some where in the himalyas, unaware of the turmoil the country was going through, it was a village where time had lost its meaning. it was one of those days when the men would engage in a revelry of the the local brew and dance, intoxicated, in a riotous orgy of the festive aroma and the the thumping enormity of the gigantic drums , beats that would reverberate in the mountains.

the air carried the festivity to that isolated lush that lay hidden in the very heart of the barren, rough and solid rock they had responded the the music in a rythmn their bodies had never known to exist. the cosmos seemed small and they felt as if the cords of the universe were in unison with the symphony that resounded in the air, under the stars , their innocence basked in the primal lust of uninhibited love.

the soul of the forest smelled the ait that carried whiff of their deed, sinful though, it rushed to the lake and whispered . ripples shook the bottom of the icy interior, disturbing the skeletons of veer and vikrant , entwined in an eternal embrace, the curse it had whispered can now be broken