Prisoner of Duty
The Man walked on the densely wooded road. The cl othes he wore shone with an exuberant light, as if the earth had formed around him a beautiful woven cloak. His head was bent and a sack covered his head and shoulders to protect him from the rain. His eyes were intense and looked at the road with a vehement determination. He knew where he had to reach and looked forward to the road ahead of him. He clutched a cloth bag to his chest. He seemed to be very protective of the bag, clearly not wanting to disclose its contents. The road was empty and cars moved on it infrequently. Puddles of water covered the surface and frogs croaked loudly from the wild grass growing on the sides of the road. The lone Man continued his journey on the rainy path. As he neared the city, the city that was widely known as the ‘City of Dreams’ or Mumbai, no one looked at him. He was a man with no identity. But if anyone had spared a moment for him, they would be taken aback by the tenacity in his stare a