Delightful tale – thanks to the author!
Much before the rooster crowed at the crack of daylight and sometimes even before the sun peeped from the horizon to say good morning, three very distinctive loudspeakers blared to wake up the sleepy resident of the green and pristine village of Dhormosthol in the southern fringes of India’s most cosmopolitan and diverse Kolkata city.
Dhormosthol was not that different from any other Indian village in this part of the country. Large agricultural tracts dotted with mud or unplastered bare brick houses of thatched or corrugated sheet roofs, along with little groves and glimmering water bodies scattered here and there, crisscrossed with mostly dirt trails, redbrick paths, and some asphalt roads painted this topography.
The village was, however, unique in one very special way. Its three hundred families were equally divided in numbers as Christians, Hindus, and Muslims. For many years, this was however never a point of conflict till…
View original post 1,768 more words