The wrinkles that used to appear next to the corners of his eyes when he smiled had turned into wrinkles of worry and anxiety. Age and the events of yesteryears had caught up with Debendranath Roy Chowdhury. He had become a chain smoker despite his wife’s daily pleads to start thinking about his health. The crooked old man was sitting and sipping tea on his front porch in Dhakuria, with a cigarette in his right hand, and a copy of the Statesman newspaper on his lap. The family had not been back to their estates in Vikrampur since that fatal night thirty years ago when they fled from the village manor to the town house in Calcutta.
As he was reading the news about the atrocities in East Pakistan, his eyes filled with tears. Hundreds of thousands of people had so far fallen victim of the genocide. India supported the…
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