THE PROOF

By Zeeshan Mahmud

Nestled in the heart of the African jungle, the bungalow emerged like a hidden gem amidst the lush vegetation. Dense foliage surrounded the quaint building and its vibrant greenery creating a harmonious dance with the whispers of the wind. Towering trees, adorned with exotic blossoms, cast playful shadows upon the rustic structure. The air had a vibrato of the shrieks of arcane prehistoric birds to the solitary meditation of hornbills and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures in the underbrush. Vines adorned the bungalow's exterior, nature's attempt to reclaim the man-made intrusion into its domain. Time seemed to hold its breath, allowing this snapshot of wilderness and civilization to coexist in a delicate balance, a scene frozen in a timeless embrace of hitherto unknown circa.

Mujunga, a figure of scholarly grace, invited Dr. Schiller for a Sunday brunch. The invitation, conveyed with an air of intellectual camaraderie, hinted at the warmth of their mentor-student relationship. Despite the difference in terms of academic pedigree, they were more than colleagues; they were good friends.

Obiyowe poured tea into delicate cups, the fragrant aroma mingling with the crisp jungle air. "Quite a tranquil setting, isn't it, Dr. Schiller?"

Dr. Schiller, sipping his tea, nodded in agreement. "Indeed, Obiyowe. It's a welcome departure from the bustling academia."

Obiyowe chuckled. "Well, I find the Zen helps me focus on my work. Speaking of which, have you had a chance to review my latest findings on combinatorics?"

Dr. Schiller, a twinkle in his eye, replied, "Ah, your work always brings a fresh perspective. It's like solving a puzzle within the puzzle of nature itself."

Their conversation ebbed and flowed, seamlessly blending the intellectual with the personal, as the jungle murmured its timeless secrets around them.

As the conversation between Obiyowe and Dr. Schiller continued a note of caution arose. Obiyowe, a gracious host, offered a plate of assorted nuts, including the a kola nut. Dr. Schiller, with a polite smile, declined the temptation as he was allergic to kola nuts.

"Come, my friend. I have something to show you." Obiyowe invited him in.

As Obiyowe ushered Dr. Schiller into the bungalow, the atmosphere shifted from the dappled sunlight outside to a cozy interior adorned with African artifacts. The warm hues of mahogany cabinet and ottoman complemented woven tapestries that adorned the walls.

A rustic wooden counter had a half-cut plantain. The well-worn kitchen knife, stationed beside the task at hand, hinted at the culinary arts that paralleled Obiyowe's mathematical prowess.

Obiyowe, with a glint of anticipation in his eyes, handed Dr. Schiller a meticulous stack of papers. The proof was a culmination of Obiyowe's tireless endeavors. As Dr. Schiller delved into the intricacies laid bare on the pages, his expression changed from to curiosity, then mild astonishment, and finally, full-blown enthusiasm.

“I like what you did with the Weyl symmetry.” He raised his glasses.

Then a sinister idea crossed his mind. Without a warning, the serene ambiance shattered as Dr. Schiller, succumbing to an unforeseen impulse, seized the kitchen knife left idle on the counter. Four swift and brutal stabs pierced the air, cutting through the intellectual ambiance of the bungalow and leaving an indelible mark on the once-hospitable space.

As the realization of his actions slowly set in, Dr. Schiller stood, trembling, amid the aftermath of the impulsive violence. The weight of what he had done hung in the air as the stacks of papers scattered on floor. Dr. Schiller gathered the papers.

"What's done is done," he muttered.

Fumbling in the fading light, Dr. Schiller searched for the key to the Jeep. His gaze fell upon a wooden plate adorned with a giraffe head as a handle.

After driving for few miles, the jeep suddenly sputtered to a stop. Clean getaway it wasn’t. Dr. Schiller, now on foot, ventured into the woods, guided the shadows cast by the towering tree leaving him vulnerable to the unfamiliar terrain.

Descending into a ravine, the jungle's secrets became more palpable. The descent was treacherous, and Dr. Schiller navigated to the uneven terrain with cautious steps. The air thickened with the scent of damp earth as the ravine embraced him, providing both refuge and isolation from the jungle's watchful eyes.

As the night unfolded, the relentless buzz of mosquitoes became a torment, their insistent hum mingling with the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. Dr. Schiller sought refuge on a sturdy shea tree branch.

Having somehow survived atop, at dawn - at the first glint of sunlight- Dr. Schiller realized the ominous truth—he had contracted malaria. He urgently needed medical aid.

With each step, the jungle beccame a labyrinth, and Dr. Schiller, guided by an innate sense of direction, walked southwest. After a torrid trek to the point of breakdown carrying a crucifix of guilt, he breathed a sigh of relief finally spying the hospital.

“You look like sh-t.” Nurse Pukano commented. “What happened?”

The professor - still carrying his stack of papers- handwaved concocting a conjecture upon a false premise how he got lost after bandits hijacked his car.

The nurses after a brief collaboration with their higher-ups decided to administer an antimalarial injection. But it made the matter worse.

Soon the intelligent professor himself figured out the cause! This particular vaccine variant had a reaction to his allergy. He was allergic a particular enzyme present in kola nut that was also present in this vaccine.

“Unfortunately, we have to take you to a better hospital. This small hospital is no good ey yeah? Do you not worry. We will call a kombi and he take you to the nearest medical center.”

Almost like a cue of a movie as soon as she finished, a kombi emerged from the wilderness. Dr. Schiller, weak but determined, climbed aboard, greeted by a well-built driver. A boxer's build, the giant eyed him with both curiosity and suspicion.

Small talk ensued, and in the course of the conversation, Dr. Schiller mentioned his vocation— a professor of mathematics. The admission raised an eyebrow from the driver, who, despite the precarious situation, remained vigilant, his gaze intermittently flickering towards the stack of papers clutched tightly by Dr. Schiller.

A sudden pitstop for relief offered a brief respite. The driver stepped out to relieve himself. The tantalizing aroma of mango filled the air, and as the driver contemplated a purchase, an unsettling feeling gripped him.

The fruit seller could not be seen. In a swift and desperate move, the driver casually picked up his knife and concealed it behind him.

He returned and then he looked at the foreigner with deadset gaze. "Tell me! What is in that paper? Why do you guard it so fiercely?"

An ulululation pierced the air as the driver, driven by an enigmatic force, stabbed Dr. Schiller four times in vital organs. The jungle, silent witness to this macabre dance, carried the echoes of agony within its dense foliage. The stolen proof now lied on the ground tainted with blood and entwined within the vines and shrieks of untamed African wilderness.

__________________________

Legend has it no one knew where the papers went or what it contained. Some speculate such was the nature of the proof, the professor predicted the outcome and hence came up with an equation that portended the end. By nature, the proof was failsafe by design.

As soon as the proof was stolen, it would lead to a cascade of events. The equation takes into account how the variable of mileage in gas tank of the Jeep played a role and how certain liter of gasoline would compel the car to break down at a distance of 20,000 feet at precisely the middle of a highway where it leads to a ravine known for malarial disease which would cause the person to end up in a hospital and if he is unlucky to have a genetic allergy he would suffer a far fierce reaction which would mean he would have to be taken to better hospital and since only criminals undertook the job of transportation in a kombi as no one wanted to be near malaria patient that criminals’ greed would eventually end the perpetrator’s life in a bitter irony of cosmic fate. Karma.

It is said for the first time and a while Obiyowe figured out the equation to karma and his abstract algebraic template could be applied to any real life application in the world where the same thing occurs again and again should one violate the rule and law of Nature.