XYZT, 221–240


Sistan-Baluchestan: Bugsam Dasies


The Prince lay back, and together we stared over at the musician. The music was separating the room into pockets of space whose divisions and folds I followed until I could no longer focus. I closed my eyes. Each time I opened them, the man was still playing the pipes, but every time the music was different,
although the song continued uninterrupted.

‘Donali is to wake up the herd. It is finally time,’ the Prince said.…