"Si Bhuta is ‘giring’”, (our pigeon, passionate in love running after its mate). So said my boy to me, though she’s crippled and can’t fly.
Si Bhuta who was bathing happily together in a wash tub, when freed from a far away distance could fly so high that it seemed something tiny flickering in the sun and suddenly dived down home steeply, was shot dead by someone.
The whole family silently sorrowed, wept.
This is my book. You can read it.
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