So Missiya was finding it mard to earn enough money even for food.The village and laughed unkindly about her:how poor she was,how little she had.Her clothes were unwashed,her hebits dirty.
It seemed thet the world’s oldest profession did not pay very well.
The morning it happened started like any other.The sun Shone and the raindrops danced on the wet grass. I walked down to the edge of the garden, reliving the pleasures of my childhood. These trips back to village filled me with confused thoughts-a wish for past day, past magic, when the world and I were young…
The old tree where I had sat in the shade, and cried desperate tears over some young sadness or other, was still there. So was the dead tree trunk where my friends and I had sat on so many golden evenings and watched the sun go down. The voices from the past whispered in my ear, some long gone from my life…
The cool air was still so well-known and dear to me. And the morning sun gave a silver touch to the rice field spread out at my feet.
I stopped with a start when I saw the two policemen. They looked towards our house and then looker away. I look a step backwards and watched them. They spoke to each other and entered the large shed in which the hay was stored.
It was early morning. There was no one else around.