A HOUSEMAID

Hair dishevelled, Vermillion cleansed, Skin creased, eyes sunken, Face dry, and voice choked.   I ask, ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘Your uncle died.’ ‘How?’ ‘Just a fall from bed at day break.’   The cabin is dark, Decaying,…

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A BURNING PYRE

The scene was magnificent. A pyre was burning and the peasants, all drunk, were chanting bolo hari, hari bol; bolo hari, hari bol. Some were crying loud, some were sobbing, some sat terribly silent. It was…

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