The captured martyrs swarmed us and the gallant stories wrapped us to groom us as the generation X-er of the bludgeoned beacons. Theirs was the mythical-like tale of surviving in the leech-infected woods, trekking all the way to Lasa, quite unlike Seven years in Tibet though, to get approval of the monolithic Chinese army.

It was a movement with a vaguely sound cause which was approved by many as the illiterate misconstrued it as convulsion of the suppressed spirits, something rebelliously spoken of the desire to reclaim the sovereignty that they still reckon that once we had enjoyed.

To draw the eyes of the masses there were mini-battles where ignorant lads, favoured by disgruntled comrades, gave disinclined sacrifices for the forgetful many. Some spoke of a comrade who could even hit an invisible thread with a single shot.

They spoke as if he had actually done it since there would be anyone to go in and discover that thread in question. No one would also be able to tell quite distinctly who that fellow was and why he would shoot an invisible thread when he could shoot other visible things.

We were a bunch of desperate kids willing and dying to believe in anything exotic as our elders were quite unsophisticated. They talked about Mao and his struggles with the exaggerated possibility to restore what had been given out by our weakling monarch.

Let's say we are very creative and we have been just successful in churning out bollock-like stuff for the groomed generation next. So creative have we become that we have made a unmatchable martyrs out of a lousy prince ,who didn't have the nerve to the battle, captured by a sepoy while hiding in his bamboo garden.

Using the fabricated story, which we broadcast on the radio, we make the lethargic populace into jingoistic characters. We are a people long defeated by peoples.

Peoples who are advantageous but considerate fellows who have allowed us to sleep with the make believe dream that we have long achieved everything while granting us the luxury to rest on fictitious laurels. We buy it and make ourselves zealots of 21st century surrendering to the pace of time.

Sporadic shots and glorified executions in the name of our pursuit for freedom have become comparable to the frequent George Armani fashion shows in Paris. A freedom that that we have denied ourselves while turning the whole populace into laughing stocks, it is undoubtedly the comparative advancement of one's pursuit.

Carry more guns, tax more the broke people, load the foreign-made automated pieces and point them at our beloved brothers and sisters in the name of freedom, for some blood should be wasted during our thrive to purify the dried up stream in human veins.

What they know about the outcome of Mao's ideology? Yes! Like other sheep we all rally under a piece of cloth within a drawn circle jabbering unconsciously of one formless desire, regardless of the absurdity.

What began as an ideological pursuit insidiously changed its texture, direction and colour only to take the form of some bandits pillaging, extorting just to enrich a handful who have never felt the pinch and have never faced the indescribable wrath.

From figment martyrs to flamboyant snobbish gallants they have become along the unproductive voyage, who can be spotted by every naked eyes in every muddy alley as they are always there flashing their brand new vehicles, sometimes intentionally exposing the butt of a Chinese-made revolver succeeding in petrifying the weary hawkers at the same time grabbing the attention of redundant unemployed lads.

A whack of the club spills all the beans out virtually exhibiting the flaw and timidity of the flamboyant revolution, revolution which does not revolve, which only evolves. A revolution without a conviction, owing to the masks they often use as a disguise to trick the Kalashnikov-laden excrement-getter-defenders of the largest democracy.

In the evolutionary struggle hard-working successful are be discouraged to work hard, few-thousand employees are to be taxed for the guns that are slung for a while on the shoulder of the pretentious martyrs and to be handed over to the mockers.

Due to my little knowledge of theory of evolution I am confined to describe the devolutionary theory, an exfoliation of evolution, in a less precise fashion. Their inarguable installment of another erratic Roman empire on the corner of South-Asia has been remarkably inaudible.

The empire extends from the Indian army controlled frontiers to the few kilometers-away- poor-infested towns. In their administrative endeavour it goes without saying that conciliation has been overcome by coercing distribution by extortion, disruptive education by permanent disruption, freedom of speech and expression by freedom to lob grenades and get silver bullet by mean of hounding freedom seekers.

The tactics of wars have changed so are the motives and aims, something strikingly similar to President Bush's strategies, while Bush's war on terror is rather preemptive whereas theirs is plundering of betel nuts and tobacco. Here we may draw an analogy between Boston tea party before American war of independence and Betel leaves party after rallying long under Mao's ideology.

They cruise around on their sleek vehicles like the dark lords to call a moratorium on the unspeakable despairs of many. There is no doubt of their temerity to execute anything which would be beyond my imagination there is also no doubt over my temerity to express my freedom and the desire to relive.

The literary contributions are the copious amount of vocabularies that have been used abundantly; demand letter, tonsured for selling betel leaves, factional parties, in the name of revolution, etc. All these are the unintended exfoliation or the generous contribution of theory of devolution which the martyrs have been propagating in their blurred state of mind.

They are not to be blamed nor are they to be criticized considering the camouflaged photographs churning out, once in a while, from no-man's land. The speakable words have long remained unspeakable if be spoken aloud this zonked out life of a frail man would be doomed with an unmistakable shot.

The conclusive Indus diary: Colonel Zamindar has long been snickering underneath his thick kempt mustache, which he keeps as a tradition of his blue blood family. Being in a depopulated land the Indus Raj pays him handsome dough with the grand allowance to view hicks hacking each others and spiking the heads that could never smile.

God! We need more famish stray dogs, which we often see in the post Britannica -Indus cities, to get rid of the mint corpses, for there is nobody to torch them. What a disgrace it is to die in oblivion only to turn themselves in to stray canines and vultures. They were the children of the evolutionary revolution, I suppose.

The undignified people fighting a -once dignified cause which they materialized on an existed nationhood. Surely the strewn Chinese-made pieces are to be bitten by dogs and the birds will perch on them. The beauty is that the pieces have outlived the lives that once held them. It seems that is mentioned in the will of the dignified revolutionaries.

The grip of our Indus Raj has been firmer with its face wears a relieved expression as a big favour has been done by them. Aha! There once existed a bunch of naifs who were rather anxious and gung-ho about inept glory and hungered for sovereignty.

They fought against us, retreated and turned against each other making everything a lot easier for us. We have no uphill task. What I desire is to have an Irish night with Patiala pegs while the naifs keep themselves busy with their remnant mischief.

To be honest I am rather cornered by boredom as my works are executed by them without taking my permission. I have been given assurance of being the governor of this place, but what am I to do in this part of our Raj?

Here I will be required to shoo the canines away then to bulldoze the rotting corpses. Look! The mounds there would be a perfect place for a castle. They once called it the erstwhile capital of 107 gods.

However, to me it is the spot where I stub out a gold flake fag after a late night leak. History is another botheration given the bizarre and entanglements.

What I would do is to bring in the Indus history since this is already a part of the bloody Indus territory.