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The Reward

by Inder Krishen Koul (Talib Kashmiri)

Author's Note: I am sending herewith a story titled "The Reward" which is the English adaptation of my Urdu story "Sawaab" that was one of the stories in my book 'Shanakht-e-Gul'. In the absence of a befitting and appropriate title in English of this story due to linguistic limitations I have preferred to name it as 'The Reward'. I am also sending herewith the translated version of a commentary specially written by Mr. M. Mubin an acknowledged novelist and short story writer in Hindi and Urdu of Bhiwandi, Thane, Maharashtra and winner of several state and national awards in literature, for being included in the commentary section of the blog. This write-up has appeared in various newspapers and magazines in Urdu.

“Whack! ............Whack!………O! My God………O! My God ………..If only those bloody fellows hadn’t pulled down the conduit of wooden planks joining our two houses via the fourth floor……… How easily could I’ve entered my house from above without facing the onerous task of hammering the lock of the main entrance on the ground floor nor would there be so much of noise to unnecessarily attract the attention of others………Anyway let me try my luck and hand again on it………. Whack!......... Whack!.........,” and Shadi Lal once again started pounding the old rusted country made lock repeatedly with the hammer until it finally relented and fell on the ground. Wiping off sweat from his forehead Shadi Lal opened the bolt and remembering his God, made a quick entry into the dark and dingy corridor of his house he had been forced to abandon seven years back.. What a dim beam of light from an old dry cell torch given to him by Manzoor Ahmed  revealed at the very first sight sent Shadi Lal into an instant shock and a shriek involuntarily emanated from his half open mouth……., “Oh! My God………What’s all this I’m seeing here………It looks like a ruined cemetery with a thick layer of dust on everything………Am I really in my own house?............I doubt.” His costly buff leather shoes and his wife’s expensive high-heeled glittering sandals that they used to wear with great enthusiasm on special occasions or in hi-fi parties had been miserably torn into pieces by the dogs and mice, which were now scattered here and there eaten equally by fungus and dust. So much dust and dirt had accumulated on the cobwebs hanging in every nook and corner and from the ceiling that it didn’t allow the light to pass through and instead, weird kind of shadows could be seen on the other side. The strange horrifying surroundings collectively presented the sight of something like the dreadful scenes from   the ghost films series based on Bram Stoker’s Dracula or from Hollywood’s renowned Director Alfred Hitchcock’s suspense movies.

Shadi Lal working on the post of Senior Assistant in J&K Government’s Civil Secretariat had after a period of seven years ventured to visit his house at Motiyar in Rainawari locality of Srinagar city abandoned by him and his family to save their life and honor in the wake of terrorist threat and today when he found in what shambled condition his much loved and wonderful house was, he was struck at his heart. He recalled that immediately on entering the main door into the wide corridor there used to be two delicately carved and exquisitely polished walnut doors one each opening into the Guest Room and the Common Living Room. But now there was not even the slightest trace of these doors to be seen and the yawning space in their place left him extremely aghast. The kitchen room adjacent to the Living Room which at one time used to be the centre of all cooking and culinary activity with highly delectable flavors of various kinds of cuisines always refreshing the air, had now become a kennel where Shadi Lal could witness a black & white bitch surrounded by her pack of dust covered pups flip flapping

with one another. The ruthless plunder and dismantling of the costly teak wood cupboards which Shadi Lal had got made from the money earned by the sweat of his brow including late night overtime sittings, sent him into a virtual shock. He didn’t mind that his brass, bronze and stainless steel utensils & cutlery together with the expensive cut glass and bone China crockery which he had personally locked inside the pantry were all missing, but what hurt him the most was that the looters had also pulled out and taken away the wooden cabinets where these were placed. One of the most disgusting things Shadi Lal noticed was that the plunderers hadn’t even spared the copper cauldron used for heating water in the winters and had mercilessly dug it out from the concrete insulation and decamped with the same. In all this heart rending experience what  Shadi Lal saw had been left behind on the entire ground floor was a few broken pieces of earthenware and torn jute and grass  matting scattered here and there possibly because these could be of no use to the plunderers.

With a broken heart, he thought of abandoning the whole mission but inquisitiveness took better of him and he decided to see the fate of things upstairs also. However, to his utter dismay he found that the whole staircase leading to the upper stories made of strong cedar wood was missing. The looters had used crowbars to pull out the planks leaving gaping holes in the sidewalls. With the help of a hanging rope Shadi Lal made repeated attempts to climb up and he finally succeeded to come up to the first floor only to be confronted by a worse condition resulting in a stream of incessant tears from his eyes and he again murmured……, “Oh! My God …….. Why did You keep me alive to this day only to see my own beloved house in a state of callous destruction……..If only death could’ve devoured we all people who were forcibly exiled from our homes and hearths……. from the place of our birth and habitat……. from the land of our forefathers. My ancestors must’ve built this dwelling from their hard earned savings over a period of several generations and I too had brought about certain changes in it to the extent my pocket allowed, as for example the old shingle rooftop was replaced with galvanized iron sheets and all walls and wooden structures were redone and painted afresh………But what for?..........Was it all done for these people? ............For these plunderers? ........... Oh! My God let nobody be as unlucky as me to witness his own house in such pathetic condition ……..Never at all……,” and thus bewailing his fate Shadi Lal  wandered from one ruined encompassment to another because in the existing condition it was wrong to call these as rooms. Electric bulbs & appliances and even the wiring had been pulled out and stolen in the same manner as the desperados of a conquering army used to do in the territory of a vanquished enemy. Carpets and other kind of furnishings like durries, mats etc. had also been looted, leaving behind not even a piece of woven straw. While loot and plunder could be the motive of all these acts of vandalism but what surprised Shadi Lal the most was the senseless destruction of teakwood flooring with pickaxes and other similar  instruments. He wondered how much toil those reckless foolish  zealots must’ve put in to break the planks and from the stashes of wooden pieces strewn here and there he failed to understand what purpose it could’ve served them apart from deriving a sadistic pleasure of ‘teaching a lesson to their enemies’, in absentia.

The moment Shadi Lal entered his bed room the memory of all those sweet moments of his first wedding night instantly flashed in his mind. He vividly recalled the massive walnut double bed with exquisitely carved design of Chinar ( Platenus orientalis ) leaves made by his close friend Bashir Ahmed Najar a master craftsman. How could he forget his his first wedding might when his dazzling fairy- like bride in her colorful and beautiful attire, made up from top to toe and laden with attractive gold ornaments shining in the light of a costly chandelier he had specially ordered from Delhi for the occasion, waiting for him with her silent impatience. But, now at that very place rats had made about half a dozen holes through which dust and smoke from outside was easily making its way into the dingy room only to add to its dark weirdness. The sheet iron boxes containing all valuables either purchased by Shadi Lal himself or brought by his wife in dowry from her parents’ house  had been broken open by smashing the bolts and contents looted sparing not even a hairpin. There was only one old but strongbox made of some tough kind of wood in the storeroom attached with his bedroom, the only movable property inherited by Shadi Lal from his parents, which had not been touched by the plunderers possibly because it had escaped their attention. His face brightened up on the prospect of finding something in it that could be of some use because he didn’t clearly remember what had been kept in it in haste while fleeing. Therefore, in order to check the same he picked up a brick lying nearby and started striking the lock with all his might. Barely two or three minutes had elapsed when Shadi Lal heard a frightening voice from the open compound of his house……., “Who the Hell is inside there? ...........Who has dared entering this house without our permission? ............Will you come out, son of a bitch…….. Bastard………Or should we pump bullets in your bloody skull and drag your dead body out?” He felt as good as dead on hearing the dreadful roar, dropping the brick on the floor and peeped out of a hole where he could clearly see two AK-47 wielding masked terrorists. His head reeled and he could perceive nothing but darkness before his eyes. His heart throbbed like the hummingbird’s flutter of wings and his whole body was drenched to skin in sweat. He tried to say something with his stammering tongue, but in vain and ultimately he fell down with a bang……..totally unconscious.

When there was no response from inside for a while, one of the terrorists aiming his rifle straight moved forward and forcefully struck the front door with his jungle boots and entered the house very cautiously. After searching the entire ground floor he headed for the first floor, the rope climb training received by him in the training camp perhaps easing his task. He finally found a lone unarmed person lying with his face downwards in an unconscious state where after he called his other accomplice inside and with great effort they managed to bring him down to the ground floor and then virtually dragged him into the compound. From his dress and get up it didn’t take them long to guess that he was a non Muslim and the one said to the other…., “Abu Mansoor……..He appears to be an infidel Pandit…….. Allah knows how and why he has lost his way to this place……..It’s also possible that this might be his own house, but we don’t know him…..” The other one replied……., “You may be right…….How can we know his identity…….. We’ve come here from some other place to discharge the duties of Jehad (Holy war). But the question is how this bloody fellow has come over here in these critical times……… It seems some local fellow known to him must’ve prompted him to do so, otherwise how could he muster so much courage.” And they were true in their assumption because Tariq Hamid one of the colleagues of Shadi Lal who too lived in the same locality at Srinagar had about two months back advised him in good faith…….., “O! My friend ………You see there has been a considerable improvement in the situation over the last couple of years in the Valley……… There’s no harm taking a small bit of risk in visiting your house to collect the belongings left by you at the time of migration to Jammu………I on my part assure you of my maximum cooperation in your effort…….” But Tariq had perhaps made only a superficial estimate of the prevailing situation and had failed to observe the undercurrents in a lake from the stillness of water on its surface. The fear of terrorists was presumably the reason why he didn’t show up at all when Shadi Lal had arrived in his locality.

In any case, they fetched a tumbler of water from the nearby house and brought Shadi Lal back to consciousness after sprinkling a handful of water on his face, which was immediately followed by his questioning. Without disclosing the name of Tariq he told them that he had come to his house at Rainawari on his own volition for the purpose of recovering the things left behind at the time of migration as far as it was possible. Not to speak of using abusive language and manhandling him, the senior terrorist kept the revolver nozzle on the temple of Shadi Lal on a couple of occasions threatening him……., “Shadi Lal , you now prepare yourself for leaving this world for good because you have tried to enter a lion’s den for spying, whose only punishment is Death.” The threat had its impact and Shadi Lal fell to the feet of his captors imploring them……, “Sir, I’m not informer of  police or any other agency but only an ordinary man driven by certain personal compulsions to take recourse to such risky step…….. Please spare me, Sir……..” Shadi Lal had absolutely no knowledge if anyone in his neighborhood had been quietly watching the treatment being meted out to him, but after some time when his next door neighbor Manzoor was summoned before them and asked as to why he had failed to inform the Commander about the arrival of the ‘infidel’, he couldn’t say a single word. His silence invited raining of punches and blows of AK-47 butts on his lean figure until he bled profusely. Who had the guts in the locality to raise a finger or a voice of protest on this brutal inhuman treatment. At one time Abu Mansoor was so much in rage that he threatened to eliminate both and he could perhaps go ahead also to implement his threat but the junior terrorist Abu Hurera refrained him saying….., “Abu Mansoor, Sir……….We shouldn’t perhaps do any such thing in haste please………. I think it would be better if we leave the decision of their Fate to the Area Commander Abu Jindal…….” Abu Mansoor agreed and sent his junior to call the Area Commander.

Ten minutes later when both Abu Hurera and Abu Jindal entered the compound Shadi Lal and Manzoor Ahmed despite dropping their eyes examined the Area Commander from head to toe. A man of fairly tall height, strong masculine arms, broad protruding forehead, blue eyes and perhaps sporting a brownish beard which couldn’t be seen clearly since he too was wearing a mask. The moment he came in with a Kalashnikov rifle hanging from his left shoulder Abu Mansoor saluted him and taking him a bit aside related the entire development to him during which their ‘two frightened prisoners’ tried to quietly  overhear what they thought could be the final decision of their life or death. Both of them in their heart of hearts prayed to God in their respective manner to save their life. At this moment Abu Jindal ordered Abu Mansoor to return to the Headquarter where after he himself along with Abu Hurera started a new session of interrogation in his own style.

“Well Mr. Pandit, what’s your name? ...........Wherefrom you’ve come and for what purpose?..........Don’t try to hoodwink us or else you know how dangerous the cosequences can be,” asked Abu Jindal in an intimidating tone.

“Sir, My name is Shadi Lal……..I’m the original resident of this very place known as Motiyar locality of Rainawari and am working as Senior Assistant in the Civil Secretariat of Jammu & Kashmir Government. Presently I’ve come to Srinagar in connection with annual move of Government offices from Jammu, the winter capital of the state. My whole family has been putting up at Jammu right since our migration in 1990……. Sir, I’ve two daughters living with my wife and mother at Jammu ……….Please forgive me, Sir for committing the blunder of having come over here to my house,” beseeched Shadi Lal.

“But what brought you here?............. Has the Police or any Government security agency sent you over here?..........Tell me the truth or I’ll make your condition such that your own kin will not be able to recognize your body,” Abu Jindal growled.

A scared Shadi Lal replied, “No……..Sir, I don’t know any cop or any secret agency man nor do I’ve contact with any such fellow……… Believe me, Sir. The truth of the matter is that when we left this place we didn’t carry anything with us except for a few clothes and some important documents. Even after seven years of forced exile we barely manage to live a hand to mouth life. With our limited income and ever increasing expenditure we haven’t been able to purchase even the items of barest minimum requirement so necessary for survival. No adequate bedding, clothing, utensils or furnishing……… No other essential prerequisites of life……… I should say the whole life has become a kind of hell for us. Now that some sort of feeling had started developing in us about improvement in the situation in Kashmir wherein we could think of trying to retrieve some of our old belongings, I of my own decided to come over here from Hotel Zabarwan where I along with some other Kashmiri Pandit employees have been lodged temporarily by the State Government ………I’ve committed a gross mistake, Sir………Please pardon me ……..I don’t want to take anything from this place……..Just spare my life please, Sir………I shall remain thankful to you for my whole life, Sir,” and tears started rolling down Shadi Lal’s eyes and he fell to the feet of Abu Jindal, who withdrew himself a couple of steps at the right moment. Roaring in a stentorian manner he said, “ No need for these affectations and never think your pretentious behavior is going to make me lenient towards you………The decision about your fate will be taken within a few minutes……..Till then let me deal with this brute of a man……”

Abu Jindal addressed Abu Hurera in his usual commandeering voice pointing towards Manzoor Ahmed ……., “And what is the offence of this bloody bastard?”

“Sir, he didn’t inform anyone of our Organization about the arrival of this infidel and on the other hand provided him this hammer and torch, and as such committed the crime of assisting an outsider in his impious mission,” replied Abu Hurera.

Abu Jindal thought for a while and ordered, “Let this son of a bitch go for the time being………We’ll deal with him later,” and the next moment poor Manzoor ran away like a mouse escaping from a cat’s paws.

“Now you frisk this Pandit thoroughly from top to toe,” ordered Abu Jindal to Abu Hurera and the search yielded nothing except Shadi Lal’s official Identity Card, a handkerchief and Two Hundred & sixty rupees in cash which the junior terrorist forwarded towards the Area Commander, but he returned the same and ordered authoritatively……., “Keep these things in your custody and exercise maximum vigil around………In case you smell something suspicious fire in air……... Meamwhile I’ll go inside and interrogate this ‘unwelcome guest’ of ours more thoroughly……… He requires a different kind of treatment to reveal truth.” His words were enough to freeze the blood of Shadi Lal and he thought of having completely lost the strength in his legs.

When they entered the house Abu Jindal asked…….., “Now let me know what kind of treatment you expect from me……..?”

“Sir……What can I say?……..Whatever I had to say I told you…….. After God, my life and death is now in your hands……,” replied Shadi Lal.

At this moment Abu Jindal removed the mask from his face and hugged Shadi Lal like a son separated from his father for a long time, saying, “Pandit Ji do you recognize me?...........I’m Abdul Majid Ganai…….Yes……..son of Ghulam Ahmed Ganai……..We were residing in Kalwal Mohalla locality of Rainawari………Now we’ve purchased a new house at Raj Bagh………I recognized you the very first moment I saw you…….But we too are sometimes helpless and can’t ignore the rules and regulations of our Organization………Therefore, if there has been any misconduct on my part during our interaction please forgive me,” said plainly an emotionally surcharged Abdul Majid.

“But I don’t recollect things very clearly………Are you the son of same Ghulam Ahmed whose meat shop was located near the fire brigade house opposite to Jawahar Lal Nehru Memorial Hospital?” inquired Shadi Lal after scratching his mind for a while.

“O! Yes Sir…………I’m exactly the same one and these days my organizational leaders have put me on duty in this area itself……..But I fully trust you, Sir  and hope that you won’t disclose it to anyone else,” said Majid rather confidentially.

Shadi Lal once again embraced him very warmly and said, “You feel completely reassured, my dear………You’re just like my younger   brother Chaman Lal who I think, was also your class fellow.”

“ Yes Sir, exactly………How can I forget that friend of mine who was closer to me than even my real brother and in whose intimate association I spent some finest days of my life……… But alas! Everything seems to have been destroyed now,” said Abdul Majid with a deep sigh.

“Dear Majid just let me know one thing………Why at all did you feel the necessity to tell me all these things?………After all you’re a senior commander of your organization wielding a lot of power?” asked Shadi Lal with a fair amount of curiosity.

“Yes, there’re several reasons for that too……..You may or mayn’t remember, Sir………Before the onset of the present struggle when this Valley of ours was an abode of peace, you had favored us with an unforgettable act of kindness,” said Abdul Majid in a gratifying tone.

“What act of kindness? ........... I can’t recapitulate anything,” said Shadi Lal.

“Sir, let me put it this way……..Once my younger sister Aamina who was on her way to school, was hit by a speeding car while crossing the road. She fell on the ground and the car driver escaped. She had received multiple injuries and was profusely bleeding. You were the lone passerby who immediately rushed her to the hospital in her unconscious condition and even donated blood for her. You did all this knowing very well that she was a Muslim girl……… Why? ........... Because of sheer humanity…….. Because of the spirit of sympathy and fellow being, which don’t recognize any artificial man made barriers. We had got the information about Aamina’s accident quite some time late and on reaching the hospital when we saw your blood soaked clothes and discovered how much helpful you had been to the child we not only felt highly obliged to you but were convinced that Angels do exist on this earth in the guise of human beings. Your act of kindness was the one which we shall not forget for all times to come and frankly speaking if today I fail to think and act in the same spirit, then to Hell with my life because in that case I’m not worth calling a human being. Every Abu Jindal is in reality an Abdul Majid Ganai, but it’s only the circumstances that force him to become what he should not be, mostly unknowingly. The ongoing struggle has turned out like a bone stuck in our throat………neither we can pull it out nor push it in……..it happens to remain where it is………. Sir, we’ve got very little time left………So please try to collect whatever you can, as quickly as possible………Till then I shall be making some arrangement for you to go…….O K?” and with these words he again covered his face with the mask and the next moment an Abu Jindal was reborn from an Abdul Majid Ganai. The happenings on that day when poor Aamina was injured came to Shadi Lal’s mind one after another in quick succession and his eyes moistened, noticed by Abdul Majid too. But he left immediately and in the compound outside the house he ordered Abu Hurera to fetch an auto rickshaw or a cab immediately.

About half an hour later when Shadi Lal boarding an auto rickshaw along with a few moth eaten blankets, some empty plastic containers and a few old books & family photographs was heading towards Hotel Zabarwan on the Bouleward , only two thoughts repeatedly teased his brain. The one……… “Had I really done an act of humanity in my life whose reward I’ve reaped today in the shape of my life?” and the other……, “Till now, I had heard in my life that the fruits of patience are very sweet, but today I’ve come to know that the fruits of humanity and kindness can be much sweeter…….”

(Disclaimer: All the incidents, characters, organisations etc. mentioned in this story are imaginary and their resemblance with any real person living or dead, can be a mere coincidence.)  

Talib Kashmiri’s  short story ‘Sawaab‘

An analysis

M. Mubin

M. MubinAn Afsana or short story is a document mirroring the realities of contemporary life. It is the creative masterpiece of a writer’s emotions which he nourishes with his blood. The exact definition of a short story has never remained the same over the ages and new parameters have continually been added to it with the passage of time. The same also holds good for those who write them. Whenever a creative writer pens down a story he is neither restrained by the established norms of its definition nor does he keep in view any limited framework within which he might be supposed to restrict himself during the flight of his imagination. Thoughts flow in his mind like a river in spate and he goes on transferring them on paper and that is precisely the reason why in the ultimate run his story more or less turns out to be the reflection of his own life or anyone or any development in his close observation.

The story ‘Sawaab’ under examination is one amongst the collection of twenty two stories in Talib Kashmiri’s book titled “Shanakht-e-Gul” which has in it all the components required for a perfect story. Talib belongs to Kashmir and has closely witnessed the drama of a political battle being fought in the cover of a religious war during the last two decades.  In fact he has not only observed it closely but studied it in depth and then reflected a glimpse of it in his story ‘Sawaab’. The story has been written in the background of Kashmir,  a subject with a vast and wide canvas in which an attempt has been made to encompass the crux of the psyche behind the history and developments relating to terrorist activities that took place in the Valley during the last twenty years. The writer has tried to narrate the woeful tale of the exile of Kashmiri Pandits from the place of their birth and living, and mentions about the hardships of life being faced by them. It also highlights the importance of communal harmony and brotherhood that remained a vital part of Kashmiri culture. The story by and large reflects those human sentiments which can never be subdued by religious hatred and bigotry or oppression, but on the other hand which break through such man made obstacles.

There are several types of characters in the story like the central one viz. Shadi Lal or the other one Abu Jindal, through whom the writer has tried to give a message that the spirit of humanity always survives even though time and conditions may worsen to any extent. The central character of the story Shadi Lal happens to be a Kashmiri Pandit who used to reside in the Valley, but like other members of his community had to abandon his home and hearth in the wake of terrorist threats and activities in order to save his life and honor, and live a miserable life in a refugee camp at Jammu. It is through the character of Shadi Lal that the writer has drawn a live picture of the agonies of the displaced Kashmiri Pandits who were forced to live the life of refugees in their own country. Side by side the story also gives a candid projection of those Muslims in the Valley who are deadly against the terrorists and terrorism, but helpless to either express themselves or to take any practical measures to get rid of the menace. They feel as awfully threatened by terrorism as their Kashmiri Pandit brethren, because they are meted out the same treatment by the terrorists as are their Pandit compatriots.

        Through this story the writer has not only given a clear proof of his non-partisan attitude but also tried to dismantle the walls of inter community hatred and suspicion. It is at the suggestion of some Muslim friends that Shadi Lal visits his ancestral house at Srinagar with a view to retrieve the household things if any, left by him at the time of forced migration because he is in dire need of basic necessities of life in the camp outside the Valley. His Muslim friends had informed him that in view of the improved situation in Kashmir he could visit his house. However, when he reaches there he finds his house in shambles and various things there had either been destroyed or looted, so much so that the extended balconies of wooden planks joining his and his Muslim neighbor’s houses via the fourth floor too had not been spared. Shadi Lal had still not finished inspecting his house when those very people responsible for this destruction arrive and behave with him in the same manner as they did with his Muslim neighbor Manzoor Ahmed who is accused of his failure to inform them of Shadi Lal’s arrival. Both are beaten severely by the terrorists and their fate is then left to be decided by Area Commander, Abu Jindal. A masked Abu Jindal arrives and he too behaves more or less roughly with them and shifts Shadi Lal to a room inside the house for thorough interrogation and punishment. The scene abruptly changes inside when Abu Jindal reveals his actual identity as Abdul Majid Ganai, a local Kashmiri Muslim who had been forced by the circumstances to become a terrorist, and requests Shadi Lal to forgive him for his rude behavior. He says that before the onset of militancy in Kashmir Shadi Lal had once saved the life of his sister injured in a traffic accident, by carrying her to the hospital and donating blood for her and how could he now forget the human gesture shown by his captive about a decade back. Talib Kashmiri has finished the story depicting a thankful Shadi Lal going back to his temporary accommodation at Srinagar after collecting a few belongings which were possibly of no use to the plunderers, with the help of Abdul Majid.

In this story the writer has not even once tried to take recourse to provocation to express his detestation for terror nor has he tried to present the woes and victimization of the central character Shadi Lal in any exaggerated manner, for enlisting the sympathies of  the readers. On the other hand he has tried to highlight only one aspect of the gamut of religion and terrorism……..And that is Humanity and Humanity alone, which has no religion …….Which is free from all barriers of caste, creed, color, region, religion etc. A thousand storms of  hatred together cannot wipe out the spirit of humanity from human lives……..a spirit which lives in the heart of Shadi Lal as much as it does in the hearts of his Muslim neighbors or for that matter in the heart of a dangerous and ruthless terrorist like Abu Jindal. It is the spirit of this humanity which sustains life on earth and the writer is correct in his perception that those who think this spirit can be erased from human lives by resorting to violence and the like will always be dismayed……..It is a spirit that will last till eternity. By writing this kind of a story Talib Kashmiri has conveyed a message loud and clear, fostering stronger bonds of friendship, communal brotherhood and peaceful coexistence. It can prove an important step towards dispelling the dark clouds of despair and lit the lights of hope in an environment of despondency…….Humanity is alive and it will remain alive always……. come what may.     

M. Mubin

303- Classic Plaza

Teen Bhatti, Bhiwandi,

District Thane, Maharashtra (India)

e-mail : mmubin123@gmail.com



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