The Vengeance
It was just another morning for Taufiq bhai. For others in the community it was a special weekly event. It was the auspicious day of jumma. Taufiq bhai was feeling too lazy to get out of his “bed” – a chaotic arrangement of rugs and rags on mud plastered floor in the backyard of his two room “house”. Like the other houses of the mohallah, his house too was a typical muslim house – a couple of rooms enclosed within a rough, partially broken boundary wall and a clumsy jute curtain thrown carelessly at the entrance. A few goats tied in the verandah and a dozen chickens all over the place.
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
The morning azaan had commenced.
“Damn this rogue. Can’t he let me sleep a little more?” Taufiq bhai was not at all pleased with the shrieking high pitched voice of Munne khan – the son of “khoosat” imam or “the diseased” imam – as he was fondly called by many. It was not because of his habit of waking people up so early that he was hated so much but because of his liaisons with the corrupt politicians and his dirty ways of luring and convincing people away to vote for “hand” or “cycle” or “elephant” or any other symbol during the elections. The rumour said that he demanded thousands of rupees for a single vote from the mohallah.
“L’aa-i-l’aaaaha i’llaaaah…… muhammaad-ul-rasooool allaaaah…….”
-
The azaan was not stopping. Neither was it supposed to.
“May Allah curse you and your entire family, you son of the diseased one… damn you!” Taufiq bahi stood up stretching his arms in air and despair. Although he seemed quite disturbed by the morning call yet he had no choice but to get ready and head towards the Lal masjid before it was too late and before the sun showed up. Afterall, it was the day of Jumma. He quickly wore his baniyaan, tied up his tehmat, got into his chappals and grabbed his white prayer cap before rushing towards the street in anger.
Even in the early morning hours the narrow cobbled street was as crowded as it got during the day. Everybody was rushing towards the masjid - the old and the young, fathers and sons, friends and foes, the rich and the poor – everybody. It was indeed the day of jumma. One could hear all sorts of sounds - people talking to each other, children laughing, old men coughing and boys whispering. It seemed like a piece of fast bollywood number with the chattering of chappals rendering a rhythm to the whole thing.
As Taufiq bhai approached the masjid, the voice of Munne khan in the old disfigured loudspeaker got stronger and stronger. He was reciting the same old verses from the Quran which Taufiq bhai had been listening for forty, maybe, fifty years altogether, since his childhood – the verses in Arabic he could hardly understand. But surprisingly Munne Khan’s voice was fresh and young and his pronunciation profound, unlike the khoosat imam, though he shrieked twice as much as his father. It was for the first time that Munne was guiding the jumma prayers since his homecoming. Taufiq bhai had heard that he was a bright lad and that is why he could make it to Deoband to graduate as a maulvi. They said it was after years that a maulvi from Agra had graduated from Deoband. Taufiq bhai though knew in his heart that it was more of his father’s influence and precious contacts with a bonus of his capability to pay the hefty donations, that had helped Munne graduate in this fancy manner. A passing thought ran through his mind – could he ever do the same for any of his sons? The answer was simple.
Lal Masjid could now be seen clearly on the opposite side of Chauranga road, where Taufiq bhai had finally reached through the snaking narrow brick lane of the mohallah. It was one of the busiest roads of Agra and housed numerous shops and small workshops on the either side. Taufiq bhai too worked in one of these auto workshops. He was lucky enough to work with Naveen bhai, a Hindu. Naveen bhai’s workshop was quite renowned and there was no dearth of work. And Naveen bhai himself was a nice man. He would never shout at anyone and was gentle enough to grant paid leaves to his workers, nearly all of them Muslims, during the holy month of ramzaan. But most importantly, he had a special regard for Taufiq bhai given their long association and good faith. Taufiq bhai paused for a minute and looked around at the road. The market was closed and the road was choked with hundreds of heads, all covered in white circular prayer caps. There were some cows lying beside the garbage heaps munching their find. Loudspeaker was at its worst and it had started irritating Taufiq bhai even more.
“May Allah curse you, the evil one!” he whispered, maybe a bit loudly.
-
“Whom are you cursing Taufiq bhai?” A soft sarcastic voice came from behind.
Damn! Was he overheard?
Taufiq bhai turned around and found wicked Naseem, his neighbour grinning at him.
“Umm… nobody Naseem bhai…..just these cows….the beasts are blocking the way of our brethren...” Taufiq bhai made it up quickly.
“Hahahaha… you are absolutely right my brother…” Naseem laughed back.
“I wonder why are these bloody cows sitting here when they can serve the appetite of our entire mohallah for a week? Isn’t it stupid to watch your dinner up so close and still not have the power to eat it?” Naseem was serious this time.
“But isn’t it illegal to kill a cow?” Taufiq bhai retaliated.
“Arrrgh! Who made these laws? These kaafirs? I don’t abide to these stupid laws. I only believe in the laws of Quran Sharif. You know, we regularly make a cow halaal at my place. What does it take? Just a hundred rupee note for that Hindu constable? And it’s worth it my brother. You don’t know what sort of treat you are missing.” Naseem walked on.
Taufiq bhai stood, thinking.
“No… no... it’s not worth it…” He thought. “Why upset the Hindus when we can survive over the meat of buffalo? I am sure it tastes the same…. and this Naseem? He is an evil man…. Everybody knows this isn’t it?” He muttered in a consoling tone.
The sun had started shining brightly on the masjid, exposing its cheap red colour and un-plastered tall minaret - crowned with a big old shrieking loudspeaker. The masjid was small yet powerful and its power reflected not only in the numerous long prayer queues on the Chauranga Road but also in the hearts of the hundreds who had joined in on jumma, as a reassurance of faith, unity and brotherhood. Taufiq bhai too joined the ranks like a drop in the ocean though a bit unwillingly. He never liked this long tiresome ritual.
“L’aa-i-l’aaaaha i’llaaaah…… muhammaad-ul-rasooool allaaaah…….”
-
Munne khan guided the people of faith through the entire ritual of jumma prayers with utmost confidence and serenity. His words were heavy but clear and his voice fresh, as it should have been. He delivered the Arabic verses in such a sophisticated manner that one could have easily passed his speech as an Arab’s. They could feel the depth of faith and honesty in his voice and many a men were so impressed that they imagined it coming straight from the holy prophet himself. Such was an impact of Munne khan on his first day as an imam. Surprisingly, Taufiq bhai too, who would take the jumma prayer as a horrible formality, was mesmerized by Munne khan.
“Peace be upon our prophet Hazrat Muhammad, sallallaaaho-w’aalai-wassallam”
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
As the long ritual of prayers came to an end, it was time for the weekly sermon. Everybody eagerly waited to hear what the new imam had to say on his first day.
“Bismillaah-ur-rahmaan-ar-raheem….”
“Brethren, by the grace of Allah, I have, today – for the first time, an opportunity to speak to you and share the golden words of Quran-e-paak and Hadees. And share with you what our prophet had expected of us when he had bestowed upon us the faith of Islam and the wish of Allah, and also what have we become today. I want to share with you the facts, of which, you are most certainly unaware, for, if you were aware of those, you would not just sit idle in your homes or serve the kaafirs all day, but would unite and fight for your rights – the rights gifted to you by none other than the holy prophet himself through the numerous verses in the holy book.”
Munne khan’s explosive words had already charged up the atmosphere and everybody without exception had their ears fixed on his voice.
“Have you ever thought my brethren, who you really are? Are you a pathan or a husseini? Are you a shia or a sunni? Are you a bareilvi or a dakkhini? Who are you my brother? Lest you are confused, let me remind you – you are nobody, mind me, nobody, except a mussalmaan! And that is because you were born at Allah’s will and so will you die. And if you know this fact then you must also know that Allah has mercy on every mussalmaan and also that if you are not a mussalmaan first, then you are a kaafir, just like many who throng this land of Hindustan today like untamed cattle. And do I need to remind you about the fate of kaafirs, my dear ones?”
Munne khan roared like a lion. The kid was indeed gifted.
“This land of Hindustan that was once ruled by our forefathers has now been taken over by the kaafirs, can’t you see? Can’t you see how these kaafirs, who had been conquered over and destroyed by our mighty Mughal ancestors, have once again stolen the riches and nobility befooling you, using their old filthy ways? If anyone among you has read the holy Quran, he must know what the verse five of the chapter nine says. And because it seems to me that none of you has indeed read our holy book with seriousness, let me quote – then, when the sacred months have passed, slay the kaafirs wherever you find them, and capture them and besiege them, and prepare for them each and every ambush – but if they repent and accept Islam, then leave their way free. Verily, Allah is most forgiving, most merciful”
“L’aa-i-l’aaaaha i’llaaaah…… muhammaad-ul-rasooool allaaaah…….”
“Remember, o my brethren, we exist today because our forefathers fought for our tanzeem, for our Islam, for our honour, for us! It was them who brought this land of kaafirs under Daarul-Islam. It was them who conquered and killed a hundred thousand kaafir kings and showed the way of Islam to their hundred million subjects. It was them who ruled this land for a thousand years. And look what has happened to the might of Islam today. Look!”
“You slave all day for a Hindu baniya who throws some pieces of bread at you and you eat it like a dog. What has come upon you my brethren? What is it that has turned you Mussalmans into cowards of no soul?
Visibly, a wave of anger, disgust and guilt swept through masses and a hundred heads covered with white prayer caps shook in disbelief.
“Do you have a slightest idea what these kaafirs are doing to our people? If no, then let me remind you about the martyrdom of our beloved Baabri masjid. They destroyed it in front of our eyes and what could we do? They killed thousands of our mussalmaan brothers and raped thousands of our mothers and sisters in Gujarat and Kashmir and elsewhere and what could we do? If you can’t hear their cries and can’t feel their pain, you have no right to live! You have no right to live if you don’t have power to avenge. And you will never have power to avenge if you don’t rule this land and believe me brethren, you will never be able to rule this land unless you dream of it, unless you dream of our land, the land of Islam, the land of Mughalstan!!”
Mughalstan! Mughalstan? A brief pause gave way to the whispers of curiosity.
“Yes Mughalstan!!!!”
The voice thundered and words exploded like a killing bolt of lightening.
“Our brothers took Pakistan fifty years back and five years hence, we will take Mughalstan – our destined land! Kashmir, Himachal, Haryana, Dilli, Punjab, UP, Bihar and Bengal will be taken and will be governed by us, in the name of shariya, in the name of Allah, the most merciful. The entire land will belong to us – to our tanzeem. We will connect Pakistan to Bangladesh, inshallah! Once again we will rule this land, bringing an end to our filthy exploitation. None of us shall remain deprived. None of our brother shall be killed by the kaafirs and none of our sister shall weep. And to achieve this, we must unite. We must consolidate our efforts and energies. And if need be we shall kill every single of these treacherous kaafirs for, as we all know, a muslim life is more precious than a million kaafir lives put together. They shall be eliminated sans mercy if they dare touch any of our brother!”
“Don’t worry my fellows, everything is ready and everything has been planned. Accurately.”
“Aameen…”
-
“Aameen…”
-
“Aameen…”
-
Many a fists rose in air. And a thousand angry passionate voices screamed and echoed on the road like an approaching hurricane.
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Mughalstan Zindabaad….”
-
“Mughalstan Zindabaad….”
-
The dream ran through their minds like an English action movie. Their eyes twinkled with zest of revenge and hatred. Many a bodies trembled with excitement and many a souls lost the fear of death. They could smell victory in their numbers and terror in their smiles. They started dispersing quickly repeating the name of the holy prophet, only to come back in far greater numbers, the next jumma.
-
“….how on earth could I be so naïve? Isn’t he absolutely correct? Haven’t these Hindus turned us into beggars? Look at Naveen. He lives in a kothi. And look at me who lives in a jhuggi. I toil all day and he keeps all the profit. And worse, he is a bloody kaafir, born to serve and I am a Mussalmaan, born to rule. Isn’t that an irony! But praises to Allah, this is going to change soon.”
“Naveen bhai, be prepared to pay for your misdeeds because the day is not far when I will have your shop and your kothi and you shall be driven away to hell…hahahahah…”
Taufiq bahi was feeling a new energy in his heart and a new strength in his limbs as he walked chuckling to himself. The passion of youth overtook the aging body. It was a rebirth, or maybe, the real birth.
-
“And you, the sacred one, see you today at Naseem’s place….”
He muttered, smiled sarcastically and greedily… and kicked the cow that had blocked his way.
Atri Joshi
<230320081230>
It was just another morning for Taufiq bhai. For others in the community it was a special weekly event. It was the auspicious day of jumma. Taufiq bhai was feeling too lazy to get out of his “bed” – a chaotic arrangement of rugs and rags on mud plastered floor in the backyard of his two room “house”. Like the other houses of the mohallah, his house too was a typical muslim house – a couple of rooms enclosed within a rough, partially broken boundary wall and a clumsy jute curtain thrown carelessly at the entrance. A few goats tied in the verandah and a dozen chickens all over the place.
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
The morning azaan had commenced.
“Damn this rogue. Can’t he let me sleep a little more?” Taufiq bhai was not at all pleased with the shrieking high pitched voice of Munne khan – the son of “khoosat” imam or “the diseased” imam – as he was fondly called by many. It was not because of his habit of waking people up so early that he was hated so much but because of his liaisons with the corrupt politicians and his dirty ways of luring and convincing people away to vote for “hand” or “cycle” or “elephant” or any other symbol during the elections. The rumour said that he demanded thousands of rupees for a single vote from the mohallah.
“L’aa-i-l’aaaaha i’llaaaah…… muhammaad-ul-rasooool allaaaah…….”
-
The azaan was not stopping. Neither was it supposed to.
“May Allah curse you and your entire family, you son of the diseased one… damn you!” Taufiq bahi stood up stretching his arms in air and despair. Although he seemed quite disturbed by the morning call yet he had no choice but to get ready and head towards the Lal masjid before it was too late and before the sun showed up. Afterall, it was the day of Jumma. He quickly wore his baniyaan, tied up his tehmat, got into his chappals and grabbed his white prayer cap before rushing towards the street in anger.
Even in the early morning hours the narrow cobbled street was as crowded as it got during the day. Everybody was rushing towards the masjid - the old and the young, fathers and sons, friends and foes, the rich and the poor – everybody. It was indeed the day of jumma. One could hear all sorts of sounds - people talking to each other, children laughing, old men coughing and boys whispering. It seemed like a piece of fast bollywood number with the chattering of chappals rendering a rhythm to the whole thing.
As Taufiq bhai approached the masjid, the voice of Munne khan in the old disfigured loudspeaker got stronger and stronger. He was reciting the same old verses from the Quran which Taufiq bhai had been listening for forty, maybe, fifty years altogether, since his childhood – the verses in Arabic he could hardly understand. But surprisingly Munne Khan’s voice was fresh and young and his pronunciation profound, unlike the khoosat imam, though he shrieked twice as much as his father. It was for the first time that Munne was guiding the jumma prayers since his homecoming. Taufiq bhai had heard that he was a bright lad and that is why he could make it to Deoband to graduate as a maulvi. They said it was after years that a maulvi from Agra had graduated from Deoband. Taufiq bhai though knew in his heart that it was more of his father’s influence and precious contacts with a bonus of his capability to pay the hefty donations, that had helped Munne graduate in this fancy manner. A passing thought ran through his mind – could he ever do the same for any of his sons? The answer was simple.
Lal Masjid could now be seen clearly on the opposite side of Chauranga road, where Taufiq bhai had finally reached through the snaking narrow brick lane of the mohallah. It was one of the busiest roads of Agra and housed numerous shops and small workshops on the either side. Taufiq bhai too worked in one of these auto workshops. He was lucky enough to work with Naveen bhai, a Hindu. Naveen bhai’s workshop was quite renowned and there was no dearth of work. And Naveen bhai himself was a nice man. He would never shout at anyone and was gentle enough to grant paid leaves to his workers, nearly all of them Muslims, during the holy month of ramzaan. But most importantly, he had a special regard for Taufiq bhai given their long association and good faith. Taufiq bhai paused for a minute and looked around at the road. The market was closed and the road was choked with hundreds of heads, all covered in white circular prayer caps. There were some cows lying beside the garbage heaps munching their find. Loudspeaker was at its worst and it had started irritating Taufiq bhai even more.
“May Allah curse you, the evil one!” he whispered, maybe a bit loudly.
-
“Whom are you cursing Taufiq bhai?” A soft sarcastic voice came from behind.
Damn! Was he overheard?
Taufiq bhai turned around and found wicked Naseem, his neighbour grinning at him.
“Umm… nobody Naseem bhai…..just these cows….the beasts are blocking the way of our brethren...” Taufiq bhai made it up quickly.
“Hahahaha… you are absolutely right my brother…” Naseem laughed back.
“I wonder why are these bloody cows sitting here when they can serve the appetite of our entire mohallah for a week? Isn’t it stupid to watch your dinner up so close and still not have the power to eat it?” Naseem was serious this time.
“But isn’t it illegal to kill a cow?” Taufiq bhai retaliated.
“Arrrgh! Who made these laws? These kaafirs? I don’t abide to these stupid laws. I only believe in the laws of Quran Sharif. You know, we regularly make a cow halaal at my place. What does it take? Just a hundred rupee note for that Hindu constable? And it’s worth it my brother. You don’t know what sort of treat you are missing.” Naseem walked on.
Taufiq bhai stood, thinking.
“No… no... it’s not worth it…” He thought. “Why upset the Hindus when we can survive over the meat of buffalo? I am sure it tastes the same…. and this Naseem? He is an evil man…. Everybody knows this isn’t it?” He muttered in a consoling tone.
The sun had started shining brightly on the masjid, exposing its cheap red colour and un-plastered tall minaret - crowned with a big old shrieking loudspeaker. The masjid was small yet powerful and its power reflected not only in the numerous long prayer queues on the Chauranga Road but also in the hearts of the hundreds who had joined in on jumma, as a reassurance of faith, unity and brotherhood. Taufiq bhai too joined the ranks like a drop in the ocean though a bit unwillingly. He never liked this long tiresome ritual.
“L’aa-i-l’aaaaha i’llaaaah…… muhammaad-ul-rasooool allaaaah…….”
-
Munne khan guided the people of faith through the entire ritual of jumma prayers with utmost confidence and serenity. His words were heavy but clear and his voice fresh, as it should have been. He delivered the Arabic verses in such a sophisticated manner that one could have easily passed his speech as an Arab’s. They could feel the depth of faith and honesty in his voice and many a men were so impressed that they imagined it coming straight from the holy prophet himself. Such was an impact of Munne khan on his first day as an imam. Surprisingly, Taufiq bhai too, who would take the jumma prayer as a horrible formality, was mesmerized by Munne khan.
“Peace be upon our prophet Hazrat Muhammad, sallallaaaho-w’aalai-wassallam”
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
As the long ritual of prayers came to an end, it was time for the weekly sermon. Everybody eagerly waited to hear what the new imam had to say on his first day.
“Bismillaah-ur-rahmaan-ar-raheem….”
“Brethren, by the grace of Allah, I have, today – for the first time, an opportunity to speak to you and share the golden words of Quran-e-paak and Hadees. And share with you what our prophet had expected of us when he had bestowed upon us the faith of Islam and the wish of Allah, and also what have we become today. I want to share with you the facts, of which, you are most certainly unaware, for, if you were aware of those, you would not just sit idle in your homes or serve the kaafirs all day, but would unite and fight for your rights – the rights gifted to you by none other than the holy prophet himself through the numerous verses in the holy book.”
Munne khan’s explosive words had already charged up the atmosphere and everybody without exception had their ears fixed on his voice.
“Have you ever thought my brethren, who you really are? Are you a pathan or a husseini? Are you a shia or a sunni? Are you a bareilvi or a dakkhini? Who are you my brother? Lest you are confused, let me remind you – you are nobody, mind me, nobody, except a mussalmaan! And that is because you were born at Allah’s will and so will you die. And if you know this fact then you must also know that Allah has mercy on every mussalmaan and also that if you are not a mussalmaan first, then you are a kaafir, just like many who throng this land of Hindustan today like untamed cattle. And do I need to remind you about the fate of kaafirs, my dear ones?”
Munne khan roared like a lion. The kid was indeed gifted.
“This land of Hindustan that was once ruled by our forefathers has now been taken over by the kaafirs, can’t you see? Can’t you see how these kaafirs, who had been conquered over and destroyed by our mighty Mughal ancestors, have once again stolen the riches and nobility befooling you, using their old filthy ways? If anyone among you has read the holy Quran, he must know what the verse five of the chapter nine says. And because it seems to me that none of you has indeed read our holy book with seriousness, let me quote – then, when the sacred months have passed, slay the kaafirs wherever you find them, and capture them and besiege them, and prepare for them each and every ambush – but if they repent and accept Islam, then leave their way free. Verily, Allah is most forgiving, most merciful”
“L’aa-i-l’aaaaha i’llaaaah…… muhammaad-ul-rasooool allaaaah…….”
“Remember, o my brethren, we exist today because our forefathers fought for our tanzeem, for our Islam, for our honour, for us! It was them who brought this land of kaafirs under Daarul-Islam. It was them who conquered and killed a hundred thousand kaafir kings and showed the way of Islam to their hundred million subjects. It was them who ruled this land for a thousand years. And look what has happened to the might of Islam today. Look!”
“You slave all day for a Hindu baniya who throws some pieces of bread at you and you eat it like a dog. What has come upon you my brethren? What is it that has turned you Mussalmans into cowards of no soul?
Visibly, a wave of anger, disgust and guilt swept through masses and a hundred heads covered with white prayer caps shook in disbelief.
“Do you have a slightest idea what these kaafirs are doing to our people? If no, then let me remind you about the martyrdom of our beloved Baabri masjid. They destroyed it in front of our eyes and what could we do? They killed thousands of our mussalmaan brothers and raped thousands of our mothers and sisters in Gujarat and Kashmir and elsewhere and what could we do? If you can’t hear their cries and can’t feel their pain, you have no right to live! You have no right to live if you don’t have power to avenge. And you will never have power to avenge if you don’t rule this land and believe me brethren, you will never be able to rule this land unless you dream of it, unless you dream of our land, the land of Islam, the land of Mughalstan!!”
Mughalstan! Mughalstan? A brief pause gave way to the whispers of curiosity.
“Yes Mughalstan!!!!”
The voice thundered and words exploded like a killing bolt of lightening.
“Our brothers took Pakistan fifty years back and five years hence, we will take Mughalstan – our destined land! Kashmir, Himachal, Haryana, Dilli, Punjab, UP, Bihar and Bengal will be taken and will be governed by us, in the name of shariya, in the name of Allah, the most merciful. The entire land will belong to us – to our tanzeem. We will connect Pakistan to Bangladesh, inshallah! Once again we will rule this land, bringing an end to our filthy exploitation. None of us shall remain deprived. None of our brother shall be killed by the kaafirs and none of our sister shall weep. And to achieve this, we must unite. We must consolidate our efforts and energies. And if need be we shall kill every single of these treacherous kaafirs for, as we all know, a muslim life is more precious than a million kaafir lives put together. They shall be eliminated sans mercy if they dare touch any of our brother!”
“Don’t worry my fellows, everything is ready and everything has been planned. Accurately.”
“Aameen…”
-
“Aameen…”
-
“Aameen…”
-
Many a fists rose in air. And a thousand angry passionate voices screamed and echoed on the road like an approaching hurricane.
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Mughalstan Zindabaad….”
-
“Mughalstan Zindabaad….”
-
The dream ran through their minds like an English action movie. Their eyes twinkled with zest of revenge and hatred. Many a bodies trembled with excitement and many a souls lost the fear of death. They could smell victory in their numbers and terror in their smiles. They started dispersing quickly repeating the name of the holy prophet, only to come back in far greater numbers, the next jumma.
-
“….how on earth could I be so naïve? Isn’t he absolutely correct? Haven’t these Hindus turned us into beggars? Look at Naveen. He lives in a kothi. And look at me who lives in a jhuggi. I toil all day and he keeps all the profit. And worse, he is a bloody kaafir, born to serve and I am a Mussalmaan, born to rule. Isn’t that an irony! But praises to Allah, this is going to change soon.”
“Naveen bhai, be prepared to pay for your misdeeds because the day is not far when I will have your shop and your kothi and you shall be driven away to hell…hahahahah…”
Taufiq bahi was feeling a new energy in his heart and a new strength in his limbs as he walked chuckling to himself. The passion of youth overtook the aging body. It was a rebirth, or maybe, the real birth.
-
“And you, the sacred one, see you today at Naseem’s place….”
He muttered, smiled sarcastically and greedily… and kicked the cow that had blocked his way.
Atri Joshi
<230320081230>
