And maybe in the fabled paradise of Kashmir, the sun would once set in the lap of a peaceful valley; Peace, now whispers his sweet-nothings to his eternal, pining lover — Freedom. Freedom, who until now had not forgiven her lover for his frequent infidelity, jadedly clasps onto his wiggly, sagging wrist; They’re now too senile. The wait was too long — for they last met at ‘the stroke of that midnight hour’?