We all watch in silence.
With expectant gazes and a solemn face, we stand before an open field where numerous gravestones and epithets lie.
This is a sacred place… a precious moment.
It is time for the memorial.
'All the fallen Freedom Fighters are honored in these periodic memorial services. This is my first time, but…' I cast my gaze on Kalakuta and watch his silence.
He stands in front of everyone, before an altar which he intends to light up with flames.
Then, the incense will rise to the sky and fill the expanse. Like the fresh mountain breeze or the winds on a stormy night, the hope is for the pleasant aroma to waft through everything and appease the deceased.
"So many people have perished since our last memorial…" Kalakuta begins the eulogy, and we all listen to him with stern faces.
Our respect is displayed at this moment.
We reflect on his words.
'Pretty much every named character I found among the Freedom Fighters is dead except for Kalakuta…'
