The Riot.

They stared at each other, one towering, one cowering. Muniswamy wielded his machete with the power of one possessed with religious righteousness. The fire and chaos raged outside the house. His eyes burned with a desire for the blood of non-believers.

“Naam bata!”, he roared at the man at his feet shielding death with his puny, mud-stained hands. Tell me your name! “K…k…ku…Kkumar”, said the cowering man, trying hard, so hard, to control the infernal sneeze that threatened to leave his mouth any second. “Toh phir iss Mussalman ke ghar mein kya kar raha hai?” What are you doing in this Muslim’s house then? “Main idar iss…istri ke kapde dene aya!” I came to return the ironed clothes. Muniswamy stared at the man long and hard. The man continued cowering. Gradually, Muniswamy started to lower his machete as the zealous fire in his eyes flickered and began to fade away.

However, as fate would have it, a loud sneeze escaped the cowering man just then, who immediately followed it up with “Alhamdulillah!”