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Rahul Bhuyan


Page 1 If it was not for the wooden ladder, the old tabla set wouldn’t have been discovered for another generation. The layers of dust over it stood testimony to the time it settled there without any human intervention. When Suni’s groping hands accidentally thumped on the somewhat sagging leather, it cried out a dull thud, and gave out a cloud of smoke, like the past waking up from a deep sleep. Suni sneezed a couple of times that threatened to push the ladder off-balance, set precariously on the edge of the shelf above. It touched slightly on the edge of the cemented slab, and with every move, grated a bit of the cement off the surface compromising the grip. Suni had other things to worry about and account for. Dusting her hand disdainfully against her flowing skirt, she stretched her…