Mitraye newspaper is our family business. As I told you it is written by editors and writers like me but what we write is directly or indirectly controlled by the Rohas. Any word against them can be used to justify your death, that's right, you heard me right.
To tell you about any other day in Fazaipur, Ghatodan, kids, adults and old people roaming around, people opening shops, doing their chores, men going on the outside of the gates for cities to work, etcetera. And in the middle of Redhaan
market is our shop. We have our print station on the backside of the shop, my older brother Ramaiya, father Karthikrao and me handle the shop and daily waged writers put forward stories and articles and newsletters for our daily paper. It was justanother day when I saw a kid coming running towards our shop. Wearing typical rugged clothes and a white bandage which was red now on his head, he was nearly eight or nine years of age. He enters our shop and shouts, "Help! Help! " It wasn't normal for some kid to run into our office and ask for help. "My father, he went to Rajesor five days back! He was supposed to return the same day, he hasn't yet! His ticket could expire, the Rohians could arrest him! Please help us!" the kid exclaimed.
"And how do you think we can help you kid?" my father replied calmly.
"I heard you can go the cities, please help me. My mother, the Rohians took her inside too!" the kid explained further.
"Your mother?" I asked.
"Three days back she went to the gates asking about my father, she argued with the guards! And then some men caught hold of her and pulled her to the outside of the gates! She hasn't returned too. My younger sister is still at the gate, the guards hit her, her head's bleeding, no one would help us saying that my mother tried getting against the Rohas!" he explained his condition, but it was normal for us to come across such cases.
"First thing kid, we can't go outside the gates, it was my grandfather who went out decades back. There is nothing we can help you about. I advise you to forget about your parents. Take your sister to the other side of Fazaipur, where people don't know about your condition, you can do minor jobs there and feed your sister. Now go away!" my brother said.
"Harsh words for a kid." I said to myself, but my brother was right.
"You people are demons!" the kid said.
Everybody in the office were shocked by his words, we all looked at him when my brother interrupted angrily, "What was that brat!"
"You people are demons; you aren't trying to make things right even though you are supposed to do that. You people are trying to tell me that my
parents are dead, even though they were innocents! You people are telling me they will never get justice and people shall die just like that and we should let that happen! What if it was you? Your loved ones getting eaten alive by the monsters outside the gates! Would you still be quiet? Is this how we are supposed to live like insects when they rule over us? You are puppets, living the way they want us, to like slaves!" the kid was furious and in tears.
The words gave us Goosebumps but my brother was angry, "Get out before I rip out your tongue, you brat!"
"Motherfucking puppets." The kid said calmly.
My brother sprinted towards him in reflex ready to give him a tight slap when I caught him, "Let him go brother, he's just a kid, he'll understand the reality, this is just his introduction to the cruel world. Go away kid!" I said. The kid walked down the four stairs of our office and went away. I felt something that day, unlike any other feeling. It was a spark, for change, that led the forest fire!