my keys are in my hands

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even before a baby lost its milking teeth he was fed with the idea of jihad.there was a fire in his eyes – a fire to destroy and a lust for revenge.he did not wish for toys in Christmas or games but for an AK-45 or perhaps AK-47.The seeds of hatred were grown at birth and nurtured at a tender age.the seeds would grow in to a tree soon to be cut down and instead a photo stuck on the wall with the heading_”In Allah’s Name.”But this was not what Javeda had in mind for her son.She had lost her brothers,her husband to terrorism.So she made up her mind not to loose her son too.So like a shadow lost in the darkness of the night she fled with her son on a horse.She fled far west and did not halt for two days .Getting wild the horse leaped and Javeda fell on the ground.The horse ran away.It was dawn.She could see smoke from a distant sugarcane factory.”I must have come far”She thought.She sat with her son below a tree and looked at the empty milk bottle and wondered how she and her son would survive.Just then an old fakir came to her .She told him her story.He told her he was going for Haj never to return and gave his home keys to her.Years went by.Now Javeda was an independent woman who worked in the sugarcane factory and had a little farm near the house.It was Christmas season again.But this time of year brought smile to her face for the wish of her son was a kit of ball snooker.So in the starry night she sat below the tree near a bonfire and smiled seeing her son trying hard roast the chicken over the fire and felt the keys of her home in her hand and said to herself”Yes the stars above must be smiling and saying god bless in Allah’s name”

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