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The Magoor
Fiction Gandhi Riyang Fiction Gandhi Riyang

The Magoor

The winds had come, uprooting the trees, the ageing bamboo fences, and even the roofs of some houses. It signalled the end of winter, but the rain hadn’t arrived yet - the rain that would rejuvenate Sibo-Korong into a stream again. At times, the stream would eat into the fields on its periphery, moving humongous boulders from the mountains and rolling them so vigorously that they turned into small, smooth pebbles and scattered the rocks in its path. The stream originated in the lofty hills and ended its rocky trail at the mouth where it met the Siang - a name the locals of Pasighat know the Brahmaputra by. 

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Leaving
Fiction Lian Dousel Fiction Lian Dousel

Leaving

She was riding pillion, and I was aware of her knees brushing against the sides of my thighs at every bump and every turn. She was holding onto my shirt; I told her to circle them all the way around my waist. The road to safety was long and rocky, and it felt like there could be an ambush at every turn, either by her kindred or mine. We were only sixteen, but we were in love, and we were above the divide—Kuki, Zomi; none of that mattered to us.

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