The DevourersBook - 2016
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We walked down the broad western road, under the shade of the trees that sifted the moonlight like flour.
Courten has sent four men back to Akbarabad; one came back, covered in blood from head to toe, foaming at the mouth from frenzied fear, struck with the immovable belief that he had witnessed something not of nature, a dread miracle, a man changing into an awful, gigantic animal. The survivor was a Jat, and for him the beast of supernature that he saw killing his companions was a rakshasa. For the Baluchs who looked on fearfully it was, perhaps, a djinn, a wandering ghul brought on a fell wind from the northeastern deserts.
As Durga Puja turns into Diwali the stranger falls silent on our walks, while fire blossoms in the sky and crackers mist the streets with smoke. In his eyes the sparklers of strangers, held out over balconies, showering footpaths with glowing rain. He looks exposed in the light of all this chemical fire.
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