The long fingers stretch out hesitatingly and slowly curl around my deadened hands. They grasp my wrist forcefully, with a strength that I would not have believed he had. His eyes reluctantly travel up the concrete wall and meet my own, and for a moment, I forget my pain. He inches closer to me ever so slightly that it is almost indiscernible in the dim beam of the flickering lamppost. I flinch at his touch, almost involuntarily and in that impulsive gesture I pummel his life. His lips, startlingly crimson in comparison to the rest of him, align themselves into a small, poignant line. I sigh and gradually draw him towards myself, unsure of my own actions. He flashes me a shadow of a smile and presumptuously places his head on my outstretched legs. I feel a single bout of laughter revisiting me and happiness seems to return. His head rests peacefully on my frozen legs. His long, blonde, unkempt hair falls over my torn trousers. I timidly raise one hand and lightly lay it over his assaulted hair. His eyelids droop downward at the touch. They cover his enticing, tired eyes and he falls into a fitful slumber. My hand remains where it was, inadvertently providing him and my own self a strange sort of solace. His breathing turns even and the flickering lamppost gives away. Darkness falls.

                  His body turns still, and his free hand envelopes mine. I wonder what earthly relation I possess with this being that makes us so comfortable with each other. Yes, indeed, I have not an inkling of the identity of the person who is peacefully sleeping on my legs. Yet, yet, the blood that courses through our veins hints at similarity. It is a blood that is mutual and wordlessly, we understand each other. Words are empty. There is no need for those frivolous utterances when the union is so very apparent. His face is strikingly Far Eastern. His long eyes curves at the edges and his teeth gleam with whiteness. His face was far too fair and to belong to the crumpled lives of India. Yes, he is undoubtedly Korean. And, how am I so sure of that fact? Well, maybe because I am Korean too. After almost ten years of living in a land that I was strained to call my home, I finally now chance upon a little boy, a frail being with whom I share the bond of speech.

                                                                               ***************************

               It was the dawn of the 20^th Century AD. India was still writhing beneath the steely grips of the ruthless British administration. Fighting feebly against the infallible might of the conquerors, India was visibly degrading herself, as she lay there too fragile to overthrow the rule. Cringing with horror at the torture inflicted upon her children, Mother India screamed out to the Gods, pleading for justice. But, none came. The bond of brotherhood that kept the Indians together was weakening, their confidence in their own selves was shaken, their lives were marred, their sight was scarred, and they were terrified of the future. The many petty conflicts that abounded in the small states and kingdoms served well to further annihilate the unanimity among the Indians. The British realm grew stronger, more aggressive, and India remained passive enough to let it thrive. Her roads were dusty and unstable, her people were worn out and weary, her life was slowly being out of her, happiness was unheard of in her vicinity. She was India; this was her circumstance, exploited thoroughly by that species of Humans that didn’t deserve to live. And she couldn’t fight back.