The Boy Who Never Returned
The gate was broken. Rust had eaten deep into the iron and wild creepers had wrapped themselves around its bars like thin green snakes. Long grass swayed around its base, brushing softly against the lower half of the gate whenever the evening breeze passed through. The fencing beside it had disappeared long ago. Someone had probably stolen it and sold it. Beyond the gate, neglected bushes and thorny shrubs had spread wildly across the land. There was a time when gardeners trimmed the hedges neatly every week. Now everything had surrendered to wilderness. A narrow road stretched inward from the gate. There was a time when the road had been smooth and paved, but now it was cracked, broken and nearly erased beneath thick layers of grass. Until a few years ago, countless footsteps had passed this way. Cars. Cycles. Workers returning from the tea garden. Women carrying baskets on their backs. Children chasing...