Akhbaar : The Newspaper
Over the sleepy villages along the Poonch border, dawn was beginning to stretch its limbs beyond the horizon. The hidden sun glowed in all its light behind the white snowy mountains. The goats were up by now, and with sure feet, they scoured the slopes for graze. A little boy rose from the stony floor of his hut, pushing off the heavy rug that had kept him safe all through the chilly night. Around him, it was still dark, and his father was snoring peacefully in the single room. A faint bulb flickered in the darkness, but it was enough to find him his bag and clothes tucked away near the table. The table was the only real piece of furniture in the room. Everything else was an undecipherable mess of cloth, fabric and stray wood. His quick feet carried him on the brittle village road. The stream gurgled in the distance. The valley looked beautiful here. In the realm of Kashmir, everything was beautiful. With no time to admire, the little boy hurried on. If they only had money, his fa...