Far away, in the distant land of paradiso, the streets are speckled with the all too familiar shade of bottle and olive green- the colour is actually known by an exclusive name as well, based on the very thing it camouflages. As the green sweeps the valley freely, the honour and shame of its women are increasingly being violated. Who is to blame? No one knows.
Oh, but the whispers in the air and the small print in the newspapers do throw up a name…...
......while an old melody crackles its way into the streets- innocent in its accusation, clear in its suggestion, the sweetness of its voice and tune intensifying its horror by virtue of having a confident plainness and frank purity afforded only to those who have lost everything they had to lose, and nothing to gain from lies.
……
“Hamri na maano, sipahiya se poochho
Jisne bajariya mein chheena dupatta mera”
(If you don’t trust my word,
Ask the soldier
Who grabbed and snatched my scarf
……
“Hamri na maano, sipahiya se poochho
Jisne bajariya mein chheena dupatta mera”
(If you don’t trust my word,
Ask the soldier
Who grabbed and snatched my scarf
In the middle of the crowded street)
