Foreign lord holds the helm as Hayatullah breathed his last in desert
The desert burned beneath a blazing mid-summer sun. It hung overhead like an enormous ball of fire, as though it could scorch everything in sight into ashes. In every direction stretched endless grey sand, shimmering under the relentless heat. There were no trees, no shade, no homes—nothing to suggest that life had ever existed there. Far ahead, a glimmer on the horizon promised water. But the closer one walked, the clearer it became that it was nothing more than another trick of the desert, another ribbon of sand masquerading as hope.
