job without putting me in charge. All of us, a gang of eight men, skilled in a number of vices, were devout followers of Master. We knew we were indebted to him. He had picked most of us from all sorts of desolations where parents had abandoned us. I was one of those infants with just enough luck to have been spotted by Master in a ranch. He oft told me the story. Only two among us had run away from home and pleaded with Master to make them useful when they met him. He took us all under his roof and became every shade of the persons we needed in our lives — a father, a friend, a teacher, a judge; Master was everything. When Master died, the world seemed to have rolled out of state. However, we knew better than allowing the sense of loss overwhelm us. We knew that Master wouldn’t have us whining about how difficult life was in his absence. We decided to console ourselves with his words: Does it have worth? Lay your hands on it right away! We resolved we would protect everything Master lived for, and that began by deciding who would step into Master’s shoes. Despite being the youngest, I began to lead the gang because everyone thought that would have been Master’s will if death had been so kind to allow him decide. Master shouldn’t have died so early. He shouldn’t have died so healthy. Death came by night and stole him away. We never got to hear him charge us to theft when the morning broke. Truly, Master’s shoes were a perfect fit for me. Giving orders came natural to me. We grew stronger after we began taking in more helpless boys. The poor urchins did the small thefts on the streets while we, the older ones, invaded villages, ransacking and plundering. Not too long afterwards, we became infamous, and there was a price for our heads. I secured a hideout for the gang. We held rendezvouses before every operation, and it was mostly never a failure. We did suffer loss after every one of the invasions on villages. Soldiers always came after us. Whoever they captured, they handed a slow death. It didn’t matter, I oft told the boys. What mattered was that