Damaged Goods

“Madam, hold this cute puppy, you will love the way it feels against your skin”, a man in his sixties said, sitting beside the fountain in a busy square. The market was filled with tourists as it was the season when people came to the mountains to get some relief from hot climate of the plains. People were looking at the new born pup but no one stopped to hold it, partially because the old man smelled of rum and sweat, also they couldn’t care less. The puppy was not more than two weeks old; it hadn’t even opened its eyes yet. That man in his grubby phiran held the pup for the motive of selling it and earning some money. Meanwhile an acquaintance of the old man came and said, “You are selling this puppy so that you can buy a bottle of rum. This pup needs milk or he will die. You are filth.” That man kept screaming but the old man seemed to hear nothing. On not being able to attract public, the old man starting toying with that puppy, slapping and rolling that poor thing. The puppy couldn’t even stand properly. People passing by; saw him and started yelling at him. “How inhuman can a person be?” a woman cried. That old man took that puppy and went away cursing everybody. Next day when he was toying with the puppy in some other place in the market, a girl approached him with a stone in her hand and said, “kill this animal sir or it will also become a product of the bitterness it has been through in life, like you.” The old man said nothing and went away with the dog. In some darkened lane, he slipped the pup from his phiran pocket and placed it on the corner of the alley.

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