This is a surrealistic piece of raw writing. This subconscious column has no relation to reality—read it as mere fiction.

Was it a dream or reality? I don’t remember. Was it day or night? I have no idea. Was it truth or lie? I don’t know. It was neither night nor day—there was a faint darkness. I saw that there were beheaded people everywhere. The whole city was of the beheaded. Hands and feet worked, but the compartments of seeing, hearing, and thinking were empty. The person sitting on the highest place in the city was the first to be beheaded. He had played an important role in creating the system of the city and bringing in new rulers, but when it was decided that no one would walk with their head held high, then how could his head remain safe? He still resides at the high place, but now he is headless. As for his body, it would disappear with just one strike.

With half-open eyes, what do I see? The city’s traffic is flowing. A strange spell—that the drivers of vehicles are also beheaded, and the pedestrians also have no heads. Only bodies are moving forward. I wonder: how is all this running without brains? I look into the city’s assembly, and there too, all are beheaded. Speeches are being made in the house, debates are happening, fights are going on—everything is happening, but decisions are not being made. The beheaded members of the assembly are well-dressed; they produce loud sounds from their chests, but they cannot make decisions. Decisions come from somewhere else; they are only acted upon.

I thought perhaps the city’s cabinet and government make these decisions. There must be heads there. This thought took me to the cabinet meeting.

There too, all were beheaded, sitting together giving suggestions to each other. The city’s ruler sat in the middle, taking opinions from beheaded ministers on various matters. I felt that this must be the place where all the decisions of the city are made, so I started watching the cabinet proceedings intently. But soon I realized that the cabinet does deliberate, but does not decide. I understood that the cabinet does not impose decisions on others—perhaps the administration makes decisions on its own, according to the cabinet’s thinking. In the dream, I roamed the government offices, peeked into departments—everywhere beheaded were sitting, all waiting for decisions to come from elsewhere. The beheaded knew they were not to make decisions, only to implement them. In other words, the beheaded are merely people of action, and this city is only a city of action. There is no trace of knowledge, consciousness, or awareness here.

The person sitting on the high hilltop of the city was cheerful and content, for he had played a key role in settling this city and bringing a new system. But he turned out unfamiliar with the principles of the beheaded city. The most important principle of the beheaded city—its red line—is that the beheaded have full freedom to expand their stomachs, but whoever dares grow nails is not forgiven! The one on the high place failed to understand this and grew nails. Immediately, his speech, dress, and freedoms were restricted. His own staff became helpless—all their heads were chopped off, and a headed one was sent there. Now the system of the high place does not run without a headed person. In the past, when the nail-growing wasn’t noticed, the one on the high place had once clearly written to the wall-country: “We don’t need white elephants, we want to walk with you.” At that time, his head was safe, but the message stuck in the throat, the message was blocked, and nail-checking was ordered. Then it was also said that the schedule of the high-place person was flawed—he stays awake at night and sleeps during the day. His nails were, of course, cut the very next day, and then he too was made beheaded. Even after beheading, he remains intolerable because there’s a fear his nails might regrow tomorrow.

The head of the second city government is an experienced beheaded. Despite having no head, instead of a head, he bends his whole body. He is so experienced that he got his nails uprooted from the roots so that neither nails grow nor any complaints arise. But a charge sheet is also being prepared against this beheaded government. The allegation is that this headless government failed to inform the headless public about the blessings and virtues of the system. Those with safe heads expect that this government will neither let anyone know they are beheaded nor reveal anything about nails. This city government is expected to bring all beheaded into its fold, say “sir-ji” to them, and thus flute of peace will play in the city. But among these beheaded there is a strange awkward tradition: despite being headless, they rise on tiptoes and declare themselves rebels.

The heads are already chopped—now they’re after the heels. These foolish anarchists want to bring revolution through their heels. With heels, you become visible, but the beheaded think: if heels are intact, rebellion is still possible. If nails grow, they will scratch somewhere!

With sleepy eyes, I saw that this city felt like Ibn Ziyad’s Kufa. Ibn Ziyad spoke of the heads of Kufans boiling, and thus Kufa became subdued. In Kufa, heads weren’t chopped, they were bowed. But in my dream, I saw that in my city, the people were all beheaded—only the decision-makers had heads, they made the decisions and ran the city. The beheaded were so foolish that they had no wisdom before being beheaded, nor now. The beheaded are a group of mindless fools who think that if nails regrow, everything will change. But they should understand that just growing nails doesn’t bring back heads. First, there must be a collective decision to stay united. Those who don’t live with reconciliation get their heads chopped, while in the world, those who walk and lead with wisdom keep their heads safe.

Suddenly, in the dream, I saw my own head was also chopped. I too was beheaded, and like other beheaded, not a drop of blood was flowing. Blood flows only if there’s some left. Like other beheaded, my intellect was also gone—I couldn’t hear, see, or smell. My arms were intact but paralyzed, and these arms had been tested many times—they were of no danger. Nails had emerged, but nails can also be scraped. The one on the highest city hill is also under pressure, and so is this lowly beheaded—indeed, all the beheaded are under pressure. No nail has the strength to even scratch someone.

The last scene of the dream I barely remember: first, the one on the hilltop was toppled, then the experienced ruler of the city also went. Those with intact heads took their places. Suddenly, fog came in the dream, rain fell, lightning flashed—and the nails of the beheaded had grown. On their necks, instead of heads, was blood. Heels were raised. It felt as if the circle was breaking. Despite beheading, those with intact heads cannot run the city. Eventually, they need the beheaded again. Cities are not built by beheading—they flourish by giving heads their freedom. Many experiments have already taken place in this city—now only the body remains to be chopped. Someone please save that.

Suddenly I woke up—and everything turned out to be a delusion. The city was safe, and the heads were too.