Humanities Underground

Free Me From The Poet’s Prison

 

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This is the translated version of an exchange between poet Rana Roychowdhury and Surajit Sen, published in Desher Agamikaal magazine in March, 2016.  Rana Roychowdhury is one of the most understated, elemental and rebellious of contemporary poets from Bengal.

HUG has published a short selection of his translated poems in January 2014:

http://humanitiesunderground.org/wild-donkeys-bray/

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Surajit Sen:Why did you begin to write poetry? And why still continue?

Rana Roychowdhury: At one point I used to recite poetry at my home, on my own. At around thirteen or fourteen years of age. Actually, this habit, or ill-habit shall we say, I had been nurturing since my school days. All alone at home, I used to recite Nazrul Islam’s poetry aloud. At that time we used have a rural existence. Our village house was large and empty and when I used to recite, the sound would echo. That used to give me a kick.  No one would hear me recite, of course. Then there was this obsession to take part in local recitation competitions. Often I would forget poems midway. And every time I would return rich with the consoling words of the judges! So, I realized that such a skill was not my cup of tea. But as I would recite, there gradually began to blossom a love for poetry itself. But I could not compose poetry. Sometimes I would read Shakti Chattopadhyaya’s poetry and would try to emulate him. Complete failure, that venture. I realized one cannot write with some definitive role model in mind. Whatever one feels, one has to pen that down. At one point some lines looked to be taking the shape of a poem. So I began sending them to magazines here and there. My first poem was published in a magazine from Agarpara. Alongside write-ups on Uttamkumar and interviews with Aparna Sen, my poems also got published. That is how it all started. Now it has turned into a kind of a habit—this writing. Not exactly a habit—actually I get a lot of happiness and satisfaction by writing poetry.

 

S: What kind of reactions do you receive from the reader?

R:Some utter kind words. Others abuse. Someone said: “Reading your poems, it feels you are sick. The amount of crap you write it makes me nauseated.” Others remain silent (such silence is like mourning). These days though, many seek poetry. Earlier no one used to ask. Only two magazines would publish my poetry-Dahopatro and Natmandir. I was at peace with myself. These days more of my poems get published, and I am not exactly satisfied with such compositions.

 

S:Teaching in a school and writing poetry in Bangla—how did you end up aligning your life to such a classical lattice and frame? One that comes down to us right from the time of that arche teacher—Kobishekhar Kalidas Roy.

R:Never thought that I will become a school teacher. All I used to do was join and partake in adda sessions in the local community club with friends. I got involved in some social work. Helping arrange medicine banks for the needy or procuring and distributing clothes during the Durga puja from Harisha Market or organizing blood donation camps or local festivities—these were the things I would spend my time in. Life was sheer vagabondage. Only hope was Ma’s hotel, since my father passed away long ago. Ma used to teach in a school. Never ever in my worst nightmare did I then envisage myself as a school-teacher. There is no relation between this teaching and my poetry. Both are independent streams. I am two different individuals in each of these vocations.

But I teach kids. So, when I do engage with them I do not feel like a teacher. I feel that I am the father and guardian of these little ones—a strange love for these souls envelop me. It is difficult to describe this phenomenon—but even as I teach them, I discover poetry, glean it. That kind of poetry is timeless.

 

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S:But how did you become one, I mean: a poet?

R: Yes, I am coming to that. But first: let me tell you what I used to do before I was a teacher. I was lucky to land a job. Someone helped me procure a job in a private firm. In that concern, I have worked for twelve years in two installments. For that I still receive a pension of Rs. 844/-. It became very difficult for me to work there. My immediate boss used to be very rude with me. I used to work in the accounts section and then he used to give very tough assignments which I could not do. My wicked boss used to misbehave and humiliate me since I could not do those chores. One day he said: “Tut tut, can a goat ever till the land?” I protested at that. Anyway, I had to periodically pay visits to the bank for office work. One had to wait there for long stretches of time. One day, waiting at Canara Bank on Camac Street, I started scribbling lines on the bank withdrawal slip, which had eventually become the poem “Jadavpur Mor”. I soon joined as a proof-reader in Aajkal newspaper. I did my job with diligence and so others, burdening me with extra work, would often step out for adda and smoking sessions. Ekram Ali da would sometimes indulge me by asking me write for that newspaper. For such sprees, I even got scolded once by Sandipan Chattopadhaya. He said: “See here is a letter against you. You have abused sundry people in your writing. Now you manage.” So, I had to compose a letter as a reply which made Sandipan immensely happy. Ekram da said—“You have a flair for prose” and so on. Thereafter I used to write there often. Had received some odd praise too. During that period I used to engage myself in both poetry and prose. And then I lost my mother—it was 1997. Since my mother died when she was still in active service, someone advised that I could get that job as a substitute in case I cared to apply. I was reluctant to join my mother’s school. But I realized that I may be posted in another school. So I applied. After a year I got the job. My interview went off well. So I got a job in a government primary school. A board-member asked me about my preference. I said that I live with my father who is unwell. It would help to get a posting close to my place. He said: “Hingalgunj, in the Sundarbans. Go and work there.” I realized that he was an asshole. Anyway, after a lot of running around, the place where I eventually was posted had one teacher, 300 students and one had to ride a bicycle for 4 kilometres from the nearest bus-stop. From my place, two and a half hours travelling distance. This is the story of my becoming a teacher. I did not get this job with my educational qualifications. But now as I spend my time with the kids, my own mind has perhaps gradually become less soiled, less tangled.

 

S:Your experiences there?

R:That is a village outside of the settled maps of geography. Name: Mochpol. One had to alight somewhere in the middle from the bus that goes to Deganga and ride a bicycle through the paddy fields to the school. The job in that village school provided me with a lot of poetry, much writing and thought—things that I would have missed had I not been posted there. Life would have been lesser. Some people in the village used to love me. It is there that I had learnt that Namaskar was irrelevant as a form of greeting. If someone would greet me with a Salam Aleikum, I had to reciprocate with a Waleikum Salam. The ambience around that village, the school itself, the love of the villagers—all this made a school-master out of me. So, you can see that I have no resemblance with Kalidas Roy. I do that job because I have to, though I love the kids immensely.

 

S:You also ran a letter-press, isn’t it?

R:1989—that was the year when, along with a friend, I had ventured into this letter-press. After a few false starts, I myself began to compose. There was only a machine-man whom I had employed. I used to be a fan of Joy Goswami’s poetry at that time. Joyda even came to my press one day.I recall he had recited the whole of his “If You Ask Me Today.” The whole of it—it was a long poem! I was stunned by his memory. A poor little boy in the press asked for some money from Joy da. Joy da gave him all of what he had in his pockets. Can a poet be such a donor? That astonishment of mine is still intact. I could never do any such act, could not give myself as wholly and wholeheartedly ever. Emptying my pockets. Some bit of purse I always keep in one corner. Hence this awe. Anyway, the press began to incur loss and so we had to fold it up. Often customers would not pay after making us work. But there is also another reason: every evening the two of us would sally forthto the local pub in the marketplace. Naturally, the business suffered. So, when I got a call from my old private firm, I joined it for the second time.

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S:Being a Bengali Hindu idolatrous poet, who is your God of poetry? The one whom you have anointed within. Just like the ancestral Godinstated in a devout household. For example, we know that Tagore is Sankha Ghosh’s God.

R:This is a difficult one. I read all kinds of poetry. So, there is no such Godhead whom I revere. I do not like one particular poet for a long time. Even if that poet is close to my heart.  Just like I did not like everything in my parents. I do not often like my own self. But I read and re-read Utpal Kumar Basu, Bhaskar Chakaraborty, Manik Chakraborty, Samsher Anwar, Binoy Majumdar and Pranabendu Dasgupta. I do read much more poetry of course and even poets from outside India. But there is no inclination on my part to supplicate before any God. I have many Gods.

 

S:You are the only poet who could call the CPM run Bengal Red Ants Burrow. That was the first book that I had read. Your second book—that was. How did that happen?

R:First of all—that is my third book. It is true that I had reserved a lot of cuss-words for the final decade of CPI(M)’s misrule. To go with it, I am a coward. There is a line in the poem “Jadavpurer Mor”: “After the Jadavpur crossing, no more of CPI(M).” This poem came out in Desh. But since I am a cowardI had deleted this line before it could become part of the book. I was worried sick of being thrashed by the Party. I had experienced so much harassment and humiliation by some local CPI(M) workers and henchmen that some bits of that got reflected in the poetry that I was writing.

 

S:What kind of humiliation?

R:Let me narrate an incident. I suffer from severe asthma. Often I am forced to take to bed. After a few months of working in the school, I realized that it will be well-nigh impossible for me to do the commute on a regular basis. So, I went to meet my local legislative councilor Tarit Topdar with some hope of getting a transfer closer home. As I went in, I saw his P.A. and my friend Arup. Arup was ensconced in a revolving chair and the MLA was on a stool. So I explained things to Arup. He asked me to get a letter drafted from the local committee. So, I went and requested the members of the LC, who verbally assured me of recommending my name. As I returned to Arup, he told me that the LC has refused to help me since I do not do Party work. I replied that I was a member of his party union ABPTA. So, his reply was that this will not do. One has to take part in meetings and rallies. Only then there could arise any possibility of taking up my case. So, sometimes in my writing such sediments of anger and frustration erupt. Hence, Red Ants Burrow. Though, to be honest, there are references to other kinds of ants too in that collection.

 

S:So, how did you eventually manage to get the transfer?

R:How would that benefit you, eh? I was transferred twice. The first one during the CPI(M) regime; the second in this TMC time. I never ingratiated myself to anyone for my writing. But for this transfer business, I honorably kowtowed to some friends. I am forever grateful to them. But I cannot name them here. The one friend who saw me through the long and arduous path of crawling before the CPI(M) Party now feels I am an ingrate and a traitor. For me he saves the choicest abuses.  Of course that pains me since one cannot declare that gratitude is a signboard.  Gratitude forever remains alive in memory. So that is etched in my mind too. Anyway, I let that pass since only friends have the right to abuse us. They are our only close ones, isn’t it?

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S:How many books have so far seen the light of the day in this your life as a poet?

R:My first book A Teenage Slumber was published in 1996. The second—Sandipan Missing in  Body in 1998. In 2000, the collection Red Ant’s Burrow saw the light of the day. The first two were published by my friends—Amitabh Bhattacharya and the Late Sounak Burman of Prachayya magazine. I am ever so grateful to them. The third one was conceived and published by Kamalkumar Dutta of Dahopatro. Towards him too my infinite credit and regard. Though the money was spent by me—that is the only book for which I had spent money. At that time I used to regularly write poetry for Dahopatro. Since no one else sought writing from me. As I said, it was only these two—Dahopatro and Natmandir which used to carry my work. It is after this that the editor of Natmandir, Ranjan Acharya, published three of my books:  Wild Donkey’s Bray, The Bangla Langauge Mat and The August Month’s Pathway. These are my six books.

 

S: And how goes the life of a poet?

R: Most unostentatiously. My personal life is also quite simple. My publisher friend Ranjan Acharya’s life is also not conspicuous. So he has never ‘released’any of my books. I also do not want that sort of a thing. No newspaper ever reviewed any of my books. We have not sent them for reviewing. I also do not frequent kavi sammelans. During the left regime I never received any invitation to read poetry at government Little Magazine fairs. From 2011 I am being called. I go there since they pay well.  Though they actually siphon out money from our DA for that to happen! I am very uneasy about reading poetry in such phony and jazzy settings.  Makes me nervous. And scared. Feels like I am turning into a smart poet. Like many of my poet friends are very smart. Reading poetry to five or six people in an intimate setting is a far more reassuring prospect. Only once did a little magazine undertake a long evaluative discussion of my poetry. And once there was an article in the Sunday supplement of Ei Samay newspaper about my poetry. Other than that one or two close friends have written about my books. They are really my close ones. And those who are unknown, they remain oblivious to my poetry till date—that is a big achievement on my part.

S:Which of your book sell and how much?

R:Red Ant’s Burrow was out of print for a long time. It is again in circulation after reprint. To be honest, with blessings from my friends and readers, my books do sell. But there is hardly any feedback—sometimes I wonder who indeed reads poetry! May be most of them end up merely buying poetry-books. And genuine readers: only a few. This is my current realization.

 

S: What determines the economy of book-selling?

R:See, 300 copies of every poetry book gets published. This time 400 copies of Red Ant’s Burrow were printed. But I am told it is not selling too well. A friend advised me to self-advertise on facebook. But in facebook you also face a lot of flak: “Why the hell shall we buy your books? Indeed, if we do, we shall get hold of Binayak Bandyopadhaya and Srijato.” I have no money to advertise my books. As I have said, they do not inaugurate my books. As books arrive from the press, they begin to sell. This is how the economy of my books works. Books do sell eventually, but it takes a long time. And self-advertising on social media is such an embarrassment. But sometimes I am forced to do even that. The other day as I was intimating my readers and friends on facebook about my new novel The Kith Kith Game, someone by the name of Kangal Harbart commented: “Ah sir! So you do write novels too, is it?”Purported meaning: when you are inept even at versification, why try your hand at other genres? I turned pale with fear. And started thinking about quitting writing. What a scare! It is much easier and safer to teach kids. And I get paid too. Unlike poetry. And on top of that, to hear such learned barbs and abuses from the intellectuals. How sharp their blades! Writing poetry does not even provide me with a ticket to Digha’s seaside. I had never expected that to happen anyway. But neither did I expect such barbed comments from the wise and the learned. Still around 30 copies of my novel were sold at book fairs and other fetes—may be Mr. Kangal Harbart has also secretly bought a copy!

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S:Do you receive any royalty from the books?

R:No. Not a paisa. The money that we receive from the selling of the books somehow balances Ranjan’s initial investment in the making of the book. But I never expected to make money. Like a pious worshipper one just survives along with Ranjan.  I have told him that in case you make even Rs. 10/- from my books, do publish a poetry-book by an aspiring young poet. But I know Ranjan does not make any money out of my books. People will be amused if they hear that poetry-books provide you with money. But yes, writing a novel for the magazine Agamikaal, I got paid handsomely for the first time in my life.

 

S: Can you write in rhyming-patterns? I mean does the sun shine on the balcony of your rhymes?

R:First thing: a poet’s job is to pen the poem. Not to indulge in sit-ups on the balcony of rhymes. So, on the balcony of my rhymes no sunshine, I often do spy the howling of dead crow’s shadow. On the balcony of my rhymes there still is a poisonous snake’s heartache, calmly, like a fallen leaf, in repose.

But yes, it is true that right from the beginning I have been writing in prose, not in so-called rhymes. That is why people say that this man either does not understand rhymes or harbours a very rudimentary sense of it. It is not that I have not written in rhyme-patterns but more often than not they are hidden. Hidden within the prose-poems perhaps? Our lives are not measured in 8/6 or 8/10 patterns. So my poems are not gated and captive. They are free and limitless. Like life itself.

In my first two books I do have some poems in rhyme. Once I had told someone that I write in aksharbritto and he refuted this by saying that it was actually faux aksharbritto. I do not understand much. All I know is that I write in free flowing poetic prose and readers have accepted that, which is what is my sole reap.For such a style I have garnered both accolades and brickbats—the charge is that I do anti-poetry like Manik Chakaborty or Pranabendu Dasgupta. The other day I was in Naihati for a poetry reading and someone said that my poetry is akin to Jack Prevor’s. He enquired whether I had read his poetry. I replied in the negative.  So my work has become like his poetry. Later I did read Jack Prevor. Somewhere I also read that Sunil Ganguly had once said that Prevor was a third-rate poet. Therefore, I too have turned into a third rate poet. But the asinine ones have no sense that free verse has an inner rhyme. To weave a kind of a poetic prose that has its own rules requires years of practice and dedication. Anyway, all pundits and prudent ones are my close relations, friends all!

S: You have a facebook fan page like any famous poet. How did that happen?

R:Some young people in Kolkata who are also my friends and dearest ones have come up with this page that you refer. I had no clue about this matter. One evening I noticed that facebook has a page by my name. After coming to know about that page, my close friend and poet from Tripura, Prabuddhasundar Kar told me that I could be taken to task and be humiliated for the very existence of this page. I told him that some young ones who love me have done it. Sometimes I see a new entry or two on that page. I have not posted anything on that page though. But yes, I do enjoy the attention. But I also keep in mind Prabuddhasundar’s sage words.

 

S: You have developed a fandom. How do you handle that?

R:This indeed is a new development. I feel a bit uneasy. And close my eyes.

 

S: I have a feeling that one day Barrackpore will have a road in your name. ‘Rana Roychowdhury Sarani.’

R:Ha ha ha. I do not expect any such thing. I don’t even wish any such thing to happen. I shall not want that such a calamity befalls people here. I sometimes used to go to the meetings held by the Birendra Chattopadhyaya Smriti Rokhha Committee. After Bhaskar da’s demise every year Basabi di conducts and oversees a programme. All these are good works but in my case such things are not possible. Since I have no kid who shall run such a committee! So perish the thought. Who thinks of such things? All I want is to write a few more good poems. That will make life happier. The very idea of Rana Roychowdhury memorial committee or a memorial award is such a hilarious proposition. Since I believe in God, I would pray to him that I be not given any award ever. The prospect of earning 25-30 thousand bucks will surely make me greedy but getting an award will be like a punishment to me.

 

S:On two fingers of your right hand a red coral stone and a garnet, and on two fingers of your other handan emerald and a pearl. What job do these perform?

R:See I want to spend my life in fun and frolic, as Thakur Ramakrishna had suggested. The emerald is surely for deathlessness. The garnet makes you more sexually active—that is to say, let my life and society be inundated with untrammeled sexuality. The pearl of course is for peace—again both in my life and for social peace. With such thoughts I wear all these stones on my fingers and I am very happy.

 

S: I heard that you have even taken refuge in deeksha from a Guru?

R:You have heard that right. Every morning after my bath I chant his name. My guru’s name is Gyanananda Saraswati. He used to be a doctor by profession.Turned into an ascetic later. Now, it so happened that I had reached his place for deeksha in a plain shirt and a pair of trousers. Someone there rebuked me a lot for this anomaly; said that that deeksha cannot happen in such attire. I had taken a dhoti for my guru-to-be. So, I quickly wore that one and gave him a gamchha(cotton towel) instead, since something had to be given as dakshina.And along with that—a five rupee coin. There were hundreds of people lining up for deeksha. Somone began tutoring me about the steps in the deeksha ceremony but I understood nothing. I got to know someone there who had taken deeksha with 4/5 gurus. I mean like Ram Thakur, Ramkrishna Mission, Anukul Thakur and so on. So he was the deeksha-specialist. So I ask him: “Sir, you are the deeksha specialist. Please help me understand the process.” So he explains. I do not have much faith in all these things. What I like is the participation. To be among people. During Mahalaya I visit the Ganges ghat and offer ablutions to my forefathers. I am sure my forefathers do not at all accept such polluted water nor do the purohits’ chants for twenty bucks mean anything. But the impetus is the same: mass participation. I like that. After my mother’s death I did not tonsure my hair nor did I follow any rituals. I even indulged in sex which is usually prohibited for a while. Received a lot of shit for that. After my father’s death I did tonsure my hair and also followed certain dicta. Again to see how it feels to participate. I mean, within my limitations, I want to break free of the law and lawlessness. But I am a believer. That God may not be Kali, Durga, Shiv or Ramakrishna. God may even be a human being. May be it’s you. During dire circumstances, I call you and suppose I get relief and mitigation from you. This summoning and crying out is important to me.

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S: The Brahmasamaj of Bengali poetry has broken into two parts—adi and nabo. I am talking about Krittibas Magazine. Just like the Congress, which also had an ancient version until it spintered into newer forms? Which side are you on?

R:I am on neither side. One day Angshuman Kar solicited writing for Krittibas. I mean, to the one that you have christened as adi. So I said, “Till date none had asked. Why now?” He said, “I do not know why no one asked so far, but now I am seeking your poems.” So I gave him poems. For taking this step once again I had to endure a great load of verbal shit. On the other hand others were happy and said that for once my writings were accessible in a journal that circulates well. I discovered some new readers there. Actually, it was greed that did me in. I succumbed to Angshuman’s request. I am also a human being. I too harbour lust, anger, greed. All that I have is hardly saintly.

 

S: You have faith in this putrescent fifties Krittibasi tradition?

R:No. I do not trust that kind of a tradition. Therefore, I never wrote for Krittibas as long as Sunil Ganguly was alive and since no one asked to me write at that time, I used to be relieved. So why do I write now?  Since they solicit, I give them. As and when they stop seeking, I too shall not write for them.

 

S: And suppose the spintered group—nabos, ask for poetry?

R:No, I won’t give them poems. Why not—I do not wish to explain here. To begin with I never liked Bijesh Saha as a person. So, there is no chance of writing for someone or some entity that I do not support for reasons of principle or ideology. And I also do not quite like the editorial board of the New Krittibas.

 

S:Almost 95% among the readers of Bangla poetry are poets themselves. Outside of this there is a cross-section which recites poetry or sets poetry to music. Other than that there are very few independent poetry readers in Bangla. Is poetry as an art form still effective?

R:I have not thought about all these things. I write poetry. True, I may have fallen into a pattern. To think about new forms or to use fresh words and expressions is a preoccupation. The other day someone asked whether I have had the chance to taste Antiquity whisky. I demurred. But that word stayed with me and I have deployed it somewhere else. I like to compose in this form. Cannot comment how far poetry is still a successful form. Many readers have said after reading The August Month’s Pathway that this book reads more like like prose. So, my usual reply is that these are poetic ways of writing prose. A doctor I know has echoed similar feelings about that book. So, this is what many of my readers think. This is what they feel about this art form that I produce.

 

S: What is your opinion about contemporary little magazines?

R:I have been writing so far solely in little magazines. My stature and standing as poet is through little magazines. But yes, it is not that all little magazines are uniformly good. In fact, there has been a decline in the standards of little magazines since the fifties through the eighties and then a new world post nineties. Still there are some journals which have been able to maintain good standards—like Jangalmahal, Dahopatro, Shudhu Bighe Dui, Kabiyal. There are some more. I cannot recall every single name right now.

 

S: For a time now, you have been trying your hand at short stories. In the 2014 Agamikaal Ultopuja volume, your novel The Kith Kith Game has been published. How did a poet transform into becoming a ranconteur and then a novelist?

R:I am a bit weary with poetry. So I began thinking about the novel form. You guys also gave me a free hand. In fact, you were instrumental in publishing my first story in Agamikaal. I feel like working a bit with these narrative forms. As always, many readers have liked my novel while others have dissed it. The well known short story writer Sayantani Putatunda did not find my novel any good. But if my novel does not appeal to some people, what can I do? I shall continue to write the way I can. The other day someone remarked: “Actually failed poets turn to writing novels.” Others are advising that I should rather carefully read the likes of Moti Nandi, Subodh Ghosh and Amiyabhusan. Still, though not exactly like the poet’s imagination that ‘with human contact the true blue crane flies away’ some odd true blue humans have come closer after reading my stories.

 

S:You mean they are advising you to write after you have read all these writers?

R:That is right. But I will write whatever I feel like. I had taken it as a challenge when you had suggested that I write a novel. I want to write a few more. But I have no clue as to how far my my readers will accept me a novelist in future.

 

S: The hero of your maiden novel is lame and good. And the rest of the characters, save one or two, are bad. Why have you created a hero from such an unchallenging, advantageous position? Are you the only good poet while the rest of the world is inferior?

R:I did not conceive the hero the way you have framed the question. It had turned out like that as I kept on writing. And it is undeniable that much of society is quite grim and nasty.

 

S:True. But is it possible that only you are worthy and the rest of the world fails?
R: My feeling is exactly like that actually. And I do not like most people in the society.

 

S: Nabarun Bhattacharya had once said this about puerile Bangla prose: “A language can die without becoming extinct. What fat good does it do to venerate such a clinically-dead living body?” What is your opinion about this matter? You are also writing prose.

R:There is another language hidden within our Bangla language. It is that which I try to retrieve. This clinically dead body is what one tries to awaken in many ways. While writing, one cannot think about the social sanctions of a language. This is true not about prose but about poesy too. So, some people have not liked such usages.

Mainly, it is while writing prose that I encounter new challenges. At such time all the norwesterly storms of my existence ravage and ruin the mango groves within me. The band of little boys and girls within me then go out to collect all the mangoes that are littered on the grass. Those leaves that have fallen from the branches due to the storm—those make up the alphabet of my Bangla prose. Therefore, those are never living dead-bodies. Those are distant-traversing hints or the lamentations of some distant-traversing language.

 

S:There is much influence of Jibananada in your novel. Is Jibanananda then the ideal model?

R:As I have said, there is none on whom I have modeled myself. Not consciously at least. I have tried to forge my own identity and ideals. But owing to the deep power of his language, it seems that I have an anxiety of influence. Sometimes after writing I too have this odd feeling that certain parts smell like Malyaban or Karubashona. And then again it seems that is all a hallucination. It goes without saying that Jibanananda’s stories and novels are among my favourite readings. But while writing, I do not consciously borrow.

 

S: The kind of silent revolution Jibanananda had ushered in the language of poetry and then that was followed by the cheap lyrical versifications by the likes of Shakti Chattapadhaya. Do you think that this relegation did harm to and impaired Bangla poetry?

R:Let me say this: for every waste there is a gain. Shakti Chattapadhaya is a very popular and powerful poet. Yes, there has been some impairment but there have also been some benefits. Without passing via Shakti, I would not have discovered Utpal Basu, Bhaskar-da or Pranabendu. Later, many have tried to emulate this feather light lyrical tendency of Shakti. That is a sad affair in Bangla poetry. These are poems fit for recitation. Even in the sixties the kind of langauge Malay Roychowdhury and the Hungryalists had used and tried to garner applause at functions and fetes was a method. They did receive applause for their style.

 

S: Sexuality is a key ingredient in your poetry? How do you see sexuality?

R:The significance of sexuality in human life is immense. Deep down in my mind I nurture and practice sexuality. That appears in my writing. I have two Gods. One is philosophical and the other sexual. Just like I pray to God so do I pray to sexuality. Sexuality is a deep spiritual exercise just like communicating with God. I am completely in favour of sexual freedom. Though I am quite shy and a coward by nature, sexuality is a very important thing in my life and writing. And that appears time and again.

 

S: Do you think sexuality ought to have social sanction?

R:I feel it is better not to have social sanction. I have no choice. Hence I accept this licit sanction. But I am not in favour of this arrangement. Everyone thinks I am poet purist. But I have this tremendous urge to break free. But I cannot. Hence I do that in writing. It would be ideal if I could break limitations in life too.

 

S: What are the roles of Bhaskar Chakraborty and Pranabendu Dasgupta as motivators of your writing poetry?

R:See, I have read their poetry for decades. And I have learnt a lot by reading their poetry. Not just these two—but also Manik Chakraborty, Samsher Anwer—they too taught me a lot. But I have not learnt much by reading Sankha Ghosh or Ramdrakumar Acharya Choudhury. These days I like reading Gautam Basu. Gautam Chowdhury and Ranajit Das are my favourties too.

binoy

S:How much does Binoy Majumdar provoke you? His Jibananadiya sensibility, classical language, relating personal experience with a cosmic universal and making a surreal network out of thatâ€Ļ

R:When I had started composing poems I knew the names of only two poets—Sunil Ganguly and Shakti Chattopadhya. I knew these two were the greatest living poets in Bengal after Rabindranath and Nazrul. One day I was accompanying my mother to the doctor and there was this long queue. So, I entered the book shop next door and asked whether they have a poetry collection of Sunil Ganguly. I began reading that book so that I would learn how to write poetry. One day a friend enquired whether I had read Binoy Majumdar. I replied that I have never heard his name. Then I got hold of Binoy’s Come Back, O Wheel. I liked that book a lot. Another book also kept me busy The Feeling-beads of Agrahayan. But I was stunned after reading Binoy’s Bhutta Series. The language is highly provocative. Undoubtedlya milestone in the history of Bangla poetry writing. I have this ardent wish to write in such a tone and language. There is a kind of topsy-turvying of heart that takes place with Come Back, O Wheel—keeps your soul hypnotized for a long time. Such is its depth and reach.Bhutta Series is a dazzling sexual tempest. After reading the Bhutta Series my hand-driven life-yarn began to frantically run the spindle. If Come Back, O Wheel is the beacon and light of my sexual and romantic stimulation, then Bhutta Series is the Columbus’ ship of my life.

S: “The ginger merchant has assembled a ship-like house”—a line from one of Sunil Ganguly’s poems. Do you think he has consciously or unconsciously written these lines addressing his own literary ouvre?

R: Quite a conscious articulation, I’d think.

 

S:In the year 2016, how does Rana Roychowdhury envisage his writings in future?

R:See, writing has now become part of my daily living. The way I eat rice, take a shit or indulge in a bout of intercourse, in a similar vein: I write. But I want to get rid of this habit. I was having this thought today morning that it would be so good if I do not write for the next three years. When I started to write no one asked for my writings. These days many do solicit. Thanks to facebook many people know my name. They want to buy my books. Now I want to get a release from this identity of the poet. It has become a cause for pain. I have turned myself into a usage, a mode. This I want no more. I do not like this one bit. Let us assume that in the next 10 years there is no poet by the name of Rana Roychowdhury. My writerly life is over. After a gap of 10 years I shall begin a fresh writer’s life. We shall see what I write at that time.

 

S: Are you aiming towards that end?

R:I write far less these days. I want to withdraw myself from these writings. In the coming year I shall not give any writing to anyone. I do not want any of my writings to be published. I am worn out. I want freedom from this poet’s prison. But I do not know how far I shall be successful in this endeavour. If someone asks for a piece of writing, I cannot refuse. Again I take up my pen. Or in deep depression and anger, in the throes of sorrow or dejection, in great happiness—there is no other way for me other than going to poetry. Wide open windows take me to poetry; the lonely journey of the railway track brings me to poetry. So, I am not sure whether I can survive without writing.

***

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āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĒāĻžāĻ āϕ⧇āϰ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋ⧟āĻž āϕ⧇āĻŽāύ ?

āϕ⧇āω āϕ⧇āω āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋ āĻŦāϞ⧇āύāĨ¤ āϕ⧇āω āϕ⧇āω āĻ—āĻžāϞāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϞāĻŋāĻ“ āĻĻā§‡ā§ŸāĨ¤ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇āύ, ‘āφāĻĒāύāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĒ⧜āϞ⧇ āφāĻĒāύāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ…āϏ⧁āĻ¸ā§āĻĨ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšā§Ÿ, āĻāϤ āφāĻœā§‡āĻŦāĻžāĻœā§‡ āϞ⧇āϖ⧇āύ āϝ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ˜ā§‡āĻ¨ā§āύāĻž āĻ•āĻ°ā§‡â€™āĨ¤ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āύ⧀āϰāĻŦ āĻĨāĻžāϕ⧇āύāĨ¤ (āĻāχ āύ⧀āϰāĻŦāϤāĻž āĻļā§‹āϕ⧇āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋) āĻāĻ–āύ āĻ…āĻŦāĻļā§āϝ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇āχ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϚāĻžāύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇āĨ¤ āφāϗ⧇ āϝ⧇āĻŽāύ āϕ⧇āω āϚāĻžāχāϤ āύāĻž, āĻŦāĻ›āϰ⧇ āĻĻ⧁āϟāĻŋ āĻĒāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻŋāĻ•āĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻ›āĻžāĻĒāϤ, ‘āĻĻāĻžāĻšāĻĒāĻ¤ā§āĻ°â€™ āφāϰ ‘āύāĻžāϟāĻŽāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāĻŋāĻ°â€™, āϤāĻžāϤ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻāĻ–āύ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻ›āĻžāĻĒ⧇, āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āϏ⧇āχ āϏāĻŦ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϏāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁āĻˇā§āϟ āύāχāĨ¤

āĻ¸ā§āϕ⧁āϞ⧇ āĻļāĻŋāĻ•ā§āώāĻ•āϤāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻž āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻžā§Ÿ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž – āĻāϰāĻ•āĻŽ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ•ā§āϞāĻžāϏāĻŋāĻ•āĻžāϞ āĻ›āϕ⧇ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύāĻ•ā§‡Â āĻĢ⧇āϞāϞ⧇ āϕ⧀ āĻ•āϰ⧇ ? āϝāĻž āϏ⧇āχ āĻļāĻŋāĻ•ā§āώāĻ• – āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāĻļ⧇āĻ–āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϞāĻŋāĻĻāĻžāϏ āϰāĻžā§Ÿā§‡āϰ āφāĻŽāϞ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āϚāϞ⧇ āφāϏāϛ⧇āĨ¤

āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϕ⧋āύāĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦāĻŋāύāĻŋ āϝ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ¸ā§āϕ⧁āϞāĻļāĻŋāĻ•ā§āώāĻ• āĻšāĻŦāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϏāĻžāϰāĻžāĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻĒāĻžā§œāĻžāϰ āĻ•ā§āϞāĻžāĻŦ⧇āϰ āĻŦ⧇āĻžā§āϚāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻŦāϏ⧇ āφāĻĄā§āĻĄāĻž āĻŽāĻžāϰāϤāĻžāĻŽ āφāϰ āĻ“āχ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁āĻĻ⧇āϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āĻŽāĻŋāϞ⧇ āϏāĻŽāĻžāϜāϏ⧇āĻŦāĻž āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻŽā§‡āϤ⧇ āωāϠ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻĻ⧁āσāĻ¸ā§āĻĨ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻŽā§‡āĻĄāĻŋāϏāĻŋāύ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻ™ā§āĻ• āĻŦāĻž āĻĒ⧁āĻœā§‹āϰ āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āĻšāϰāĻŋāĻļāĻž āĻŽāĻžāĻ°ā§āϕ⧇āϟ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āϜāĻžāĻŽāĻžāĻ•āĻžāĻĒ⧜ āĻ•āĻŋāύ⧇ āĻāύ⧇ āĻŦāĻŋāϤāϰāĻŖ āĻ•āĻŋ āϰāĻ•ā§āϤāĻĻāĻžāύ āĻļāĻŋāĻŦāĻŋāϰ āĻŦāĻž āĻĒāĻžā§œāĻžā§Ÿ āĻĢāĻžāĻ‚āĻļāύ āĻ…āĻ°ā§āĻ—āĻžāύāĻžāχāϜ āĻ•āϰāĻž – āĻāχāϏāĻŦ āĻ•āϰāϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻāχāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻ­ā§āϝāĻžāĻ—āĻžāĻŦāĻ¨ā§āĻĄā§‡āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ āĻ•āĻžāϟāĻžāϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āϖ⧇āϤāĻžāĻŽ āĻŽāĻžā§Ÿā§‡āϰ āĻšā§‹āĻŸā§‡āϞ⧇, āĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŖ āĻŦāĻžāĻŦāĻž āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ•āĻĻāĻŋāύ āφāϗ⧇āχ āĻ…āĻŦāϏāϰ āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāϞ, āĻŽāĻž āĻ¸ā§āϕ⧁āϞ⧇ āĻĒ⧜āĻžāϤāĨ¤ āϤāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĻ⧁āσ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻĒā§āύ⧇āĻ“ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦāĻŋāύāĻŋ āϝ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ¸ā§āϕ⧁āϞ āĻļāĻŋāĻ•ā§āώāĻ• āĻšāĻŦāĨ¤ āĻāχ āĻļāĻŋāĻ•ā§āώāĻ•āϤāĻžāϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϰ āϕ⧋āύ⧋ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒāĻ°ā§āĻ• āύ⧇āχāĨ¤ āĻĻ⧁āĻŸā§‹ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒā§‚āĻ°ā§āĻŖ āφāϞāĻžāĻĻāĻž āϧāĻžāϰāĻžāĨ¤ āϤāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻĻ⧁āĻŸā§‹ āφāϞāĻžāĻĻāĻž āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώāĨ¤
āϤāĻŦ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧋ āĻŦāĻžāĻšā§āϚāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒ⧜āĻžāχ, āĻĢāϞ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϤāĻ–āύ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϕ⧇ āĻļāĻŋāĻ•ā§āώāĻ• āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšā§Ÿ āύāĻž, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤāĻ–āύ āĻ“āχ āĻļāĻŋāĻļ⧁āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻŦāĻž, āĻĒāĻŋāϤāĻž, āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ¸ā§āύ⧇āĻš āĻ…āύ⧁āĻ­āĻŦ āĻ•āϰāĻŋ āĻ“āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻāϟāĻž āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻŦā§‹āĻāĻžāύ⧋ āϝāĻžāĻŦ⧇ āύāĻž, āĻ“āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒ⧜āĻžāϤ⧇ āĻĒ⧜āĻžāϤ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĒāĻžāχ, āϏ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϚāĻŋāϰāĻ•āĻžāϞ⧀āύ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāĨ¤

āĻšāϞ⧇ āϕ⧀ āĻ•āϰ⧇ ?

āĻĒāϰ⧇ āĻŦāϞāĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰ āφāϗ⧇ āĻŦāϞāĻŋ āĻļāĻŋāĻ•ā§āώāĻ•āϤāĻžāϰ āφāϗ⧇ āϕ⧀ āĻ•āϰāϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻĒāĻžāϞ⧇ āϜ⧁āĻŸā§‡ āϗ⧇āϞ, āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāχāϭ⧇āϟ āĻĢāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻŽā§‡ āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϞ⧇āĨ¤ āϏ⧇āχ āϏāĻ‚āĻ¸ā§āĻĨāĻžā§Ÿ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĻ⧁ āϖ⧇āĻĒ⧇ ⧧⧍ āĻŦāĻ›āϰ āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋ āĻ•āϰāĻŋ, āϤāĻžāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāĻ–āύ āĻĒ⧇āύāĻļāύ āĻĒāĻžāχ āĻŽāĻžāϏ⧇ ā§Žā§Ēā§Ē āϟāĻžāĻ•āĻžāĨ¤ āĻ“āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻ•āϰāĻž āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻŽā§āĻļāĻ•āĻŋāϞ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āωāĻ āĻ›āĻŋāϞ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻ•ā§āώ⧇āĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāϏ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻĻ⧁āĻ°ā§āĻŦā§āϝāĻŦāĻšāĻžāϰ āĻ•āϰāϤāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ…ā§āϝāĻžāĻ•āĻžāωāĻ¨ā§āϟāϏ āĻāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻ•āϰāϤāĻžāĻŽ āĻāϰ āĻĒāϰ⧇āĻ“ āφāϰāĻ“ āĻ•āĻ āĻŋāύ āϏāĻŦ āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ āϝāĻž āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĒāĻžāϰāϤāĻžāĻŽ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻĒāĻžāϰāϤāĻžāĻŽ āύāĻž āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻĻ⧁āĻˇā§āϟ⧁ āĻŦāϏ āĻ…āĻĒāĻŽāĻžāύāĻ“ āĻ•āϰāϤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāĻ•āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇, ‘āĻ›āĻžāĻ—āϞ āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻ•āĻŋ āĻšāĻžāϞ āϚāĻžāώ āĻšā§Ÿ?’ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāχ āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāĻŦāĻžāĻĻ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻ™ā§āϕ⧇āĻ“ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āĻšāϤ āĻ…āĻĢāĻŋāϏ⧇āϰ āύāĻžāύāĻžāύ āĻ•āĻžāĻœā§‡, āϏ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ•āĻ•ā§āώāĻŖ āĻŦāϏ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āϤ⧇ āĻšāϤāĨ¤ āĻāĻ•āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻ•ā§āϝāĻžāĻŽāĻžāĻ• āĻ¸ā§āĻŸā§āϰāĻŋāĻŸā§‡āϰ āĻ•āĻžāύāĻžā§œāĻž āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻ™ā§āϕ⧇ āĻŦāϏ⧇ āωāχāĻĨāĻĄā§āϰ⧟āĻžāϞ āĻ¸ā§āϞāĻŋāĻĒ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻŋāĻ›āύ⧇āχ āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ ‘āϝāĻžāĻĻāĻŦāĻĒ⧁āϰ⧇āϰ āĻŽā§‹ā§œâ€™ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻžāĨ¤ āĻ“āχ āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋ āĻ›ā§‡ā§œā§‡ āĻĻ⧇āĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ ‘āφāϜāĻ•āĻžāĻ˛â€™ āϏāĻ‚āĻŦāĻžāĻĻāĻĒāĻ¤ā§āϰ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰ⧁āĻĢ āϰāĻŋāĻĄāĻžāϰ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻĒ⧇āϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻžāϜāϟāĻž āĻ­āĻžāϞāχ āĻ•āϰāϤāĻžāĻŽ āϤāĻžāχ āϏāĻŦāĻžāχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϘāĻžā§œā§‡ āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻĢ⧇āϞ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻŦāĻžāχāϰ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āφāĻĄā§āĻĄāĻž āĻŽāĻžāϰāϤ āφāϰ āϏāĻŋāĻ—āĻžāϰ⧇āϟ āϖ⧇āϤāĨ¤ āĻāĻ•āϰāĻžāĻŽ (āφāϞāĻŋ) āĻĻāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϤāĻ“ āĻ•āĻžāĻ—āĻœā§‡āĨ¤ āĻāχ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻāĻ•āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϏāĻ¨ā§āĻĻā§€āĻĒāύ āϚāĻŸā§āĻŸā§‹āĻĒāĻžāĻ§ā§āϝāĻžā§Ÿā§‡āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āĻŦāϕ⧁āύāĻŋ āϖ⧇āϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āωāύāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇āύ, ‘ āĻāχ āĻĻ⧇āĻ– āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āύāĻžāĻŽā§‡ āϚāĻŋāĻ āĻŋ āĻāϏ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻāϕ⧇ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ—āĻžāϞāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϞāĻŋ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĻ›āĨ¤ āĻāĻ–āύ āĻāϏāĻŦ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϏāĻžāĻŽāϞāĻžāĻ“â€™āĨ¤ āĻĢāϞāϤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϏ⧇āχ āϚāĻŋāĻ āĻŋāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ¤ā§āϝ⧁āĻ¤ā§āϤāϰ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āϚāĻŋāĻ āĻŋ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϞāĻžāĻŽ, āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āĻĒā§œā§‡ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āϏāĻ¨ā§āĻĻā§€āĻĒāύ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āϖ⧁āĻļāĻŋ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāϞ⧇āύāĨ¤ āĻāĻ•āϰāĻžāĻŽāĻĻāĻž āϏ⧇āχ āϚāĻŋāĻ āĻŋ āĻĒā§œā§‡ āĻŦāϞ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞ ‘āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ⧇āϰ āĻšāĻžāϤ āĻ­āĻžāĻ˛â€™ āχāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻžāĻĻāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻāϰāĻĒāϰ āĻ“āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āϞāĻžāĻŽ, āĻ•ā§Ÿā§‡āĻ•āϜāύ āĻĒā§āϰāĻļāĻ‚āϏāĻžāĻ“ āĻ•āϰāϞ⧇āύāĨ¤ āϤāĻ–āύ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāĻ“ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻ›āĻŋ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝāĻ“ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āĻāĻŽāύ āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāĻž āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻž āϗ⧇āϞ ⧧⧝⧝⧭ āϏāĻžāϞ⧇āĨ¤ āĻŽāĻž āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻž āϗ⧇āϛ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇āύ, ‘āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧋ āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋ āĻĒāĻžāĻŦ⧇, āφāĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύ āĻ•āĻ°â€™āĨ¤ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āĻ“āχ āĻ¸ā§āϕ⧁āϞ⧇āχ āĻĒ⧜āĻžāϤ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻŦ? āĻŽāĻž āĻ“āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇āύ, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ–āĻžāϰāĻžāĻĒ āϞāĻžāĻ—āĻŦ⧇āĨ¤ āωāύāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇āύ, ‘āύāĻž, āύāĻž, āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻ¸ā§āϕ⧁āϞ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻŦā§‡â€™āĨ¤ āφāĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύ āĻ•āϰāϞāĻžāĻŽ, ā§§ āĻŦāĻ›āϰ āĻĒāϰ āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋ āĻĒ⧇āϞāĻžāĻŽ, āχāĻ¨ā§āϟāĻžāϰāĻ­āĻŋāω āĻ­āĻžāϞ āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āϗ⧇āϞ āϏāϰāĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŋ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāχāĻŽāĻžāϰāĻŋ āĻ¸ā§āϕ⧁āϞ⧇ āĨ¤ ‘āϕ⧋āĻĨāĻžā§Ÿ āĻĒā§‹āĻ¸ā§āϟāĻŋāĻ‚ āϚāĻžāĻ“â€™? āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϜāĻŋāĻœā§āĻžā§‡āϏ āĻ•āϰāĻž āĻšāϞ āχāĻ¨ā§āϟāĻžāϰāĻ­āĻŋāω āĻŦā§‹āĻ°ā§āĻĄā§‡āĨ¤ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āĻŦāĻžā§œāĻŋāϤ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āφāϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻŦāĻž, āĻŦāĻžāĻŦāĻž āϖ⧁āĻŦāχ āĻ…āϏ⧁āĻ¸ā§āĻĨāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇āĻĒāĻŋāϠ⧇ āĻšāϞ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāϞ āĻšā§ŸāĨ¤
āωāύāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇āύ, ‘āĻšāĻŋāĻ™ā§āĻ—āϞāĻ—āĻžā§āϜ – āϏ⧁āĻ¨ā§āĻĻāϰāĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇, āĻ“āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻ“â€™āĨ¤ āĻŦ⧁āĻāϞāĻžāĻŽ āϞ⧋āĻ•āϟāĻž āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻšāĻžāϰāĻžāĻŽāĻŋāĨ¤ āϝāĻžāχ āĻšā§‹āĻ• āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āϟāĻžāύāĻžāĻĒā§‹ā§œā§‡āύ⧇āϰ āĻĒāϰ āϝ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋ āĻĻāĻŋāϞ, āϏ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻļāĻŋāĻ•ā§āώāĻ•, ā§Šā§Ļā§Ļ āĻ›āĻžāĻ¤ā§āϰ āφāϰ āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻ¸ā§āϟāĻĒ⧇āϜ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ ā§Ē āĻ•āĻŋāϞ⧋āĻŽāĻŋāϟāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāχāϕ⧇āϞ āϚāĻžāϞāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āĻšā§ŸāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻžā§œāĻŋ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āϞāĻžāϗ⧇ āĻ†ā§œāĻžāχ āϘāĻŖā§āϟāĻžāĨ¤ āĻāχ āĻšāϞ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻļāĻŋāĻ•ā§āώāĻ• āĻšāĻ“ā§ŸāĻžāϰ āχāϤāĻŋāĻŦ⧃āĻ¤ā§āϤāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻļāĻŋāĻ•ā§āώāĻžāĻ—āϤ āϝ⧋āĻ—ā§āϝāϤāĻž āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻāχ āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋ āĻĒāĻžāχāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻāĻ–āύ āĻŦāĻžāĻšā§āϚāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āĻ•āĻžāϟāĻžāϤ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāϟāĻžāϤ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύāϟāĻžāĻ“ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āĻŽāĻžāϞāĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻšā§€āύ āĻ˜ā§‹āϰāĻĒā§āϝāĻžāρāϚāĻšā§€āύ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āωāϠ⧇āϛ⧇ āϏāĻŽā§āĻ­āĻŦāϤāĨ¤

āϏ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āϕ⧀ āϰāĻ•āĻŽ āĻ…āĻ­āĻŋāĻœā§āĻžāϤāĻž?

āϏ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻŽāĻžāύāϚāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāχāϰ⧇āϰ āĻ—ā§āϰāĻžāĻŽ, āύāĻžāĻŽ āĻŽā§‹āϚāĻĒā§‹āϞāĨ¤ āĻĻ⧇āĻ—āĻ™ā§āĻ—āĻžā§Ÿ āĻŦāĻžāϏ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āύ⧇āĻŽā§‡ āϧāĻžāύāĻ•ā§āώ⧇āϤ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āϏāĻžāχāϕ⧇āϞ āϚāĻžāϞāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻ¸ā§āϕ⧁āϞ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻ“āχ āĻ—ā§āϰāĻžāĻŽā§‡āϰ āĻ¸ā§āϕ⧁āϞ⧇āϰ āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇, āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āϚāĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻž āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇ āϝāĻž āĻāχ āĻ—ā§āϰāĻžāĻŽā§‡ āύāĻž āϗ⧇āϞ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ•āϟāĻž āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻŦāĻžā§āϚāĻŋāϤ āĻšāϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻ—ā§āϰāĻžāĻŽā§‡āϰ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϖ⧁āĻŦāχ āĻ­āĻžāϞāĻŦāĻžāϏāϤ⧇āύāĨ¤ āĻ“āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āϜāĻžāύāϞāĻžāĻŽ āύāĻŽāĻ¸ā§āĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻŦāϞāĻž āϝāĻžāĻŦ⧇ āύāĻž, āφāĻŽāϕ⧇ āϏāĻžāϞāĻžāĻŽ āφāϞ⧇āϕ⧁āĻŽ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϤ⧇ āĻšāĻŦ⧇ āφāϞ⧇āϕ⧁āĻŽā§‡ āφāϏāĻžāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻ“āχ āĻ—ā§āϰāĻžāĻŽā§‡āϰ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻŦ⧇āĻļ, āĻ¸ā§āϕ⧁āϞ⧇āϰ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻŦ⧇āĻļ, āĻ“āĻ–āĻžāύāĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώ⧇āϰ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻžāχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ¸ā§āϕ⧁āϞāĻŽāĻžāĻ¸ā§āϟāĻžāϰ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϤ⧁āϞāϞāĨ¤ āϤ⧋ āĻ•āĻžāϞāĻŋāĻĻāĻžāϏ āϰāĻžā§Ÿā§‡āϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āĻŽāĻŋāϞ āύ⧇āχāĨ¤ āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋāϟāĻž āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻšā§Ÿ āϤāĻžāχ āĻ•āϰāĻŋ, āϝāĻĻāĻŋāĻ“ āĻŦāĻžāĻšā§āϚāĻžāϗ⧁āϞ⧋āϕ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϖ⧁āĻŦāχ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āϞāĻžāĻ—āϤ⧋āĨ¤

āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āϞ⧇āϟāĻžāϰāĻĒā§āϰ⧇āϏ āĻ›āĻŋāϞ āύāĻž ?

ā§§ā§¯ā§Žā§¯ āϏāĻžāϞ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āφāϰ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāĻ• āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁āϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āϞ⧇āϟāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āϏ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽā§‡ āϞ⧋āĻ• āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āϚāĻžāϞāĻžāϤāĻžāĻŽ āĻĒāϰ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āχ āĻ•āĻŽā§āĻĒā§‹āϜ āĻ•āϰāϤāĻžāĻŽ, āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻŽā§‡āĻļāĻŋāύāĻŽā§āϝāĻžāύ āϰ⧇āϖ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤāĻ–āύ āϜ⧟ āĻ—ā§‹āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻžāĻŽā§€āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ­āĻ•ā§āϤ āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āĻāĻ•āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϜ⧟āĻĻāĻž āĻāϏ⧇āĻ“ āĻ›āĻŋāϞ⧇āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āϏ⧇āĨ¤ ‘āφāϜ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžā§Ÿ āϜāĻŋāĻœā§āĻžā§‡āϏ āĻ•āĻ°â€™ āĻĒ⧁āϰ⧋ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻļ⧁āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāϞ⧇āύ āϚāĻŽāϕ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ āĻāϤ⧋ āĻ¸ā§āĻŽā§ƒāϤāĻŋāĻļāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋ ! āĻāϤāĻŦ⧜ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻž āĻĒ⧁āϰ⧋ āĻŽā§āĻ–āĻ¸ā§āĻĨ ! āϏ⧇āχ āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āϏ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻ—āϰ⧀āĻŦ-āĻŦāĻžāĻšā§āϚāĻž āϛ⧇āϞ⧇ āϜ⧟āĻĻāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻĒ⧟āϏāĻž āϚāĻžāχāϞ, āϜ⧟āĻĻāĻž āĻĒāϕ⧇āĻŸā§‡āϰ āϏāĻŦ āĻĒ⧟āϏāĻž āϛ⧇āϞ⧇āϟāĻŋāϕ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĻāĻŋāϞ, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧋ āĻ…āĻŦāĻžāĻ•! āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āĻāϤāĻŦā§œā§‹ āĻĻāĻžāϤāĻž āĻšā§Ÿ āύāĻžāĻ•āĻŋ? āϏ⧇āχ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ¸ā§āĻŽā§Ÿ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āφāϜāĻ“ āĻ•āĻžāĻŸā§‡āύāĻŋ! āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧋ āφāϜāĻ“ āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻŋāύāĻž, āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϕ⧇ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒā§‚āĻ°ā§āĻŖ āωāϜāĻžā§œ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧇, āĻĒāϕ⧇āĻŸā§‡ āĻāĻ•āϟ⧁ āϰ⧇āϖ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰāĻĒāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāχāĨ¤ āϤ⧋ āĻ“āχ āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āϏāϟāĻž āϖ⧁āĻŦ āϞ⧋āĻ•āϏāĻžāύ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁ āĻ•āϰāϞ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āφāĻŽāϰāĻž āϤ⧁āϞ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ āĻŦā§āϝāĻŦāϏāĻžāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŖ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇āχ āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻ•āϰāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āφāϰ āĻĒ⧟āϏāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāϤ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āωāϠ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻ“ā§ŸāĻžāϰ āφāϰ⧇āĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŖ āϰ⧋āϜ āϏāĻ¨ā§āĻ§ā§āϝ⧇ āĻšāϞ⧇āχ āφāĻŽāϰāĻž āĻĻ⧁āχ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁ āĻŦāĻžāϜāĻžāϰ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻž āĻŽāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϠ⧇āϕ⧇ āϚāϞ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻĢāϞāϤ āĻŦā§āϝāĻŦāϏāĻžāϰ āĻ•ā§āώāϤāĻŋ āĻšāϤāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻ“āχ āĻĒ⧁āϰ⧋āύ⧋ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāχāϭ⧇āϟ āϕ⧋āĻŽā§āĻĒāĻžāύāĻŋ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻĻā§āĻŦāĻŋāĻ¤ā§€ā§Ÿ āϖ⧇āĻĒ⧇ āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋāϰ āĻĄāĻžāĻ• āĻĒā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āϏ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇āχ āϚāϞ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤

āĻŦāĻžāĻ™āĻžāϞāĻŋ āĻšāĻŋāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧁ āĻĒ⧌āĻ¤ā§āϤāϞāĻŋāĻ• āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āĻšāĻŋāϏ⧇āĻŦ⧇ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāĻĻ⧇āĻŦāϤāĻž āϕ⧇? āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϤāϰ⧇ āϝāĻžāρāϰ āύāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϝ āφāϰāĻžāϧāύāĻž āϚāϞ⧇āĨ¤ āϝ⧇āĻŽāύ, āĻ—ā§ƒāĻšāĻ¸ā§āĻĨ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžā§œāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻ—ā§ƒāĻšāĻĻ⧇āĻŦāϤāĻž āĻĨāĻžāϕ⧇āĨ¤ āϝ⧇āĻŽāύ, āφāĻŽāϰāĻž āϜāĻžāύāĻŋ āĻļāĻ™ā§āĻ– āĻ˜ā§‹āώ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāĻĻ⧇āĻŦāϤāĻž āϰāĻŦā§€āĻ¨ā§āĻĻā§āϰāύāĻžāĻĨāĨ¤

āĻāϟāĻž āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻ•āĻ āĻŋāύ āĻĒā§āϰāĻļā§āύāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϏāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāχ āĻĒ⧜āĻŋāĨ¤ āϤ⧋ āϏ⧇āχ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāĻĻ⧇āĻŦāϤāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϕ⧇āω āύ⧇āχ, āĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŖ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϕ⧇ āĻŦ⧇āĻļāĻŋāĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋ āϞāĻžāϗ⧇ āύāĻž āĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϕ⧇āĻ“ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšā§Ÿ āĻŦ⧇āĻļāĻŋāĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋ āϞāĻžāĻ—āϛ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϏ⧇āχ āĻ…āĻ°ā§āĻĨ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāĻž āĻŦāĻžāĻŦāĻžāϰāĻ“ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ•āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋ āϞāĻžāĻ—āϤ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϕ⧇āĻ“ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϕ⧇ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āĻ­āĻžāϞ āϞāĻžāϗ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϝ⧇āĻŽāύ, āωāĻ¤ā§â€āĻĒāϞāϕ⧁āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāϏ⧁, āĻ­āĻžāĻ¸ā§āĻ•āϰ āϚāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŦāĻ°ā§āϤ⧀, āĻŽāĻžāύāĻŋāĻ• āϚāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŦāĻ°ā§āϤ⧀, āĻļāĻžāĻŽāĻļ⧇āϰ āφāĻ¨ā§‹ā§ŸāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻž āĻŦāĻŋāύ⧟ āĻŽāϜ⧁āĻŽāĻĻāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻž āĻĒā§āϰāĻŖāĻŦ⧇āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧁ āĻĻāĻžāĻļāϗ⧁āĻĒā§āϤāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĒ⧜āĻŋāĨ¤ āφāϰāĻ“ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĒ⧜āĻŋ āĻšā§ŸāϤ āĻŦāĻž āĻŦāĻŋāĻĻ⧇āĻļā§€ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāĻĻ⧇āϰāĻ“ āĻĒ⧜āĻŋāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāĻĻ⧇āĻŦāϤāĻžāϰ āφāϰāĻžāϧāύāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻ•ā§āώ⧇ āφāϜāĻ“ āϏāĻŽā§āĻ­āĻŦ āĻšā§ŸāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāĻĻ⧇āĻŦāϤāĻž āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ•āĨ¤

āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻāĻ•āĻŽāĻžāĻ¤ā§āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āϝ⧇ āϏāĻŋāĻĒāĻŋāĻāĻŽ āĻļāĻžāϏāĻŋāϤ āĻĒāĻļā§āϚāĻŋāĻŽāĻŦāĻ™ā§āĻ—āϕ⧇ ‘āϞāĻžāϞ āĻĒāĻŋāρāĻĒā§œā§‡āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻžâ€™ āĻŦāϞāϤ⧇ āĻĒ⧇āϰ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ“āχ āĻŦāχāϟāĻŋāχ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽ āĻĒ⧜āĻŋāĨ¤ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĻā§āĻŦāĻŋāĻ¤ā§€ā§Ÿ āĻŦāχāĨ¤ āĻāχ āĻŦāχāϟāĻž āϕ⧀ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āωāĻ āϞ⧋?

āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻ“āϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϤ⧃āĻ¤ā§€ā§Ÿ āĻŦāχāĨ¤ āĻāϟāĻž āĻ āĻŋāĻ• āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āϝ⧇, āĻļ⧇āώ āĻĻāĻļ āĻŦāĻ›āϰ⧇āϰ āϏāĻŋāĻĒāĻŋāĻāĻŽāϕ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāϚ⧁āϰ āĻ—āĻžāϞāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϞāĻŋ āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻāĻ•āχ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ­ā§€āϤ⧁āĨ¤ ‘āϝāĻžāĻĻāĻŦāĻĒ⧁āϰ⧇āϰ āĻŽā§‹ā§œâ€™ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžā§Ÿ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āϞāĻžāχāύ āφāϛ⧇ ‘āϝāĻžāĻĻāĻŦāĻĒ⧁āϰ⧇āϰ āĻŽā§‹ā§œā§‡āϰ āĻĒāϰ āφāϰ āϏāĻŋāĻĒāĻŋāĻāĻŽ āύ⧇āĻ‡â€™āĨ¤ āĻāχ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻž ‘āĻĻ⧇āĻļ’ āĻĒāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻŋāĻ•āĻžā§Ÿ āĻ›āĻžāĻĒāĻž āĻšā§ŸāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāϤ⧋ āĻ­ā§€āϤ⧁, āϏāĻŋāĻĒāĻŋāĻāĻŽā§‡āϰ āĻšāĻžāϤ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ–āĻžāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻ­ā§Ÿā§‡ āĻ“āχ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻž āϝāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻ‡ā§Ÿā§‡ āĻ›āĻžāĻĒāĻž āĻšā§Ÿ āĻ“āχ āϞāĻžāχāύāϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāĻžāĻĻ āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĻāĻŋāχāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻ¸ā§āĻĨāĻžāĻ¨ā§€ā§Ÿ āϏāĻŋāĻĒāĻŋāĻāĻŽ-āĻāϰ āϖ⧁āϚāϰ⧋ āĻ•āĻ°ā§āĻŽā§€āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻšāĻžāϤ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāϤ⧋ āĻ ā§āϝāĻžāϞāĻžāϗ⧁āρāϤ⧋ āĻ–ā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋ āϝ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžā§Ÿ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•āĻžāĻļ āĻĒā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇āĨ¤

āϕ⧀ āϰāĻ•āĻŽ āĻ…āĻĒāĻŽāĻžāύ?

āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āϘāϟāύāĻž āĻŦāϞāĻŋāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāĻ‚āϘāĻžāϤāĻŋāĻ• āĻ…ā§āϝāĻžāϜāĻŽāĻž āφāϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡āχ āĻļāĻ¯ā§āϝāĻžāĻļāĻžā§Ÿā§€ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĒ⧜āĻŋāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻ¸ā§āϕ⧁āϞ⧇ āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋ āĻ•āϰāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āϞāĻžāĻŽ āĻ…āϤāĻĻā§‚āϰ⧇ āϚāĻžāĻ•āϰāĻŋ āĻ•āϰāĻž āĻ…āϏāĻŽā§āĻ­āĻŦ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĒ⧜āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāχ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āϕ⧋āĻĨāĻžāĻ“ āĻŸā§āϰāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϏāĻĢāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻ“ā§ŸāĻž āϝāĻžā§Ÿ āϏ⧇āχ āφāĻļāĻžā§Ÿ āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāĻ‚āϏāĻĻ āϤ⧜āĻŋāϤ āϤ⧋āĻĒāĻĻāĻžāϰ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻ—āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻŋ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻŋ āĻ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āϞ⧇āĻœā§‡āϰ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁ āĻ…āϰ⧂āĻĒāĨ¤ āĻ…āϰ⧂āĻĒ āĻŦāϏ⧇ āφāϛ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āϰāĻŋāĻ­āϞāĻ­āĻŋāĻ‚ āĻšā§‡ā§ŸāĻžāϰ⧇ āφāϰ āϏāĻžāĻ‚āϏāĻĻ āĻŦāϏ⧇ āφāϛ⧇āύ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āϟ⧁āϞ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ…āϰ⧂āĻĒāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ āϏāĻŽāĻ¸ā§āϝāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞ āϞ⧋āĻ•āĻžāϞ āĻ•āĻŽāĻŋāϟāĻŋāϰ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āϚāĻŋāĻ āĻŋ āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āφāϏāϤ⧇āĨ¤ āϞ⧋āĻ•āĻžāϞ āĻ•āĻŽāĻŋāϟāĻŋāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āĻŦāϞāϞ āĻ āĻŋāĻ• āφāϛ⧇ āϚāĻŋāĻ āĻŋ āĻĒāĻžāĻ āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĻ⧇āĻŦāĨ¤ āĻāϰāĻĒāϰ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āϏ⧇āχ āϏāĻžāĻ‚āϏāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞāĻžāĻŽ āϏ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻ…āϰ⧂āĻĒ āĻŦāϞāϞ āϝ⧇, āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āϞ⧋āĻ•āĻžāϞ āĻ•āĻŽāĻŋāϟāĻŋ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāϰāĻŖ āĻ•āϰ⧇āϛ⧇, āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻ°ā§āϟāĻŋ āĻ•āϰ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻ°ā§āϟāĻŋāϰ āχāωāύāĻŋ⧟āύ āĻāĻŦāĻŋāĻĒāĻŋāϟāĻŋāĻ – āĻāϰ āϏāĻĻāĻ¸ā§āϝāĨ¤ āĻ“ āĻŦāϞāϞ, ‘āύāĻž, āύāĻž, āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻŋāϟāĻŋāĻ‚ āĻŽāĻŋāĻ›āĻŋāϞ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āĻšāĻŦ⧇, āϤāĻŦ⧇ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻ•āϰāĻŦ’āĨ¤ āϤ⧋ āĻāχ āĻšāϞ āĻ…āĻŦāĻ¸ā§āĻĨāĻžāĨ¤ āϤ⧋ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϰ āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āϰāĻžāĻ— āĻ…āĻ­āĻŋāĻŽāĻžāύ āĻāχāϏāĻŦ āĻāϏ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ, āϤāĻŦ⧇ āϞāĻžāϞ āĻĒāĻŋāρāĻĒā§œā§‡āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻž-āϰ āϏāĻŦāϟāĻžāχ āϝ⧇ āϰāĻžāϜāύ⧀āϤāĻŋāϰ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āϤāĻž āύ⧟, āϞāĻžāϞ āĻĒāĻŋāρāĻĒā§œā§‡āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻžā§Ÿ āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻĒāĻŋāρāĻĒā§œā§‡āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāĻ“ āĻŦāϞāĻž āφāϛ⧇!

 

āĻāĻ–āύ āĻŦāĻžā§œāĻŋāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āϕ⧀ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻŸā§āϰāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϏāĻĢāĻžāϰ āĻšāϞ⧇?

āϤāĻž āĻœā§‡āύ⧇ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āϕ⧀ āĻšāĻŦ⧇? āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĻā§â€™āĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻŸā§āϰāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϏāĻĢāĻžāϰ āĻšāχāĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽāϟāĻž āϏāĻŋāĻĒāĻŋāĻāĻŽ āφāĻŽāϞ⧇, āĻĻā§āĻŦāĻŋāĻ¤ā§€ā§Ÿ āĻŦāĻžāϰ āϤ⧃āĻŖāĻŽā§‚āϞ āφāĻŽāϞ⧇āĨ¤ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϞ⧇āĻ–āĻŋāϰ āĻ•ā§āώ⧇āĻ¤ā§āϰ⧇ āϕ⧋āύ⧋āĻĻāĻŋāύ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻžāϰ⧋ āĻĒāĻž āϚāĻžāϟāĻŋāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻŸā§āϰāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϏāĻĢāĻžāϰ-āĻāϰ āĻ•ā§āώ⧇āĻ¤ā§āϰ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻž āϏāĻŽā§āĻŽāĻžāύāϜāύāĻ• āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻšā§‡āĻŸā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāρāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āφāϜāĻ“ āĻ•ā§ƒāϤāĻœā§āĻžāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āϤāĻžāρāĻĻ⧇āϰ āύāĻžāĻŽ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻŦ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϝāĻĻāĻŋāĻ“ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽāĻŦāĻžāϰ⧇āϰ āĻŸā§āϰāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϏāĻĢāĻžāϰ⧇āϰ āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āϝ⧇ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϏāĻŋāĻĒāĻŋāĻāĻŽā§‡āϰ āĻŦ⧜ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻĻā§€āĻ°ā§āϘ āĻĒāĻž-āϟāĻŋāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϕ⧇ āϚāĻžāϟāĻžāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻāĻ—āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāϞ⧇āύ, āϏ⧇āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āϞāĻžāĻŽ āĻĢ⧇āϏāĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇ āϏ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āύāĻžāĻŽ āύāĻž āωāĻ˛ā§āϞ⧇āĻ– āĻ•āϰ⧇ ‘āĻ…āĻ•ā§ƒāϤāĻœā§āĻž, āĻŦ⧇āχāĻŽāĻžāĻ¨â€™ āχāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻžāĻĻāĻŋ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻšā§‡āĻŦāĻŋ āĻ—āĻžāϞ āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϤ⧇ āĻ…āĻŦāĻļā§āϝ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĻ⧁āσāĻ– āĻĒā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋ, āĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŖ āĻ•ā§ƒāϤāĻœā§āĻžāϤāĻž āϤ⧋ āϏāĻžāχāύāĻŦā§‹āĻ°ā§āĻĄ-āĻ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āϝāĻžā§ŸāύāĻž, āĻ•ā§ƒāϤāĻœā§āĻžāϤāĻž āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāϕ⧇ āϚāĻŋāϰāĻ•āĻžāϞ, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ⧇āĻ“ āϤāĻž āφāϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϝāĻžāĻ• āϗ⧇ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁āϰāĻžāχ āϤ⧋ āĻ—āĻžāϞāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϞ āĻĻ⧇āĻŦ⧇? āĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŖ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āϤ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁, āĻĒā§āϰāĻŋ⧟āϜāύ, āϤāĻžāχ āύāĻž?

āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāχ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇ āĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāχ āĻāĻ–āύāĻ“ āĻĒāĻ°ā§āϝāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•āĻžāĻļāĻŋāϤ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇ ?

āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽ āĻŦāχ ‘āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻ…āĻ˛ā§āĻĒāĻŦ⧟āϏ⧀ āϘ⧁āĻŽâ€™ āĻŦ⧇āĻ°ā§‹ā§Ÿ ⧧⧝⧝ā§ŦāĨ¤ āĻĻā§āĻŦāĻŋāĻ¤ā§€ā§Ÿ āĻŦāχ ‘āĻļāϰ⧀āϰ⧇ āϏāĻ¨ā§āĻĻā§€āĻĒāύ āύ⧇āĻ‡â€™ āĻŦ⧇āĻ°ā§‹ā§Ÿ ā§§ā§¯ā§¯ā§Ž āϏāĻžāϞ⧇, āϤāĻžāϰāĻĒāϰ ‘āϞāĻžāϞ āĻĒāĻŋāρāĻĒā§œā§‡āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻžâ€™ ⧍ā§Ļā§Ļā§Ļ āϏāĻžāϞ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•āĻžāĻļāĻŋāϤ āĻšā§ŸāĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽ āĻĻ⧁āĻŸā§‹ āĻŦāχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁āϰāĻž āĻ•āϰ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ…āĻŽāĻŋāϤāĻžāĻ­ āĻ­āĻŸā§āϟāĻžāϚāĻžāĻ°ā§āϝ āĻ“ āĻĒā§āϰāĻšā§āĻ›āĻžā§ŸāĻž āĻĒāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻŋāĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰ⧟āĻžāϤ āĻļ⧌āύāĻ• āĻŦāĻ°ā§āĻŽāĻŖ, āϤāĻžāρāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•ā§ƒāϤāĻœā§āĻžāĨ¤ āϤ⧃āĻ¤ā§€ā§Ÿ āĻŦāχ āĻĻāĻžāĻšāĻĒāĻ¤ā§āϰ-āϰ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒāĻžāĻĻāĻ• āĻ•āĻŽāϞāϕ⧁āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĻāĻ¤ā§āϤ āĻ•āϰ⧇āύāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāρāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāĻ“ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ‹āϪ⧇āϰ āĻļ⧇āώ āύ⧇āχāĨ¤ āϝāĻĻāĻŋāĻ“ āϟāĻžāĻ•āĻžāϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻŋāχ āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻ“āχ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻŦāχāχ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϰ āĻĒ⧟āϏāĻžā§Ÿ āĻ•āϰāĻŋāĨ¤ āϏ⧇āχāϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĻāĻžāĻšāĻĒāĻ¤ā§āϰ-āĻ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžā§Ÿ āϰ⧇āϗ⧁āϞāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŖ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āϕ⧇āω āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āϚāĻžāχāϤ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻĻāĻžāĻšāĻĒāĻ¤ā§āϰ āφāϰ āύāĻžāϟāĻŽāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāĻŋāϰ āĻāχ āĻĻ⧁āĻŸā§‹āχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻ›āĻžāĻĒāĻžāϰ āϜāĻžā§ŸāĻ—āĻž āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĨ¤ āĻāϰāĻĒāϰ ‘āύāĻžāϟāĻŽāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāĻŋāĻ°â€™ āĻĒāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻŋāĻ•āĻžāϰ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒāĻžāĻĻāĻ• āϰāĻžā§āϜāύ āφāϚāĻžāĻ°ā§āϝ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ ā§ŠāϟāĻŋ āĻŦāχ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•āĻžāĻļ āĻ•āϰ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ ‘āĻŦ⧁āύ⧋ āĻ—āĻžāϧāĻžāϰ āĻĄāĻžāĻ•â€™, ‘āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻžāĻ­āĻžāώāĻžāϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧁āĻ°â€™ āφāϰ ‘āĻ…āĻ—āĻžāĻ¸ā§āϟ āĻŽāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ āϰāĻžāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻžâ€™āĨ¤ āĻāχ āĻšāϞ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ ā§Ŧ āϟāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻ‡ā§Ÿā§‡āϰ āχāϤāĻŋāĻŦ⧃āĻ¤ā§āϤāĨ¤

āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύāϟāĻžāχ āĻŦāĻž āϕ⧀ āϰāĻ•āĻŽ ?

āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāĻœā§€āĻŦāύ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻ…āύāĻžā§œāĻŽā§āĻŦāϰ, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦā§āϝāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋāĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇āĻ“ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻ†ā§œāĻŽā§āĻŦāϰāĻšā§€āύ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āϤ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāϞāĻŦāĻžāϏāĻŋāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•āĻžāĻļāĻ•-āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁ āϰāĻžā§āϜāύ āφāϚāĻžāĻ°ā§āϝāϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύāĻ“ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻ…āύāĻžā§œāĻŽā§āĻŦāϰāĨ¤ āϝ⧇āĻŽāύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāχ āĻ“ āϕ⧋āύāĻĻāĻŋāύ āωāĻĻā§āĻŦā§‹āϧāύ āĻ•āϰ⧇āύāĻŋāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āϚāĻžāχāĻ“ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āĻ–āĻŦāϰ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻžāĻ—āĻœā§‡ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻ‡ā§Ÿā§‡āϰ āϰāĻŋāĻ­āĻŋāω āϕ⧋āύāĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻšā§ŸāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāϰāĻž āϕ⧋āĻĨāĻžāĻ“ āĻĒāĻžāĻ āĻžāχāĻ“ āύāĻž āϰāĻŋāĻ­āĻŋāωāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āϏāĻŽā§āĻŽā§‡āϞāύ⧇āĻ“ āϝāĻžāχ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻŦāĻžāĻŽ āφāĻŽāϞ⧇ āϏāϰāĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŋ āϞāĻŋāϟāĻŋāϞ āĻŽā§āϝāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϜāĻŋāύ āĻŽā§‡āϞāĻžā§Ÿ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĒ⧜āĻžāϰ āĻĄāĻžāĻ• āĻĒāĻžāχāύāĻŋ, ⧍ā§Ļā§§ā§§ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻĄāĻžāĻ• āĻĒāĻžāĻšā§āĻ›āĻŋ, āϝāĻžāχāĻ“, āĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŖ āϟāĻžāĻ•āĻžāϟāĻž āĻ­āĻžāϞāχ āĻĻā§‡ā§Ÿ, āϝāĻĻāĻŋāĻ“ āĻ“āϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĄāĻŋ āĻ-āϰ āϟāĻžāĻ•āĻžāχ āϘ⧁āϰāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĻā§‡ā§Ÿ! āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻ“āχ āĻŽā§āϝāĻžāϰāĻžāĻĒ āĻŦ⧇āρāϧ⧇ āĻŽāĻžā§āĻšā§‡ āωāϠ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĒ⧜āĻžāϰ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻĒāĻžāϰāϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ­āĻžāϞ āϞāĻžāϗ⧇ āύāĻž, āϖ⧁āĻŦ āύāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻ­āĻžāϏ āϞāĻžāϗ⧇, āϭ⧟ āĻ•āϰ⧇, āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšā§Ÿ āĻāχ āĻŦ⧁āĻāĻŋ āĻ¸ā§āĻŽāĻžāĻ°ā§āϟ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āϗ⧇āϞāĻžāĻŽ, āϝ⧇āĻŽāύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁āχ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻ¸ā§āĻŽāĻžāĻ°ā§āϟāĨ¤ āϘāϰ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇ ā§Ģ /ā§Ŧ āϜāύ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāĻŽāύ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĒ⧜āϞāĻžāĻŽ āϏ⧇āϟāĻžāχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻ•ā§āώ⧇ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻŋāĻ•āϰāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻāĻ•āĻŽāĻžāĻ¤ā§āϰ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻĻā§€āĻ°ā§āϘ āφāϞ⧋āϚāύāĻž āĻ•āϰ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āϞāĻŋāϟāĻŋāϞ āĻŽā§āϝāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϜāĻŋāύ⧇āĨ¤ āϏ⧇āϟāĻžāχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻāĻ•āĻŽāĻžāĻ¤ā§āϰ āφāϞ⧋āϚāύāĻžāĨ¤ āφāϰ ‘āĻāχ āϏāĻŽā§Ÿâ€™ āϏāĻ‚āĻŦāĻžāĻĻāĻĒāĻ¤ā§āϰ⧇āϰ āĻāĻ• āϰāĻŦāĻŋāĻŦāĻžāϰ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāϤāĻžā§Ÿ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāĻ›āĻžā§œāĻž āĻāĻ•āϜāύ – āĻĻ⧁āϜāύ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁āϰāĻžāĻ“ āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇āϛ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāχ āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāρāϰāĻžāĻ“ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁āχ, āĻĒā§āϰāĻŋ⧟āϜāύāĨ¤ āφāϰ āĻ…āĻšā§‡āύāĻžāϰāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āφāϜāĻ“ āϚāĻŋāύāϞ⧇āύ āύāĻž, āĻāϟāĻžāĻ“ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦ⧜ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻĒā§āϤāĻŋāĨ¤

 

āϕ⧋āύ āĻŦāχ āĻ•āϤ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇?

‘āϞāĻžāϞ āĻĒāĻŋāρāĻĒā§œā§‡āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻžâ€™ āϤ⧋ āφāϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻ“ā§ŸāĻž āϝ⧇āϤ āύāĻž, āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋ āϰāĻŋāĻĒā§āϰāĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϟ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϏāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻŋ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻŦāϞāϤ⧇ āĻ•āĻŋ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āφāĻļā§€āĻ°ā§āĻŦāĻžāĻĻ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāχ āĻŽā§‹āϟāĻžāĻŽā§āϟāĻŋ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āϝāĻžā§ŸāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻĢāĻŋāĻĄāĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻ• āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻ•āĻŽ āĻĒāĻžāχ, āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšā§Ÿ, āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϕ⧀ āϕ⧇āω āĻĒā§œā§‡? āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇āχ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻ‡ā§Ÿā§‡āϰ āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁āĻŽāĻžāĻ¤ā§āϰ āĻ•ā§āϰ⧇āϤāĻžāĨ¤ āφāϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻ āĻ• āĻĻā§â€™āϚāĻžāϰāϜāύ āĻŽāĻžāĻ¤ā§āϰ, āĻāϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āχāĻĻāĻžāύ⧀āĻ‚āĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻ…āύ⧁āĻ­ā§‚āϤāĻŋāĨ¤

āĻāχ āĻŦāχ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋāϰ āχāĻ•āύāĻŽāĻŋāϟāĻž āϕ⧀ ?

āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāϟāĻž āĻŦāχ āϧāϰ⧋ ā§Šā§Ļā§Ļ āĻ•āĻĒāĻŋ āĻ›āĻžāĻĒāĻž āĻšā§ŸāĨ¤â€˜āϞāĻžāϞ āĻĒāĻŋāρāĻĒā§œā§‡āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻžâ€™ āĻāχāĻŦāĻžāϰ ā§Ēā§Ļā§Ļ āĻ›āĻžāĻĒāĻž āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇, āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻļ⧁āύāϞ⧁āĻŽ āϏ⧇āϰāĻ•āĻŽ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋ āĻšāĻšā§āϛ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻāĻ•āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁ āĻŦāϞāϞ ‘āĻĢ⧇āϏāĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āχ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϰ āĻŦāĻ‡ā§Ÿā§‡āϰ āĻŦāĻŋāĻœā§āĻžāĻžāĻĒāύ āĻ•āĻ°â€™āĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻĢ⧇āϏāĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϞ⧇ āϞ⧋āϕ⧇ āĻŦ⧜ āĻ—āĻžāϞāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϞ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĨ¤ āĻŦāϞ⧇ ‘āĻĻā§‚āϰ āĻŽāĻļāĻžāχ āφāĻĒāύāĻžāϰ āĻŦāχ āĻ•āĻŋāύāĻŦ āϕ⧇āύ?’ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻŦāϞāϞ, ‘āφāĻĒāύāĻžāϰ āĻŦāχ āĻ•āĻŋāύāϤ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻŦ āϕ⧇āύ ? āĻ•āĻŋāύāϞ⧇ āĻŦāĻŋāύāĻžā§ŸāĻ• āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āĻĻā§āϝ⧋āĻĒāĻžāĻ§ā§āϝāĻžā§Ÿ āĻŦāĻž āĻļā§āϰ⧀āϜāĻžāϤāϰ āĻŦāχ āĻ•āĻŋāύāĻŦ’āĨ¤ āĻāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻ‡ā§Ÿā§‡āϰ āĻŦāĻŋāĻœā§āĻžāĻžāĻĒāύ āĻĻ⧇āĻ“ā§ŸāĻžāϰ āĻĒ⧟āϏāĻž āύ⧇āχāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāχ āωāĻĻā§āĻŦā§‹āϧāύāĻ“ āĻšā§Ÿ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āϏ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻāϞ āφāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻĻ⧁āĻŸā§‹ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋ āĻšāϤ⧇ āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁ āĻ•āϰāϞ, āĻāχ āĻšāϞ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāχ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋāϰ āχāĻ•āύāĻŽāĻŋ āĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϏāĻŦ āĻŦāχ āĻŽā§‹āϟāĻžāĻŽā§āϟāĻŋ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋ āĻšā§Ÿ, āϏāĻ‚āĻ¸ā§āĻ•āϰāĻŖ āĻļ⧇āώ āĻšāϤ⧇ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ•āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āϞāĻžāϗ⧇āĨ¤ āφāϰ āĻĢ⧇āϏāĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϰ āĻŦāχ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡ āĻŦāĻŋāĻœā§āĻžāĻžāĻĒāύ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϏāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻŋ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āϏāĻ™ā§āϕ⧋āϚ āĻšā§ŸāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āϏāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāĻ›āĻŋ, āĻŦāĻžāĻ§ā§āϝ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĻāĻŋāχāĨ¤ āĻāχ āϤ⧋ āϏ⧇āχāĻĻāĻŋāύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ(āĻ•āĻŋāϤ āĻ•āĻŋāϤ āϖ⧇āϞāĻž) āĻŦāĻŋāĻœā§āĻžāĻžāĻĒāύ āĻĻāĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ āĻĢ⧇āϏāĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇ (āĻŦāχāĻŽā§‡āϞāĻžāϰ āφāϗ⧇), āϏ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ ‘āĻ•āĻžāĻ™āĻžāϞ āĻšāĻžāϰāĻŦāĻžāϰāĻŸâ€™ āύāĻžāĻŽā§āĻŽā§€ āĻāĻ• āϤāϰ⧁āĻŖ āĻŦā§‹āĻĻā§āϧāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϤāĻžāρāϰ āĻŽāĻšāĻžāĻŽā§‚āĻ˛ā§āϝāĻŦāĻžāύ āĻ•āĻŽā§‡āĻ¨ā§āϟ āĻĻāĻŋāϞ, ‘āĻ“ āĻŦāĻžāĻŦāĻž āφāĻĒāύāĻŋ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏāĻ“ āϞ⧇āϖ⧇āύ āύāĻžāĻ•āĻŋ?’ āĻ…āĻ°ā§āĻĨāĻžā§Ž āφāĻĒāύāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻžāχ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧇āύ āύāĻž, āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ! āĻāχ āĻĻ⧇āϖ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āϭ⧟ āĻĒā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡ āϗ⧇āϞāĻžāĻŽ, āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšāϞ āϕ⧀ āĻĻāϰāĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻāχāϏāĻŦ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϞ⧇āĻ–āĻŋ āĻ•āϰāĻžāϰ, āĻāϰ āĻšā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāχāĻŽāĻžāϰāĻŋ āĻŽāĻžāĻ¸ā§āϟāĻžāϰāĻŋ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āϏ⧇āĻĢ āϖ⧇āϞāĻž, āĻŽāĻžāϏ āϗ⧇āϞ⧇ āĻĻā§â€™āϚāĻžāϰāĻŸā§‡ āϟāĻžāĻ•āĻžāĻ“ āφāϏ⧇, āϏāĻ‚āϏāĻžāϰāĻ“ āϚāϞ⧇, āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻŦāĻž āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇ āϤ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒ⧇āϟ āĻ­āϰ⧇ āύāĻž, āϤāĻžāϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻāχāϏāĻŦ āĻŦ⧁āĻĻā§āϧāĻŋāĻœā§€āĻŦā§€āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻļāĻŋāĻ•ā§āώāĻŋāϤ āĻ—āĻžāϞāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϞāĻŋ, āωāĻĢ āϕ⧀ āĻ­ā§€āώāĻŖ āϤ⧀āĻŦā§āϰ āϤāϰāĻŦāĻžāϰāĻŋāϰ āĻ–ā§‹āρāϚāĻž! āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϘāĻž āĻŦā§‡ā§œāĻžāϤ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻ“ā§ŸāĻžāϰ āϟāĻŋāĻ•āĻŋāϟāĻ“ āĻœā§‹āĻ—āĻžā§œ āĻšā§Ÿ āύāĻž, āϤāĻž āφāĻļāĻžāĻ“ āĻ•āϰāĻŋāύāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϕ⧋āύ⧋āĻĻāĻŋāύ, āϤāĻž āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻŦ⧁āĻĻā§āϧāĻŋāĻĻā§€āĻĒā§āϤ āĻ…āĻĒāĻŽāĻžāύāĻ“ āφāĻļāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻŋāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āϝāĻžāĻ• āϗ⧇, āϤāĻŦ⧁ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŋāϤ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ, āĻŦāχāĻŽā§‡āϞāĻžā§Ÿ āĻŦāĻž āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻŽā§‡āϞāĻžā§Ÿ āϰāĻžā§āϜāύ āϤāĻŋāϰāĻŋāĻļ āĻ•āĻĒāĻŋ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻĒ⧇āϰ⧇āϛ⧇, āĻšā§ŸāϤ āϏ⧇āχāϏāĻŦ āĻ•ā§āϰ⧇āϤāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇ ‘āĻ•āĻžāĻ™āĻžāϞ āĻšāĻžāϰāĻŦāĻžāϰāϟ-āĻ“â€™ āφāϛ⧇āύ!

āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋ āĻāχ āĻŦāχ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āϰ⧟āĻžāϞāϟāĻŋ āĻĒāĻžāĻ“ ?

āύāĻžāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāĻ• āĻĒ⧟āϏāĻž āϰ⧟āĻžāϞāϟāĻŋ āĻĒāĻžāχ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻŦāχ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϝ⧇ āϟāĻžāĻ•āĻžāϟāĻž āφāϏ⧇ āϤāĻžāϤ⧇ āϰāĻžā§āϜāύ⧇āϰ āĻ›āĻžāĻĒāĻžāϰ āĻ–āϰāϚāϟāĻž āϕ⧋āύ⧋āĻ•ā§āϰāĻŽā§‡ āωāϠ⧇ āφāϏ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ…āĻŦāĻļā§āϝ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇ āϟāĻžāĻ•āĻž āĻĒāĻžāĻŦ āĻāĻŽāύ āφāĻļāĻž āϕ⧋āύāĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻ•āϰāĻŋāύāĻŋ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻžāχ āωāĻĻā§āĻĻ⧇āĻļā§āϝ āϰāĻžā§āϜāύ⧇āϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āωāĻĒāĻžāϏāϕ⧇āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āύāĻŋāĻ°ā§āϞ⧋āĻ­ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āϟāĻŋāϕ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āĻž āĻāχ āφāϰ āĻ•āĻŋāĨ¤ āφāϰ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ“āϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇āĻ›āĻŋ, āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāχ āĻŦ⧇āĻšā§‡ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĻāĻļ āϟāĻžāĻ•āĻžāĻ“ āϞāĻžāĻ­ āĻšā§Ÿ āϏ⧇āχ āϟāĻžāĻ•āĻžā§Ÿ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āϤāϰ⧁āĻŖ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϰ āĻŦāχ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•āĻžāĻļ āĻ•āϰ⧋āĨ¤ āϝāĻĻāĻŋāĻ“ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāχ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϰāĻžā§āϜāύ⧇āϰ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āϞāĻžāĻ­ āĻšā§Ÿ āύāĻž āĻŦāϞ⧇āχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϧāĻžāϰāĻŖāĻžāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāχ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϞāĻžāĻ­ āĻļ⧁āύāϞ⧇ āϞ⧋āϕ⧇ āĻšāĻžāϏāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻšā§āϝāĻžāρ, ‘āφāĻ—āĻžāĻŽā§€āĻ•āĻžāĻ˛â€™ āĻ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇ āϏāĻŦāĻšā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡ āĻŦ⧇āĻļāĻŋ āϟāĻžāĻ•āĻž āĻĒā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤

āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋ āĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧋ ? āĻŽāĻžāύ⧇ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϰāĻžāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāĻžā§Ÿ āĻ•āĻŋ āϰ⧋āĻĻā§āĻĻ⧁āϰ āĻāϏ⧇ āĻĒā§œā§‡āϛ⧇?

āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻž āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāĨ¤ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻ•āĻ–āύ⧋āχ āĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϰāĻžāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāĻžā§Ÿ āĻĄāύ –āĻŦ⧈āĻ āĻ• āĻĻ⧇āĻ“ā§ŸāĻž āύ⧟āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϰāĻžāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāĻžā§Ÿ āϰ⧋āĻĻā§āĻĻ⧁āϰ āύ⧟ āĻŽā§ƒāϤ āĻ•āĻžāϕ⧇āϰ āĻšāĻžāĻšāĻžāĻ•āĻžāϰ⧇āϰ āĻ›āĻžā§ŸāĻž āĻāϏ⧇ āĻĒā§œā§‡ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžā§ŸāĻļāχāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϰāĻžāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāĻžā§Ÿ āφāϜāĻ“ āĻŦāĻŋāώāĻžāĻ•ā§āϤ āϏāĻžāĻĒ⧇āϰ āĻŽāύāĻ–āĻžāϰāĻžāĻĒ, āĻāϰāĻžāĻĒāĻžāϤāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻŽā§ƒāĻĻ⧁ āĻĒā§œā§‡ āĻĨāĻžāϕ⧇āĨ¤
āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻšā§āϝāĻžāρ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇āχ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ⧇ āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇ āĻāϏ⧇āĻ›āĻŋ, āϏ⧇āχāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āϤāĻĨāĻžāĻ•āĻĨāĻŋāϤ āĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŋāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āϏ⧇āχāϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻāχ āϞ⧋āĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āϜāĻžāύ⧇ āύāĻž āĻŦāĻž āϜāĻžāύāϞ⧇āĻ“ āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻ•āĻžāρāϚāĻž āĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϝ⧇ āĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇ āĻāϕ⧇āĻŦāĻžāϰ⧇āχ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŋāύāĻŋ āϤāĻž āύ⧟, āϏ⧇āϗ⧁āϞ⧋ āϖ⧁āĻŦāχ āϞ⧁āϕ⧋āύ⧋ āĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ, āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ­āĻŋāϤāϰ⧇āχ āϤāĻž āϞ⧁āĻ•āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āφāϛ⧇ āĻšā§ŸāϤ; āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ āφāϟ āĻ›ā§Ÿ āĻŦāĻž āφāϟ āĻĻāĻļ āĻŽāĻžāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻŽāĻžāĻĒāĻž āύ⧟, āĻĢāϞāϤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāĻ“ āĻŽāĻžāĻĒāĻž āύ⧟ āϤāĻž āĻŦāĻ˛ā§āĻ—āĻžāĻšā§€āύ, āϏ⧀āĻŽāĻžāύāĻžāĻšā§€āύ, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϕ⧋āύ⧋ āύāĻŋāĻ°ā§āĻĻāĻŋāĻˇā§āϟ āĻŦā§‡ā§œāĻž āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻŽāĻžāĻĒāĻž āύ⧟āĨ¤
‘āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻžāĻ­āĻžāώāĻžāϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧁āĻ°â€™ āĻ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āφāϛ⧇ āĻŦāĻž āϤāĻžāϰāĻĒāϰ⧇āϰ āĻŦāχāϤ⧇āĻ“ āφāϛ⧇āĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāĻ•āϜāύāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ…āĻ•ā§āώāϰāĻŦ⧃āĻ¤ā§āϤ⧇ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŋ āϏ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞ āĻ“āϟāĻž āĻ…āĻ•ā§āώāϰāĻŦ⧃āĻ¤ā§āϤ āύ⧟, āĻ“āϟāĻž āĻ…āĻ•ā§āώāϰāĻŦ⧃āĻ¤ā§āϤ⧇āϰ āϚāĻžāϞāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāχāϏāĻŦ āϚāĻžāϞ-āĻŦāĻžāϞ āĻŦ⧁āĻāĻŋ āύāĻž, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ⧇ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŋ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώ āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āĻĒ⧜āϛ⧇ āĻāχāϟ⧁āϕ⧁āχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻĒā§āϤāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ⧇ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϰ āĻĢāϞ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āϏ⧁āύāĻžāĻŽ āĻŦāĻž āĻŦāĻĻāύāĻžāĻŽ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇, āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āĻšāϞ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āύāĻžāĻ•āĻŋ āĻ…ā§āϝāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϟāĻŋ āĻĒā§‹ā§Ÿā§‡āĻŸā§āϰāĻŋ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŋ, āĻŽāĻžāύāĻŋāĻ• āϚāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŦāĻ°ā§āϤ⧀āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻŦāĻž āĻĒā§āϰāĻŖāĻŦ⧇āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧁ āĻĻāĻžāĻļāϗ⧁āĻĒā§āϤāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋āĨ¤ āĻāχ āϝ⧇āĻŽāύ āϏ⧇āĻĻāĻŋāύ āύ⧈āĻšāĻžāϟāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĒ⧜āϤ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āĻāĻ• āĻ­āĻĻā§āϰāϞ⧋āĻ• āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇āύ, ‘āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻœā§āϝāĻžāĻ• āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āĻ­āϰ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋āĨ¤ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻĒā§œā§‡āĻ› āĻœā§āϝāĻžāĻ• āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āĻ­āϰ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž?’ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āύāĻž, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĒ⧜āĻŋāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāĻšāϞ⧇ āĻ“āρāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āϗ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻĒāϰ⧇ āĻ…āĻŦāĻļā§āϝ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻœā§āϝāĻžāĻ• āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āĻ­ā§āϰāϰ āĻĒ⧜āĻŋ, āĻāĻĻāĻŋāϕ⧇ āĻāĻ• āϜāĻžā§ŸāĻ—āĻžā§Ÿ āĻĒ⧜āϞāĻžāĻŽ, āϏ⧁āύ⧀āϞ āĻ—āĻžāĻ™ā§āϗ⧁āϞ⧀ āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇āϛ⧇āύ āĻœā§āϝāĻžāĻ• āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āĻ­āϰ āϤ⧃āĻ¤ā§€ā§Ÿ āĻļā§āϰ⧇āĻŖā§€āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻĢāϞāϤ āφāĻŽāĻŋāĻ“ āϤ⧃āĻ¤ā§€ā§Ÿ āĻļā§āϰ⧇āĻŖāĻŋāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āϗ⧇āϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻšā§āϝāĻžāρ, āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ āĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇āĻ“ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āχāύāĻžāϰ āĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āĻĨāĻžāϕ⧇ āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āĻ—āĻžāϧāĻžāϰāĻž āĻŦ⧁āĻāϞ⧇ āϤ⧋? āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻŦāĻž āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ⧇āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ…āĻ•ā§āώāϰāĻŦ⧃āĻ¤ā§āϤ⧇āϰ āϚāĻžāϞ⧇ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϟāĻžāĻ“ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž, āϤāĻžāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻ“ āϏāĻžāϧāύāĻž āϞāĻžāϗ⧇, āϝāĻžāĻ• āϗ⧇ āĻĒāĻŖā§āĻĄāĻŋāϤ⧇āϰāĻžāĻ“ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āφāĻ¤ā§āĻŽā§€ā§Ÿ, āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁āĨ¤

āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĢ⧇āϏāĻŦ⧁āĻ• āĻĢā§āϝāĻžāύ āĻĒ⧇āϜ āφāϛ⧇, āϝ⧇ āϕ⧋āύ⧋ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ–ā§āϝāĻžāϤ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋āĨ¤ āϕ⧀ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻšāϞ⧋?

āĻ•āϞāĻ•āĻžāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻ…āĻ˛ā§āĻĒāĻŦ⧟āϏ⧀ āϛ⧇āϞ⧇ āϝāĻžāϰāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāϪ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώ āϤāĻžāϰāĻžāχ āĻāχ āĻĢ⧇āϏāĻŦ⧁āĻ• āĻĒ⧇āϜāϟāĻž āϖ⧁āϞ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁āχ āϜāĻžāύāϤ⧁āĻŽ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻšāĻ āĻžāĻ¤ā§â€ āĻāĻ•āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻŦāĻŋāϕ⧇āϞ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĢ⧇āϏāĻŦ⧁āĻ• āϖ⧁āϞ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āύāĻžāĻŽā§‡ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻĒ⧇āϜ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāχ āĻĒ⧇āϜāϟāĻž āĻšāĻ“ā§ŸāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ āĻ¤ā§āϰāĻŋāĻĒ⧁āϰāĻž āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻŋ⧟ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁ āĻĒā§āϰāĻŦ⧁āĻĻā§āϧāϏ⧁āĻ¨ā§āĻĻāϰ āĻ•āϰ āĻŦāϞ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞ, ‘āĻāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻ…āĻĒāĻŽāĻžāύāĻŋāϤāĻ“ āĻšāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāĻ°â€™āĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āĻ•āϤāĻ•āϗ⧁āϞ⧋ āĻŦāĻžāĻšā§āϚāĻž āϛ⧇āϞ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āĻŦāĻžāϏ⧇, āĻ“āϰāĻž āĻāϟāĻž āĻ•āϰ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻŋ āϏ⧇āχ āĻĒ⧇āĻœā§‡ āĻ•ā§Ÿā§‡āĻ•āϜāύ āĻĒā§‹āĻ¸ā§āϟ āĻ•āϰ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ…āĻŦāĻļā§āϝ āĻ“āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻĒā§‹āĻ¸ā§āϟ āĻ•āϰāĻŋ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻšā§āϝāĻžāρ, āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āĻ“ āϞāĻžāϗ⧇ āĻāϏāĻŦ āĻĻ⧇āϖ⧇āĨ¤ āϝāĻĻāĻŋāĻ“ āĻĒā§āϰāĻŦ⧁āĻŦā§āϧāϏ⧁āĻ¨ā§āĻĻāϰ⧇āϰ āϏ⧇āχ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āφāϜāĻ“ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻžā§Ÿ āφāϛ⧇āĨ¤

āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āϤ⧋ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻĢā§āϝāĻžāύāĻĄāĻŽ āφāϛ⧇, āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āϏāĻžāĻŽāϞāĻžāĻ“ āϕ⧀ āĻ•āϰ⧇?

āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āχāĻĻāĻžāύ⧀āĻ‚ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āĻāĻ•āϟ⧁ āĻ…āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻŋ āĻšā§Ÿ, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻšā§‹āĻ– āĻŦ⧁āĻœā§‡ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āĻŋāĨ¤

āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϤ⧋ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšā§Ÿ āĻ­āĻŦāĻŋāĻˇā§āϝāϤ⧇ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāϰāĻžāĻ•āĻĒ⧁āϰ⧇ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āύāĻžāĻŽā§‡ āϰāĻžāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻž āĻšāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤ ‘āϰāĻžāύāĻž āϰāĻžā§ŸāϚ⧌āϧ⧁āϰāĻŋ āϏāϰāĻŖāĻŋ’āĨ¤

āĻšāĻž āĻšāĻž āĻšāĻžāĨ¤ āĻāϏāĻŦ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āφāĻļāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻŋ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻāϰāĻ•āĻŽ āĻšā§‹āĻ• āϏ⧇āϰāĻ•āĻŽ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āχāĻšā§āĻ›āĻžāĻ“ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āύ⧇āχāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϚāĻžāχāĻŦ āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āϝ⧇āύ āύāĻž āĻšā§ŸāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ ‘āĻŦā§€āϰ⧇āĻ¨ā§āĻĻā§āϰ āϚāĻŸā§āĻŸā§‹āĻĒāĻžāĻ§ā§āϝāĻžā§Ÿ āĻ¸ā§āĻŽā§ƒāϤāĻŋ āϰāĻ•ā§āώāĻž āĻ•āĻŽāĻŋāϟāĻŋ’āϰ āϏāĻ­āĻžā§Ÿ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡ āϝ⧇āϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻĒāϰ āĻ­āĻžāĻ¸ā§āĻ•āϰāĻĻāĻž āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻž āϝāĻžāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻŦā§€āĻĻāĻŋ āĻ­āĻžāĻ¸ā§āĻ•āϰāĻĻāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰ⧟āĻžāĻŖ āĻĻāĻŋāĻŦāϏ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāĻŦāĻ›āϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ…āύ⧁āĻˇā§āĻ āĻžāύ āĻ•āϰ⧇āύ, āϤ⧋ āϏāĻŦāϟāĻžāχ āĻ­āĻžāϞ āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•ā§āώ⧇āĻ¤ā§āϰ⧇ āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āϏāĻŽā§āĻ­āĻŦ āύ⧟āĨ¤ āĻāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϤ⧋ āϏāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻžāύ āύ⧇āχ, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ¸ā§āĻŽāϰāĻŖ āĻ•āĻŽāĻŋāϟāĻŋ āϕ⧇ āϚāĻžāϞāĻžāĻŦ⧇? āϏ⧁āϤāϰāĻžāĻ‚ āĻ“āϏāĻŦ āύāĻž āĻšāĻ“ā§ŸāĻžāχ āĻ­āĻžāϞāĨ¤ āφāϰ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāϏāĻŦ āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦāĻŋāĻ“ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻ­āĻžāϞ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāϞ⧇āχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āϏ⧁āϖ⧇āϰ āĻšāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϚāĻžāχ āύāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āύāĻžāĻŽā§‡ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āĻ¸ā§āĻŽāϰāĻŖ āĻ•āĻŽāĻŋāϟāĻŋ āĻšā§‹āĻ• āĻŦāĻž āϰāĻžāύāĻž āϰāĻžā§ŸāϚ⧌āϧ⧁āϰāĻŋ āĻ¸ā§āĻŽā§ƒāϤāĻŋ āĻĒ⧁āϰāĻ¸ā§āĻ•āĻžāϰ āϚāĻžāϞ⧁ āĻšā§‹āĻ• – āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻšāĻžāĻ¸ā§āϝāĻ•āϰ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻĒāĻžāϰāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϝ⧇āĻšā§‡āϤ⧁ āψāĻļā§āĻŦāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ⧀ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώ, āϤāĻžāρāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻĨāύāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϝ⧇āύ āĻĒ⧁āϰāĻ¸ā§āĻ•āĻžāϰ āύāĻž āĻĻ⧇āĻ“ā§ŸāĻž āĻšā§ŸāĨ¤ ⧍ā§Ģ āĻ•āĻŋ ā§Šā§Ļ āĻšāĻžāϜāĻžāϰ āϟāĻžāĻ•āĻžāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻšā§ŸāϤ⧋ āĻāĻ•āϟ⧁ āϞ⧋āĻ­ āĻšāĻŦ⧇ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻĒ⧁āϰāĻ¸ā§āĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻ“ā§ŸāĻžāϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻļāĻžāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻŋ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāϰ⧂āĻĒ āĻšāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤

āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĄāĻžāύ āĻšāĻžāϤ⧇āϰ āĻĻ⧁āϟāĻŋ āφāϙ⧁āϞ⧇ āϰāĻ•ā§āϤāĻĒā§āϰāĻŦāĻžāϞ āφāϰ āĻ—ā§‹āĻŽā§‡āĻĻ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻŦāĻžāρ āĻšāĻžāϤ⧇āϰ āĻĻ⧁āϟāĻŋ āφāϙ⧁āϞ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāĻ¨ā§āύāĻž āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻŽā§āĻ•ā§āϤ⧋ āĻāϰāĻž āĻ•āĻŋ āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻĻāĻŋāĻšā§āϛ⧇ ?

āĻĻ⧇āĻ– āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύāϟāĻž āϰāϏ⧇āĻŦāĻļ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāϟāĻžāϤ⧇ āϚāĻžāχ, āĻ āĻžāϕ⧁āϰ āϰāĻžāĻŽāĻ•ā§ƒāĻˇā§āĻŖ āϝ⧇āĻŽāύ āĻŦāϞ⧇āϛ⧇āύāĨ¤ āĻĒāĻžāĻ¨ā§āύāĻžāϟāĻž āϧāĻžāϰāĻŖ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĻ›āĻŋ āĻ…āĻŽāϰāĻ¤ā§āĻŦ⧇āϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϝāĻžāϤ⧇ āϰāĻ•ā§āϤāĻĒāĻžāϤ āύāĻž āĻšā§Ÿ āĻŦāĻž āϏāĻŽāĻžāĻœā§‡ āϝāĻžāϤ⧇ āϰāĻ•ā§āϤāĻĒāĻžāϤ āύāĻž āĻšā§Ÿ āϤāĻžāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āϰāĻ•ā§āϤāĻĒā§āϰāĻŦāĻžāϞ, āĻ—ā§‹āĻŽā§‡āĻĻāϟāĻŋ āĻšāϞ āϝ⧌āύāϤāĻžāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ, āĻŽāĻžāύ⧇ āϏāĻŽāĻžāĻœā§‡ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇ āϝāĻžāϤ⧇ āĻ…āĻŦāĻžāϧ āϝ⧌āύāϤāĻž āϚāϞ⧇ āφāϰ āĻŽā§āĻ•ā§āϤ⧋āϟāĻŋ āĻšāϞ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻŋāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ, āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻŋ āύ⧟, āϏāĻŽāĻžāϜ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇āĻ“ āϝāĻžāϤ⧇ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻŋ āĻŦāϜāĻžā§Ÿ āĻĨāĻžāϕ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāχ āϧāĻžāϰāĻŖāĻž āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āχ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāχāϗ⧁āϞ⧋ āφāϙ⧁āϞ⧇ āĻĒāϰ⧇ āφāĻ›āĻŋ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āφāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇āχ āφāĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤

 

āĻļ⧁āύāϞāĻžāĻŽ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻĻā§€āĻ•ā§āώāĻžāĻ“ āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ› āϗ⧁āϰ⧁āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ ?

āĻ āĻŋāĻ•āχ āĻļ⧁āύ⧇āĻ›āĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāĻĻāĻŋāύ āϏāĻ•āĻžāϞ⧇ āϚāĻžāύ⧇āϰ āĻĒāϰ āύāĻžāĻŽ āϜāĻĒ āĻ•āϰāĻŋāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϗ⧁āϰ⧁āϰ āύāĻžāĻŽ āĻœā§āĻžāĻžāύāĻžāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āϏāϰāĻ¸ā§āĻŦāϤ⧀, āωāύāĻŋ āĻĒ⧇āĻļāĻžā§Ÿ āĻĄāĻžāĻ•ā§āϤāĻžāϰ āĻ›āĻŋāϞ⧇āύ, āĻĒāϰ⧇ āϏāĻ¨ā§āĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ⧀ āĻšāύāĨ¤ āĻāĻ–āύ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇ āϕ⧀ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻļāĻžāĻ°ā§āϟ āĻĒā§āϝāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϟ āĻĒāϰ⧇ āĻĻā§€āĻ•ā§āώāĻž āύāĻŋāϤ⧇ āϚāϞ⧇ āϗ⧇āĻ›āĻŋ āĨ¤ āĻ“āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āϞ⧋āĻ• āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻĻāĻžāϰ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻ—āĻžāϞāĻŽāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āĻ•āϰāϞ, āϝ⧇ āϕ⧇āύ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻļāĻžāĻ°ā§āϟ āĻĒā§āϝāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϟ āĻĒāϰ⧇ āĻĻā§€āĻ•ā§āώāĻž āύāĻŋāϤ⧇ āϗ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āĻŦāϞāϞ, āφāĻĒāύāĻŋ āĻļāĻžāĻ°ā§āϟ – āĻĒā§āϝāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϟ āĻĒāϰ⧇ āĻĻā§€āĻ•ā§āώāĻž āύāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻŦ⧇āύ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϤāĻ–āύ āϗ⧁āϰ⧁āϕ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻŦ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āϧ⧁āϤāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋāύ⧇ āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻ—āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āĻ“āχ āϧ⧁āϤāĻŋāϟāĻž āĻĒāϰ⧇ āύāĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ āφāϰ āϗ⧁āϰ⧁āϕ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ—āĻžāĻŽāĻ›āĻž āĻĻāĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ āĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŖ āĻĻā§€āĻ•ā§āώāĻž āύāĻŋāϞ⧇ āϗ⧁āϰ⧁āϕ⧇ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻšā§ŸāĨ¤ āφāϰ āϝ⧇āĻšā§‡āϤ⧁ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϤāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āĻĒ⧟āϏāĻž āĻ›āĻŋāϞ āύāĻž āϤāĻžāχ āϗ⧁āϰ⧁āϕ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāρāϚ āϟāĻžāĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ•ā§Ÿā§‡āύ āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻ“āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻļâ€™ā§Ÿā§‡ āĻļâ€™ā§Ÿā§‡ āϞ⧋āĻ• āϗ⧁āϰ⧁āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āĻĻā§€āĻ•ā§āώāĻž āύāĻŋāĻšā§āϛ⧇ āϞāĻžāχāύ āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĨ¤ āωāύāĻŋ āĻĻā§āϰ⧁āϤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻĻā§€āĻ•ā§āώāĻž āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻĒāĻžāϰāϟāĻž āĻŦ⧁āĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĻāĻŋāϞ⧇āύ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁āχ āĻŦ⧁āĻāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāϞāĻžāĻŽ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϤāĻ–āύ āĻ“āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ⧇āϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āφāϞāĻžāĻĒ āĻšāϞ āϝāĻŋāύāĻŋ ā§Š / ā§Ē āϜāĻžā§ŸāĻ—āĻžā§Ÿ āĻĻā§€āĻ•ā§āώāĻž āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇āύāĨ¤ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧇ āϰāĻžāĻŽ āĻ āĻžāϕ⧁āϰ, āϰāĻžāĻŽāĻ•ā§ƒāĻˇā§āĻŖ āĻŽāĻŋāĻļāύ, āĻ…āύ⧁āϕ⧂āϞ āĻ āĻžāϕ⧁āϰ āĻāχ āϏāĻŦ āϜāĻžā§ŸāĻ—āĻžā§ŸāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ“āύāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ āφāĻĒāύāĻŋ āϤ⧋ āĻĻā§€āĻ•ā§āώāĻž āĻ¸ā§āĻĒ⧇āĻļā§āϝāĻžāϞāĻŋāĻ¸ā§āϟ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻĒāĻžāϰāϟāĻž āĻŦ⧁āĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϝ⧇ āϕ⧀ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ ā§§ā§Ļā§Ž āĻŦāĻžāϰ āύāĻžāĻŽ āϜāĻĒ āĻ•āϰāĻŦāĨ¤ āϤ⧋ āωāύāĻŋ āĻŦ⧁āĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĻāĻŋāϞ⧇āύāĨ¤ āĻāχ āϏāĻŦ āϝ⧇ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻ•āϰāĻŋ āϤāĻž āύ⧟, āĻĒāĻžāĻ°ā§āϟāĻŋāĻļāĻŋāĻĒ⧇āĻļāύāϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ­āĻžāϞ āϞāĻžāϗ⧇āĨ¤ āϝ⧇āĻŽāύ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋ āĻŽāĻšāĻžāϞ⧟āĻžā§Ÿ āĻ—āĻ™ā§āĻ—āĻžā§Ÿ āϤāĻ°ā§āĻĒāĻŖ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āϝāĻžāχ, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĻā§ƒā§ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ āĻ—āĻ™ā§āĻ—āĻžāϰ āĻāχ āĻĻā§‚āώāĻŋāϤ āϜāϞ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻŋāϤ⧃āĻĒ⧁āϰ⧁āώ āĻ—ā§āϰāĻšāĻŖ āĻ•āϰāϛ⧇āύ āύāĻž āĻŦāĻž ⧍ā§Ļ āϟāĻžāĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻĒ⧁āϰ⧋āĻšāĻŋāϤ āϕ⧀ āĻŦāϞāϛ⧇āύ āϤāĻžāϰ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧇ āύ⧇āχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇, āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻ“āχ āĻĒāĻžāĻ°ā§āϟāĻŋāĻļāĻŋāĻĒ⧇āĻļāύāϟāĻž āĻ­āĻžāϞ āϞāĻžāϗ⧇āĨ¤ āĻŽāĻž āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻž āϝāĻžāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻž āĻ¨ā§‡ā§œāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻŋāύāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āύāĻŋ⧟āĻŽāĻ•āĻžāύ⧁āύ āĻŽāĻžāύāĻŋāύāĻŋ, āĻāĻŽāύāϕ⧀ āĻ“āχ āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āϝ⧌āύāϤāĻžāĻ“ āύāĻŋāώāĻŋāĻĻā§āϧ āϤāĻžāĻ“ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĻ›āĻŋ, āϚāĻžāϰāĻĒāĻžāĻļ⧇āϰ āϞ⧋āĻ•āϜāύ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻ–āĻŋāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻŋ āĻ•āϰāϞāĨ¤ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻŦāĻž āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻž āϗ⧇āϞ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻž āĻ¨ā§‡ā§œāĻž āĻ•āϰāϞāĻžāĻŽ āϏāĻŦ āύāĻŋ⧟āĻŽāĻ•āĻžāύ⧁āύ āĻŽāĻžāύāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŖ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦāϞāĻžāĻŽ āĻāĻ•āĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻŋ āϕ⧇āĻŽāύ āϞāĻžāϗ⧇ āĻ“āχ āĻĒāĻžāĻ°ā§āϟāĻŋāĻļāĻŋāĻĒ⧇āĻļāύ āφāϰ āĻ•āĻŋāĨ¤ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧇ āύāĻŋ⧟āĻŽ āφāϰ āύāĻŋ⧟āĻŽāĻšā§€āύāϤāĻž āĻĻ⧁āĻŸā§‹āχ āϏāĻžāĻ§ā§āϝ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻ­āĻžāĻ™āϤ⧇ āχāĻšā§āϛ⧇ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āψāĻļā§āĻŦāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ⧀ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώāĨ¤ āϏ⧇āχ āψāĻļā§āĻŦāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϞāĻŋ, āĻĻ⧁āĻ°ā§āĻ—āĻž āĻŦāĻž āĻļāĻŋāĻŦ āĻ•āĻŋ āϰāĻžāĻŽāĻ•ā§ƒāĻˇā§āĻŖ āĻšāĻŦ⧇āύ āϤāĻžāϰ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧇ āύ⧇āχ, āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώāĻ“ āĻšāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧇āĨ¤ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋāĻ“ āĻšāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāĨ¤ āĻŦāĻŋāĻĒāĻĻ⧇ āĻĒā§œā§‡ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇āχ āψāĻļā§āĻŦāϰ āϭ⧇āĻŦ⧇ āĻĄāĻžāĻ•āϞāĻžāĻŽ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻžāĻŖ āĻĒā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡ āϗ⧇āϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻ“āχ āĻĄāĻžāĻ•āĻžāϟāĻžāχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āϗ⧁āϰ⧁āĻ¤ā§āĻŦāĻĒā§‚āĻ°ā§āĻŖāĨ¤

āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻž āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦā§āϰāĻžāĻšā§āĻŽāϏāĻŽāĻžāϜ āϭ⧇āϙ⧇ āφāĻĻāĻŋ āĻ“ āύāĻŦ āĻĻ⧁āχ āĻ­āĻžāĻ— āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ“āχ āĻ•ā§ƒāĻ¤ā§āϤāĻŋāĻŦāĻžāϏ āĻĒāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻŋāĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻŦāϞāĻ›āĻŋ, āĻ•āĻ‚āĻ—ā§āϰ⧇āϏ⧇āĻ“ āĻāϰāĻ•āĻŽ āĻ›āĻŋāϞ āφāĻĻāĻŋ āĻ“ āύāĻŦāĨ¤ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϕ⧋āύ āĻĻāĻŋāϕ⧇ ?

āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϕ⧋āύ⧋āĻĻāĻŋāϕ⧇āχ āύ⧇āχāĨ¤ āĻšāĻ āĻžāĻ¤ā§â€ āĻāĻ•āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻ…āĻ‚āĻļ⧁āĻŽāĻžāύ āĻ•āϰ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇ ‘āĻ•ā§ƒāĻ¤ā§āϤāĻŋāĻŦāĻžāĻ¸â€™ āĻ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻĻāĻžāĻ“, āĻŽāĻžāύ⧇ āϝ⧇āϟāĻžāϕ⧇ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āφāĻĻāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāĻ›, āϏ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇āĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āĻāϤāĻĻāĻŋāύ āϤ⧋ āϕ⧇āω āϚāĻžā§ŸāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻāĻ–āύ āϕ⧇āύ āϚāĻžāχāĻ›? āĻ“ āĻŦāϞāϞ, ‘āĻāϤāĻĻāĻŋāύ āϚāĻžā§ŸāύāĻŋ āϕ⧇āύ āϜāĻžāύāĻŋ āύāĻž, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāĻ–āύ āϚāĻžāχāĻ›āĻŋ’āĨ¤ āϤ⧋ āĻ“āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āĻ–āĻŋāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻŋ āĻļ⧁āύāϤ⧇ āĻšāϞāĨ¤ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ ‘āĻ•ā§ƒāĻ¤ā§āϤāĻŋāĻŦāĻžāĻ¸â€™ āĻ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĒā§œā§‡ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇āϛ⧇ ‘āφāĻĒāύāĻžāϰ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽ āĻāĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻĒ⧜āϞāĻžāĻŽ, āφāĻĒāύāĻŋ āĻāĻŽāύ āϏāĻŦ āĻ•āĻžāĻ—āĻœā§‡ āϞ⧇āϖ⧇āύ āϏ⧇āϗ⧁āϞ⧋ āĻĒāĻžāĻ“ā§ŸāĻž āϝāĻžā§Ÿ āύāĻžâ€™āĨ¤ āϤ⧋ āĻ•ā§Ÿā§‡āĻ•āϜāύ āĻĒāĻžāĻ āĻ•āĻ“ āĻĒ⧇āϞāĻžāĻŽ āĻ“āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇āĨ¤ āφāϏāϞ⧇ āϞ⧋āϭ⧇ āĻĒā§œā§‡āχ āĻšā§ŸāϤ āĻ…āĻ‚āĻļ⧁āĻŽāĻžāύāϕ⧇ āĻā§œāĻžāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻŋāύāĻŋ, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧋ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώ, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰāĻ“ āĻ•āĻžāĻŽ āĻ•ā§āϰ⧋āϧ āϞ⧋āĻ­ āχāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻžāĻĻāĻŋ āφāϛ⧇, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϏāĻŦāϟāĻžāχ āϝ⧇ āĻ āĻŋāĻ• āϤāĻž āϤ⧋ āύ⧟?

āĻ“āχ āĻĒāĻžā§āϚāĻžāĻļ⧇āϰ āĻĻāĻļāϕ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻžāĻĒāϚāĻž āĻ•ā§ƒāĻ¤ā§āϤāĻŋāĻŦāĻžāϏāĻŋ āϐāϤāĻŋāĻšā§āϝ⧇ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ āĻ•āϰ⧋?

āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻāχ āϧāϰāϪ⧇āϰ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āϐāϤāĻŋāĻšā§āϝ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ āĻ•āϰāĻŋ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāχ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϏ⧁āύ⧀āϞ āĻ—āĻžāĻ™ā§āϗ⧁āϞāĻŋ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āĻžāĻ•āĻžāϞ⧀āύ āĻ•ā§ƒāĻ¤ā§āϤāĻŋāĻŦāĻžāϏ-āĻ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŋāύāĻŋ āĻŦāĻž āϕ⧇āω āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇āĻ“āύāĻŋ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āφāĻļā§āĻŦāĻ¸ā§āϤ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻāĻ–āύ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻ›āĻŋ āϕ⧇āύ? āĻāρāϰāĻž āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻšā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇āύ āϤāĻžāχ āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āϝ⧇āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϚāĻžāχāĻŦ⧇āύ āύāĻž āφāϰ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŦāĻ“ āύāĻžāĨ¤

āφāϰ ‘āύāĻŦ’āϰāĻž āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϚāĻžā§Ÿ?

āύāĻž, āϏ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĻ⧇āĻŦ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϕ⧇āύ āĻĻ⧇āĻŦ āύāĻž, āϏ⧇āϏāĻŦ āĻāĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϤ⧇ āϚāĻžāχ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āφāϰ āϏāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāϤ⧇ āĻŦā§€āĻœā§‡āĻļ āϏāĻžāĻšāĻž āϞ⧋āĻ•āϟāĻžāϕ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϕ⧋āύ⧋āĻĻāĻŋāύāχ āĻĒāĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āύ⧟, āĻĢāϞ⧇ āϏ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻļā§āύāχ āύ⧇āχ, āϝāĻžāϕ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āύ⧀āϤāĻŋāĻ—āϤ āĻ•āĻžāϰāϪ⧇ āĻŦāĻž āφāĻĻāĻ°ā§āĻļāĻ—āϤ āĻ•āĻžāϰāϪ⧇ āĻĒāĻšā§āĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āύ⧟ āϤāĻžāϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϘāϰ āĻ•āϰāĻŋāύāĻžāĨ¤ āφāϰ ‘āύāϤ⧁āύ āĻ•ā§ƒāĻ¤ā§āϤāĻŋāĻŦāĻžāĻ¸â€™-āĻāϰ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒāĻžāĻĻāĻ•āĻŽāĻŖā§āĻĄāϞ⧀āϤ⧇ āϝāĻžāϰ āφāϛ⧇āύ āϤāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰāĻ“ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻĒāĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āύ⧟āĨ¤

āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻž āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ ⧝ā§Ģ% āĻĒāĻžāĻ āĻ•āχ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻāϰ āĻŦāĻžāχāϰ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ•ā§āϰāĻžāωāĻĄ āφāϛ⧇ āϝāĻžāϰāĻž āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϝ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āφāĻŦ⧃āĻ¤ā§āϤāĻŋ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻŦāĻž āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϝ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻ—āĻžāύ āĻŦāĻžāρāϧ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāĻ›āĻžā§œāĻž āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻž āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁āĻŽāĻžāĻ¤ā§āϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻ āĻ• āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻ•āĻŽāĨ¤ āφāĻ°ā§āϟ āĻĢāĻ°ā§āĻŽ āĻšāĻŋāϏ⧇āĻŦ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻāĻ–āύāĻ“ āĻ•āϤāϟāĻž āĻ•āĻžāĻ°ā§āϝāĻ•āϰ⧀ ?

āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāϏāĻŦ āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦāĻŋāύāĻŋ āϕ⧋āύ⧋āĻĻāĻŋāύāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŋāĨ¤ āĻšā§āϝāĻžāρ, āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ›āĻžāρāĻšā§‡ āĻĒā§œā§‡ āϗ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇ āφāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āĻĒāĻžāχāĨ¤ āύāϤ⧁āύ āύāϤ⧁āύ āĻĢāĻ°ā§āĻŽā§‡ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦāĻž, āύāϤ⧁āύ āĻļāĻŦā§āĻĻ āĻŦā§āϝāĻŦāĻšāĻžāϰ āĻ•āϰāĻž, āϏ⧇āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āϜāĻŋāĻœā§āĻžā§‡āϏ āĻ•āϰāϞ, ‘āϤ⧁āχ āĻ…ā§āϝāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϟāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϝ⧁āχāϟāĻŋ āĻšā§āχāĻ¸ā§āĻ•āĻŋ āĻ–ā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāĻ¸â€™? āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āύāĻž āĻ–āĻžāχāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻ“āχ āĻļāĻŦā§āĻĻāϟāĻž āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžā§Ÿ āĻŦā§āϝāĻŦāĻšāĻžāϰ āĻ•āϰāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāχ āĻĢāĻ°ā§āĻŽāϟāĻžā§Ÿ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāϞ āϞāĻžāϗ⧇, āφāĻ°ā§āϟ āĻĢāĻ°ā§āĻŽ āĻšāĻŋāϏ⧇āĻŦ⧇ āĻāϟāĻž āĻāĻ–āύāĻ“ āĻ•āϤāϟāĻž āĻ•āĻžāĻ°ā§āϝāĻ•āϰ⧀ āĻŦāϞāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻŦ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ ‘āĻ…āĻ—āĻžāĻ¸ā§āϟ āĻŽāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ āϰāĻžāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻžâ€™ āĻŦāχāϟāĻŋ āĻĒā§œā§‡ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇āϛ⧇ ‘āĻāϗ⧁āϞ⧋ āĻ•āĻŋ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž? āĻāϤ āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝāϰ āĻŦāĻ‡â€™āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇āĻ›āĻŋ āĻāϗ⧁āϞ⧋ āϟāĻžāύāĻž āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ⧇ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāĨ¤ āϏ⧇āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻāĻ• āĻĄāĻžāĻ•ā§āϤāĻžāϰ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇āύ, ‘āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ“āχ āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ⧇āϰ āĻŦāχāϟāĻž āĻĒ⧜āϞāĻžāĻŽâ€™āĨ¤ āϕ⧋āύāϟāĻž āϜāĻŋāĻœā§āĻžā§‡āϏ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇āύ, ‘āĻ…āĻ—āĻžāĻ¸ā§āϟ āĻŽāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ āϰāĻžāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻžâ€™āĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ āĻ“āϟāĻž āϤ⧋ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāχāĨ¤ āϤ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻĢāĻ°ā§āĻŽ āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĒāĻžāĻ āϕ⧇āϰ āĻāχ āϧāĻžāϰāĻŖāĻžāĨ¤

āϏāĻŽāϏāĻžāĻŽā§ŸāĻŋāĻ• āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻž āϞāĻŋāϟāĻŋāϞ āĻŽā§āϝāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϜāĻŋāύ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒāĻ°ā§āϕ⧇ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āϕ⧀ āϧāĻžāϰāĻŖāĻž?

āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāϤ⧋āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϞāĻŋāϟāĻŋāϞ āĻŽā§āϝāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϜāĻŋāύ⧇āχ āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇ āĻāϏ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāϚāĻŋāϤāĻŋ āϞāĻŋāϟāĻŋāϞ āĻŽā§āϝāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϜāĻŋāύ⧇ āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇āχāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻšā§āϝāĻžāρ, āϏāĻŦ āϞāĻŋāϟāĻŋāϞ āĻŽā§āϝāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϜāĻŋāύāχ āϝ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāϞ āϞāĻžāϗ⧇ āĻāĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻŦāϞāĻŦ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāϰāĻž āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āĻĒāĻžā§āϚāĻžāĻļ / āώāĻžāϟ / āϏāĻ¤ā§āϤāϰ⧇āϰ āĻĻāĻļāϕ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻž āφāĻļāĻŋāϰ āĻĻāĻļāϕ⧇āϰ āϞāĻŋāϟāĻŋāϞ āĻŽā§āϝāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϜāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻ­āĻžāĻŦāĻŋ, āϏ⧇ āϤ⧁āϞāύāĻžā§Ÿ āφāϜāϕ⧇āϰ āϞāĻŋāϟāĻŋāϞ āĻŽā§āϝāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϜāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻžāύ āĻŦ⧇āĻļ āύ⧇āĻŽā§‡ āϗ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧁ āϤāĻžāϰāĻ“ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻĒāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻŋāĻ•āĻž āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻšā§‡āĻˇā§āϟāĻž āĻ•āϰāϛ⧇ , āϝ⧇āĻŽāύ ‘āϜāĻ‚āĻ—āϞāĻŽāĻšāĻ˛â€™, ‘āĻĻāĻžāĻšāĻĒāĻ¤ā§āĻ°â€™, ‘āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ˜ā§‡ āĻĻ⧁āĻ‡â€™, ‘āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ⧟āĻžāĻ˛â€™, āĻāϰāĻ•āĻŽ āφāϰ⧋ āĻšā§ŸāϤ āφāϛ⧇, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāχ āĻŽā§āĻšā§‚āĻ°ā§āϤ⧇ āϏāĻŦ āύāĻžāĻŽ āĻŽāύ⧇āĻ“ āĻĒ⧜āϛ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤

āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϧāϰ⧇ āĻ—āĻ˛ā§āĻĒ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĻ›, ⧍ā§Ļā§§ā§Ē – āϰ ‘āφāĻ—āĻžāĻŽā§€āĻ•āĻžāĻ˛â€™ āωāĻ˛ā§āĻŸā§‹āĻĒ⧁āĻœā§‹ āϏāĻ‚āĻ–ā§āϝāĻžā§Ÿ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ ‘āĻ•āĻŋāϤāĻ•āĻŋāϤ āϖ⧇āϞāĻžâ€™ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•āĻžāĻļāĻŋāϤ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻ—āĻ˛ā§āĻĒāĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻ”āĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏāĻŋāĻ• āϕ⧀ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āωāĻ āϞ⧇ ?

āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ•āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϧāϰ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇ āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦ⧇āĻļ āĻ•ā§āϞāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāχ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāχ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ āĻĢāĻ°ā§āĻŽāϟāĻž āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āϚāĻžāχāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āϤ⧋āĻŽāϰāĻžāĻ“ āϏ⧁āϝ⧋āĻ— āĻĻāĻŋāϞ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāĻŽāύāϕ⧀ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽ āĻ—āĻ˛ā§āĻĒ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋāχ ‘āφāĻ—āĻžāĻŽā§€āĻ•āĻžāĻ˛â€™ āĻ āϛ⧇āĻĒ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞ⧇āĨ¤ āϤ⧋ āĻāχ āĻ—āĻ˛ā§āĻĒ āφāϰ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻ•āϰāĻžāϰ āχāĻšā§āϛ⧇ āφāϛ⧇āĨ¤ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ āĻĒā§œā§‡ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāϞ āĻŦāϞ⧇āϛ⧇ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻ—āĻžāϞāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϞāĻŋāĻ“ āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻļ⧁āύ⧇āĻ›āĻŋ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ–ā§āϝāĻžāϤ āĻ—āĻ˛ā§āĻĒāĻ•āĻžāϰ āϏāĻžā§ŸāĻ¨ā§āϤāύ⧀ āĻĒ⧁āϤāϤ⧁āĻŖā§āĻĄ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ—āĻ˛ā§āĻĒ āĻĒā§œā§‡ āĻŦāϞ⧇āϛ⧇āύ āĻāϟāĻž āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁āχ āĻšā§ŸāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦ⧁āĻāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ—āĻ˛ā§āĻĒ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇āχ āĻ—ā§āϰāĻšāĻŖāϝ⧋āĻ—ā§āϝ āĻšāĻšā§āϛ⧇ āύāĻž, āϤ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϕ⧀ āĻ•āϰāĻŦ? āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇āχ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŦāĨ¤ āϏ⧇āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞ, ‘āφāϏāϞ⧇ āĻŦā§āϝāĻ°ā§āĻĨ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϰāĻžāχ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁ āĻ•āĻ°ā§‡â€™āĨ¤ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āϕ⧇āω āϕ⧇āω āĻŦāϞ⧇āϛ⧇ ‘āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻ­āĻžāϞ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϏ⧁āĻŦā§‹āϧ āĻ˜ā§‹āώ āĻĒ⧜, āĻŽāϤāĻŋ āύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻā§€ āĻĒ⧜, āĻ…āĻŽāĻŋ⧟āĻ­ā§‚āώāĻŖ āĻĒ⧜â€Ļâ€Ļâ€Ļâ€Ļ.’ āϤāĻŦ⧁ ‘āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώ āύāĻŋāĻ•āĻŸā§‡ āϗ⧇āϞ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•ā§ƒāϤ āϏāĻžāϰāϏ āĻ‰ā§œā§‡ āϝāĻžā§Ÿâ€™āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āύāĻž āĻšāϞ⧇āĻ“ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ—āĻ˛ā§āĻĒ āĻĒā§œā§‡ āĻĻā§â€™āϚāĻžāϰāϜāύ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•ā§ƒāϤ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώ āύāĻŋāĻ•āĻŸā§‡ āĻāϏ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤

 

āĻŽāĻžāύ⧇ āĻāχ āϏāĻŦ āĻĒā§œā§‡ āϤāĻžāϰāĻĒāϰ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻāϏ – āĻāχ āϤāĻžāρāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒāϰāĻžāĻŽāĻ°ā§āĻļ ?

āĻšā§āϝāĻžāρāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ⧇ āϝāĻž āφāϏ⧇ āϤāĻžāχ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŦāĨ¤ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϝāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇, āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻšā§āϝāĻžāϞ⧇āĻžā§āϜ āĻšāĻŋāϏ⧇āĻŦ⧇āχ āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āφāϰāĻ“ āĻ•ā§Ÿā§‡āĻ•āϟāĻž āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āϚāĻžāχāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰāĻŦāĻ°ā§āϤ⧀ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻ āĻ• āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ•āϤāϟāĻž āĻ—ā§āϰāĻšāĻŖ āĻ•āϰāĻŦ⧇āύ āϤāĻž āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāĻ–āύ⧋ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁āχ āϜāĻžāύāĻŋāύāĻžāĨ¤

āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ (āĻ•āĻŋāϤ āĻ•āĻŋāϤ āϖ⧇āϞāĻž) āύāĻžā§ŸāĻ• āĻ–āĻžā§āϜ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋ āφāϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻ•āĻŋ āϏāĻŦ āϚāϰāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰāϰāĻž āĻĻ⧁ –āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻŦāĻžāĻĻ⧇, āĻ–āĻžāϰāĻžāĻĒāĨ¤ āĻāϰāĻ•āĻŽ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āϏ⧁āĻŦāĻŋāϧāĻžāϜāύāĻ• āĻ…āĻŦāĻ¸ā§āĻĨāĻžāύ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āύāĻžā§ŸāĻ•āϕ⧇ āϤ⧈āϰāĻŋ āĻ•āϰāϞ⧇ āϕ⧇āύ? āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋ āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁āχ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āφāϰ āϏāĻŦāĻžāχ āĻ–āĻžāϰāĻžāĻĒ ?

āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϝ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāĻļā§āύāϟāĻž āĻ•āϰāϞ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϏ⧇āϰāĻ•āĻŽ āϭ⧇āĻŦ⧇ āύāĻžā§ŸāĻ•āϕ⧇ āϤ⧈āϰāĻŋ āĻ•āϰāĻŋāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻ“āϰāĻ•āĻŽ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āϗ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āφāϰ āϏāĻŽāĻžāĻœā§‡āϰ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ•āϟāĻžāχ āϝ⧇ āĻ–āĻžāϰāĻžāĻĒ āĻāĻ•āĻĨāĻž āϤ⧋ āĻ…āĻ¸ā§āĻŦā§€āĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻ•āϰāĻž āϝāĻžā§Ÿ āύāĻžāĨ¤

āĻšā§āϝāĻžāρāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋ āφāϰ āϏāĻŦāĻžāχ āĻ–āĻžāϰāĻžāĻĒ ? āĻāϰāĻ•āĻŽāĻšā§Ÿ āύāĻžāĻ•āĻŋ ?

āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϤ⧋ āϧāĻžāϰāĻŖāĻž āϤāĻžāχāĨ¤ āφāϰ āϏāĻŽāĻžāĻœā§‡āϰ āĻŦ⧇āĻļāĻŋāϰ āĻ­āĻžāĻ— āϞ⧋āĻ•āϕ⧇āχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āĻšā§Ÿ āύāĻžāĨ¤

āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻžāϰ āĻ–ā§‹āĻ•āĻž āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ āĻ­āĻžāώāĻž āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒāĻ°ā§āϕ⧇ āύāĻŦāĻžāϰ⧁āĻŖ āĻ­āĻŸā§āϟāĻžāϚāĻžāĻ°ā§āϝ āĻŦāϞ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞ⧇āύ, ‘āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ­āĻžāώāĻž āϞ⧁āĻĒā§āϤ āύāĻž āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āĻ“ āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻž āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧇, āϏ⧇āχ āĻ•ā§āϞāĻŋāύāĻŋāĻ•āĻžāϞāĻŋ āĻœā§€āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻļāĻŦ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāϧāύāĻžā§Ÿ āϕ⧋āύ āϏāĻŋāĻĻā§āϧāĻŋ āĻšāĻŦā§‡â€™ ? āĻ āĻŦāĻŋāĻˇā§Ÿā§‡ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϕ⧀ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻ•āϰ? āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧋ āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻ›āĨ¤

āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻž āĻ­āĻžāώāĻžāϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇āχ āφāϰ⧇āĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ­āĻžāώāĻž āϞ⧁āĻ•āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āφāϛ⧇, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϏ⧇āϟāĻžāϕ⧇āχ āωāĻĻā§āϧāĻžāϰ āĻ•āϰāĻžāϰ āĻšā§‡āĻˇā§āϟāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻ“āχ ‘āĻ•ā§āϞāĻŋāύāĻŋāĻ•āĻžāϞāĻŋ āĻœā§€āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻļāĻŦ’āϕ⧇āχ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āύāĻžāύāĻžāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āϜāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϤ⧇ āĻšā§‡āĻˇā§āϟāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻŋāĨ¤ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϰ āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āĻ­āĻžāώāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāĻŽāĻžāϜāĻŋāĻ• āĻŽāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϝāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻžā§ŸāĻ“ āφāϏ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁ āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ āύ⧟, āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ•ā§āώ⧇āĻ¤ā§āϰ⧇āĻ“āĨ¤ āĻāϰ āĻĢāϞ⧇ āϕ⧇āω āϕ⧇āω āĻ–āĻžāϰāĻžāĻĒ āĻŦāϞ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤
āĻŽā§‚āϞāϤ āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϰ āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāĻ• āύāϤ⧁āύ āĻšā§āϝāĻžāϞ⧇āĻžā§āĻœā§‡āϰ āĻŽā§āĻ–ā§‹āĻŽā§āĻ–āĻŋ āĻšāχ, āϤāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āϏāĻŦ āĻ•āĻžāϞāĻŦ⧈āĻļāĻžāĻ–ā§€ āĻā§œ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ­āĻŋāϤāϰ⧇āϰ āϏāĻŦ āφāĻŽāĻŦāĻžāĻ—āĻžāύāϕ⧇ āϤāĻ›āύāĻ› āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻĻā§‡ā§ŸāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ­āĻŋāϤāϰ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϞāĻ•āĻŦāĻžāϞāĻŋāĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻĻāϞ āϤāĻ–āύ āĻĒā§āϰāĻŦāϞ āĻ‰ā§ŽāϏāĻžāĻšā§‡ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻžāχāϰ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻ—āĻžāύ⧇āϰ āφāĻŽ-āϕ⧇ āĻ•ā§ā§œā§‹āϤ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāϕ⧇āĨ¤ āĻā§œā§‡ āϝ⧇āϏāĻŦ āĻĒāĻžāϤāĻž āĻ—āĻžāĻ› āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻ–āϏ⧇ āĻĒā§œā§‡ āϤāĻžāϰāĻžāχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻž āĻ…āĻ•ā§āώāϰ, āĻĢāϞ⧇ āϤāĻž āĻ•āĻ–āύ⧋āχ āĻœā§€āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻļāĻŦ āύ⧟, āϤāĻž āĻĻā§‚āϰāĻ—āĻžāĻŽā§€ āχāĻļāĻžāϰāĻž āĻŦāĻž āĻĻā§‚āϰāĻ—āĻžāĻŽā§€ āĻ­āĻžāώāĻžāϰ āϏāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻžāĻĒāĨ¤

āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ⧇ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύāĻžāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ āĻĒā§āϰāϚ⧁āϰāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻ•āĻŋ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύāĻžāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāχ āφāĻĻāĻ°ā§āĻļ āĻŽāĻĄā§‡āϞ ?

āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϏāĻšā§‡āϤāύ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āϤāĻžāρāϕ⧇ āĻŽāĻĄā§‡āϞ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āϚāĻžāχāύāĻŋ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āφāĻĻāĻ°ā§āĻļ āĻŽāĻĄā§‡āϞ āϕ⧇āω āύ⧇āχāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻšā§‡āĻˇā§āϟāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻ›āĻŋ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āχ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϰ āφāĻĻāĻ°ā§āĻļ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āĻ“āĻ āĻžāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āϤāĻžāρāϰ āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ⧇āϰ āĻ—āĻ­ā§€āϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϰāϪ⧇ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻĒāĻžāϰāϟāĻž āϤāĻžāχ āĻĻāĻžāρ⧜āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšāϞ āĻšā§ŸāϤ⧋ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āĻ…āĻ‚āĻļ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύāĻžāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇āϰ ‘āĻ•āĻžāϰ⧁āĻŦāĻžāϏāύāĻžâ€™ āĻŦāĻž ‘āĻŽāĻžāĻ˛ā§āϝāĻŦāĻžāĻ¨ā§‡â€™āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āϗ⧇āϛ⧇ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻšā§ŸāϤ āĻšā§ŸāĻ“āύāĻŋāĨ¤ āϝ⧇āĻšā§‡āϤ⧁ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύāĻžāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāϰ āĻ—āĻ˛ā§āĻĒ āĻ“ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻŋ⧟ āĻĒāĻžāĻ ā§āϝ āϤāĻžāϞāĻŋāĻ•āĻžā§Ÿ āφāϛ⧇ , āϤāĻžāχ āĻāĻŽāύ āĻšāĻ“ā§ŸāĻž āφāĻļā§āϚāĻ°ā§āϝ āύ⧟āĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϰ āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āĻāĻŽāύ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšā§ŸāύāĻŋāĨ¤

āĻœā§€āĻŦāύāĻžāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ­āĻžāώāĻžā§Ÿ āϝ⧇ āύāĻŋāσāĻļāĻŦā§āĻĻ āĻŦāĻŋāĻĒā§āϞāĻŦ āϘāϟāĻžāϞ⧇āύ, āĻāϰāĻĒāϰ āĻļāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋ āϚāĻŸā§āĻŸā§‹āĻĒāĻžāĻ§ā§āϝāĻžā§ŸāϰāĻž āϏāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻž āϞāĻŋāϰāĻŋāĻ•āϏāĻ°ā§āĻŦāĻ¸ā§āĻŦ āϜāύāĻĒā§āϰāĻŋ⧟ āĻĒāĻĻā§āϝ āĻœā§‹ā§ŸāĻžāϰ⧇ āĻ—āĻž āĻ­āĻžāϏāĻžāϞ⧇āύ – āĻāϤ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻž āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ•ā§āώāϤāĻŋ āĻšāϞ⧋ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻ•āϰ⧋ ?

āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻŦāϞāĻŋ, āϝ⧇ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āĻ•ā§āώāϤāĻŋāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āϞāĻžāϭ⧇āϰ āĻĻāĻŋāĻ• āφāϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻļāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋ āϚāĻŸā§āĻŸā§‹āĻĒāĻžāĻ§ā§āϝāĻžā§Ÿ āϖ⧁āĻŦāχ āϜāύāĻĒā§āϰāĻŋ⧟ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻļāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋāĻļāĻžāϞ⧀ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻšā§āϝāĻžāρ, āĻ•ā§āώāϤāĻŋ āϤ⧋ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āϞāĻžāĻ­āĻ“ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇, āĻļāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋ āύāĻž āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āϞ⧇ āĻ‰ā§ŽāĻĒāϞ āĻŦāϏ⧁āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻŦāĻž āĻ­āĻžāĻ¸ā§āĻ•āϰāĻĻāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻŦāĻž āĻĒā§āϰāĻŖāĻŦ⧇āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧁āϕ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āφāĻŦāĻŋāĻˇā§āĻ•āĻžāϰāχ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāϤāĻžāĻŽ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻļāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋāϰ āĻ“āχ āϞāĻŋāϰāĻŋāĻ• āϏāĻ°ā§āĻŦāĻ¸ā§āĻŦāϤāĻž āĻĒāϰāĻŦāĻ°ā§āϤ⧀āĻ•āĻžāϞ⧇ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇āχ āĻ…āύ⧁āϏāϰāĻŖ āĻ•āϰ⧇āϛ⧇āύāĨ¤ āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻž āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ•ā§āώ⧇āĻ¤ā§āϰ⧇ āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻĻ⧁āσāϖ⧇āϰ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻĒāĻžāϰāĨ¤ āĻāϏāĻŦ āφāĻŦ⧃āĻ¤ā§āϤāĻŋāϝ⧋āĻ—ā§āϝ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāĨ¤ āĻāĻŽāύāϕ⧀ āώāĻžāĻŸā§‡āϰ āĻĻāĻļāϕ⧇ āĻŽāϞ⧟ āϰāĻžā§ŸāϚ⧌āϧ⧁āϰāĻŋ āĻŦāĻž āĻšāĻžāĻ‚āϰāĻŋāϰāĻž āϝ⧇ āϧāϰāϪ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ­āĻžāώāĻž āĻŦā§āϝāĻŦāĻšāĻžāϰ āĻ•āϰ⧇āϛ⧇ āĻāϰ āĻĒāϰ⧇āĻ“ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻĒāĻĻā§āϝ āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇ āĻĢāĻžāĻ‚āĻļāύ⧇ āĻšāĻžāϤāϤāĻžāϞāĻŋ āĻĒ⧇āϤ⧇ āĻšā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇, āĻĒā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡āĻ“āϛ⧇āĨ¤

āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžā§Ÿ āϝ⧌āύāϤāĻž āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āϗ⧁āϰ⧁āĻ¤ā§āĻŦāĻĒā§‚āĻ°ā§āĻŖ āωāĻĒāĻžāĻĻāĻžāύāĨ¤ āϝ⧌āύāϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϕ⧀ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–?

āϝ⧌āύāϤāĻžāϰ āϗ⧁āϰ⧁āĻ¤ā§āĻŦ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώ⧇āϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇ āĻ…āϏ⧀āĻŽāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻŽāύ⧇ āϖ⧁āĻŦāχ āϝ⧌āύāϤāĻžāϰ āϚāĻ°ā§āϚāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻŋ, āϤāĻžāχ āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžā§Ÿ āĻāϏ⧇ āĻšāĻžāϜāĻŋāϰ āĻšā§ŸāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĻ⧁āϜāύ āψāĻļā§āĻŦāϰ, āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āϤ⧋ āĻ…āĻ§ā§āϝāĻžāĻ¤ā§āĻŽāĻŦāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āφāϰ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āϝ⧌āύāϤāĻžāϰāĨ¤ āψāĻļā§āĻŦāϰ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āϝ⧇āĻŽāύ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻĨāύāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻŋ āϝ⧌āύāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇āĻ“ āϤ⧇āĻŽāύ āĻ•āϰāĻŋāĨ¤ āψāĻļā§āĻŦāϰ āϏāĻžāϧāύāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋āχ āϝ⧌āύāϤāĻž āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āϏāĻžāϧāύāĻžāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϝ⧌āύ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻžāϧ⧀āύāϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻ•ā§āώ⧇āĨ¤ āϝāĻĻāĻŋāĻ“ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āϞāĻžāϜ⧁āĻ• āφāϰ āĻ­ā§€āϤ⧁, āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āϝ⧌āύāϤāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āϗ⧁āϰ⧁āĻ¤ā§āĻŦāĻĒā§‚āĻ°ā§āĻŖ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻĒāĻžāϰ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžā§ŸāĻ“ āφāϏ⧇āĨ¤

āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻ•āϰ āϝ⧌āύāϤāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāĻŽāĻžāϜāĻŋāĻ• āĻŦ⧈āϧāϤāĻž āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āĻž āωāϚāĻŋāĻ¤ā§â€ ?

āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšā§Ÿ āϏāĻžāĻŽāĻžāϜāĻŋāĻ• āĻŦ⧈āϧāϤāĻž āύāĻž āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āϞ⧇āχ āĻ­āĻžāϞāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāĻžā§Ÿ āύ⧇āχ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦ⧈āϧāϤāĻžāϟāĻž āĻŽā§‡āύ⧇ āύāĻŋāĻšā§āĻ›āĻŋ, āφāϏāϞ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāϟāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻ•ā§āώ⧇ āύāχāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϏāĻŦāĻžāχ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻļ⧁āĻĻā§āϧāĻžāϚāĻžāϰāĻŋ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ, āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϏ⧇āϟāĻžāϕ⧇ āϭ⧇āϙ⧇ āĻĢ⧇āϞāϤ⧇ āχāĻšā§āϛ⧇ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡, āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻŋ āύāĻž, āϤāĻžāχ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžā§Ÿ āĻ­āĻžāĻ™āĻŋ, āϏāĻŦāĻšā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡ āĻ­āĻžāϞ āĻšāϤ⧋ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇ āϭ⧇āϙ⧇ āĻĢ⧇āϞāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāϞ⧇āĨ¤

āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϰ āĻŽā§‹āϟāĻŋāϭ⧇āĻļāύ āĻšāĻŋāϏ⧇āĻŦ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāĻ¸ā§āĻ•āϰ āϚāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŦāĻ°ā§āϤ⧀ āφāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻŖāĻŦ⧇āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧁ āĻĻāĻžāĻļāϗ⧁āĻĒā§āϤāϰ āĻ­ā§‚āĻŽāĻŋāĻ•āĻž āϕ⧀ āϰāĻ•āĻŽ?

āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāρāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĻā§€āĻ°ā§āϘāĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻĒā§œā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āĻāρāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĒā§œā§‡ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻļāĻŋāϖ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁ āĻāρāϰāĻž āύ⧟, āĻŽāĻžāύāĻŋāĻ• āϚāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŦāĻ°ā§āϤ⧀, āϏāĻŽāĻļ⧇āϰ āφāĻ¨ā§‹ā§ŸāĻžāϰ, āĻāρāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĒā§œā§‡ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻļāĻŋāϖ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻļāĻ™ā§āĻ– āĻ˜ā§‹āώ āĻŦāĻž āϰāĻŽā§‡āĻ¨ā§āĻĻā§āϰāϕ⧁āĻŽāĻžāϰ āφāϚāĻžāĻ°ā§āϝ āϚ⧌āϧ⧁āϰāĻŋāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĒā§œā§‡ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻļāĻŋāĻ–āĻŋāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āχāĻĻāĻžāύ⧀āĻ‚ āĻ…āĻŦāĻļā§āϝ āĻ—ā§ŒāϤāĻŽ āĻŦāϏ⧁ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋ āϞāĻžāĻ—āϛ⧇, āĻ—ā§ŒāϤāĻŽ āϚ⧌āϧ⧁āϰ⧀ āĻŦāĻž āϰāĻŖāϜāĻŋā§Ž āĻĻāĻžāĻļāĻ“ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻŋ⧟ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāĨ¤

āĻŦāĻŋāύ⧟ āĻŽāϜ⧁āĻŽāĻĻāĻžāϰāχ āĻŦāĻž āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ•āϤāϟāĻž āĻĒā§āϰāϰ⧋āϚāĻŋāϤ āĻ•āϰ⧇? āϤāĻžāρāϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύāĻžāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻā§€ā§Ÿ āĻŦā§‹āϧ, āĻ§ā§āϰ⧁āĻĒāĻĻā§€ āĻ­āĻžāώāĻž,āĻŦā§āϝāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋāĻ—āϤ āĻ…āĻ­āĻŋāĻœā§āĻžāϤāĻžāϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āφāĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āĻŦ āϜāĻ—āϤ⧇āϰ āĻāĻ• āϏ⧁āϰāϰāĻŋ⧟āĻžāϞ āύ⧇āϟāĻ“ā§ŸāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻ• āϤ⧈āϰāĻŋâ€Ļâ€Ļâ€Ļ..

āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϝāĻ–āύ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁ āĻ•āϰāĻŋ āϤāĻ–āύ āĻĻ⧁āϜāύ āĻœā§€āĻŦāĻŋāϤ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϰ āύāĻžāĻŽ āϜāĻžāύāϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āϏ⧁āύ⧀āϞ āĻ—āĻ™ā§āĻ—ā§‹āĻĒāĻžāĻ§ā§āϝāĻžā§Ÿ āφāϰ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻļāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋ āϚāĻŸā§āĻŸā§‹āĻĒāĻžāĻ§ā§āϝāĻžā§ŸāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϜāĻžāύāϤāĻžāĻŽ āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻžā§Ÿ āĻāχ āĻĻ⧁āϜāύāχ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ–ā§āϝāĻžāϤ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āϰāĻŦā§€āĻ¨ā§āĻĻā§āϰāύāĻžāĻĨ āφāϰ āύāϜāϰ⧁āϞ⧇āϰ āĻĒāϰāĨ¤ āĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻāĻ•āĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻĄāĻžāĻ•ā§āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϤ⧇ āύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻ—āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āϏ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻŦāĻŋāϰāĻžāϟ āϞāĻžāχāύāĨ¤ āϤāĻ–āύ āĻĒāĻžāĻļ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻ‡ā§Ÿā§‡āϰ āĻĻā§‹āĻ•āĻžāύ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āĻĻāĻžāĻĻāĻž āϏ⧁āύ⧀āϞ āĻ—āĻžāĻ™ā§āϗ⧁āϞāĻŋāϰ āĻļā§āϰ⧇āĻˇā§āĻ  āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āφāϛ⧇? āĻĒā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡ āϗ⧇āϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻ“āχ āϞāĻžāχāύ⧇ āĻŦāϏ⧇āχ āĻĒ⧜āϤ⧇ āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁ āĻ•āϰāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻāχ āϭ⧇āĻŦ⧇ āϝ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻļāĻŋāĻ–āĻŦāĨ¤ āϏ⧇āχ āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āĻ“āχ āĻļāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋ āφāϰ āϏ⧁āύ⧀āϞāχ āĻĒ⧜āϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻāĻ•āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻāĻ• āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁ āĻŦāϞāϞ, ‘āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāĻŋāύ⧟ āĻŽāϜ⧁āĻŽāĻĻāĻžāϰ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĒā§œā§‡āĻ›?’ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āĻāρāϰ āύāĻžāĻŽ āϤ⧋ āĻļ⧁āύāĻŋāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻĒāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ¨ā§Ÿā§‡āϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻŦāχ āĻšāĻžāϤ⧇ āĻāϞ āύāĻžāĻŽ ‘āĻĢāĻŋāϰ⧇ āĻāϏ⧋ āϚāĻžāĻ•āĻžâ€™āĨ¤ āĻāχ āĻŦāχāϟāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϖ⧁āĻŦāχ āĻ­āĻžāϞ āϞ⧇āϗ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĨ¤ āφāϰ⧇āĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻŦāχāĻ“ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āφāĻŦāĻŋāĻˇā§āϟ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞ āϏ⧇āϟāĻŋ āĻšāϞ ‘āĻ…āĻ˜ā§āϰāĻžāϪ⧇āϰ āĻ…āύ⧁āĻ­ā§‚āϤāĻŋāĻŽāĻžāϞāĻžâ€™āĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ¨ā§Ÿā§‡āϰ ‘āϭ⧁āĻŸā§āϟāĻž āϏāĻŋāϰāĻŋāĻœâ€™ āĻĒā§œā§‡ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϚāĻŽāϕ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āϖ⧁āĻŦāχ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­ā§‹āϕ⧇āϟāĻŋāĻ‚ āĻ­āĻžāώāĻžāĨ¤ āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻž āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āχāϤāĻŋāĻšāĻžāϏ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻŽāĻžāχāϞāĻ¸ā§āĻŸā§‹āύāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ“āχ āĻ­āĻžāώāĻžā§Ÿ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āχāĻšā§āϛ⧇ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĨ¤ ‘āĻĢāĻŋāϰ⧇ āĻāϏ⧋ āϚāĻžāĻ•āĻžâ€™āϤ⧇ āĻāĻ• āϧāϰāϪ⧇āϰ āĻšā§ƒāĻĻ⧟ āĻāϞ⧋āĻŽā§‡āϞ⧋ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻĒāĻžāϰ āφāϛ⧇, āĻĻā§€āĻ°ā§āϘāĻĻāĻŋāύ āϧāϰ⧇ āĻŽāύāϕ⧇ āφāĻŦāĻŋāĻˇā§āϟ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϰāĻžāϖ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋ āϏāĻžāĻ™ā§āϘāĻžāϤāĻŋāĻ• āĻ—āĻ­ā§€āϰ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻžāϏ, āφāϰ ‘āϭ⧁āĻŸā§āϟāĻž āϏāĻŋāϰāĻŋāĻœâ€™ āϚāĻŽāĻ•āĻĻāĻžāϰ āϝ⧌āύ āĻā§œ āϝ⧇āύ, ‘āϭ⧁āĻŸā§āϟāĻž āϏāĻŋāϰāĻŋāĻœâ€™ āĻĒā§œā§‡ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻ¸ā§āϤāϚāĻžāϞāĻŋāϤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻŖāϤāĻžāρāϤ āĻŽāĻžāϕ⧁ āϚāĻžāϞāĻžāϤ⧇ āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĨ¤ ‘āĻĢāĻŋāϰ⧇ āĻāϏ⧋ āϚāĻžāĻ•āĻžâ€™ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āωāĻĒāĻžāϏāύāĻž-āĻ—ā§ƒāĻšā§‡āϰ āϝ⧌āύāωāĻ¤ā§āϤ⧇āϜāĻ• āĻŦāĻž āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āĻŽāωāĻ¤ā§āϤ⧇āϜāĻ• āĻŽā§‹āĻŽāĻŦāĻžāϤāĻŋāϰ āφāϞ⧋ āĻšā§Ÿ āϤāĻŦ⧇ ‘āϭ⧁āĻŸā§āϟāĻž āϏāĻŋāϰāĻŋāĻœâ€™ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āύāϤ⧁āύ āĻ•āϞāĻŽā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ āϜāĻžāĻšāĻžāϜ!

 

‘āφāĻĻāĻžāϰ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻĒāĻžāϰāĻŋ āĻŦāĻžāύāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇ āĻāĻ• āϜāĻžāĻšāĻžāϜāĻŽāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻ•āĻž āĻŦāĻžā§œāĻŋ’ – āϏ⧁āύ⧀āϞ āĻ—āĻ™ā§āĻ—ā§‹āĻĒāĻžāĻ§ā§āϝāĻžā§Ÿ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āϞāĻžāχāύ āĻāϟāĻŋāĨ¤ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āϕ⧀ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšā§Ÿ āωāύāĻŋ āĻ…āϏāĻšā§‡āϤāύ āĻŦāĻž āϏāĻšā§‡āϤāύ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇āχ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϰ āϝāĻžāĻŦāĻ¤ā§€ā§Ÿ āϏāĻžāĻšāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻ•āĻ°ā§āĻŽāϰ āωāĻĻā§āĻĻ⧇āĻļā§āϝ⧇āχ āĻāχ āϞāĻžāχāύāϟāĻŋ āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇āϛ⧇āύ ?

āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϧāĻžāϰāĻŖāĻž āϏāĻšā§‡āϤāύ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇āχ āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇āϛ⧇āύāĨ¤

⧍ā§Ļā§§ā§Ŧ āϏāĻžāϞ⧇ āĻĒ⧌āρāϛ⧇ āφāĻ—āĻžāĻŽā§€āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇ āϰāĻžāĻŖāĻž āϰāĻžā§ŸāϚ⧌āϧ⧁āϰāĻŋ āϤāĻžāϰ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϕ⧇ āϕ⧀āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āϛ⧇ ?

āĻĻ⧇āĻ– āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϟāĻž āĻāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύāϝāĻžāĻĒāύ⧇āϰ āĻ…āĻ™ā§āĻ— āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āϗ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϝ⧇āĻŽāύ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ­āĻžāϤ āĻ–āĻžāχ, āĻĒāĻžā§ŸāĻ–āĻžāύāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻŋ āĻŦāĻž āϏ⧇āĻ•ā§āϏ āĻ•āϰāĻŋ āϏ⧇āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇āχ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŋāĨ¤ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ…āĻ­ā§āϝāĻžāϏāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āϏ⧇āχ āĻ…āĻ­ā§āϝāĻžāϏ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻŦ⧇āϰāϤ⧇ āϚāĻžāχāĨ¤ āφāϜ āϏāĻ•āĻžāϞ⧇āχ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦāĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ ā§Š āĻŦāĻ›āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āύāĻž āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŋ āϤāĻžāĻšāϞ⧇ āϏāĻŦāĻšā§‡ā§Ÿā§‡ āĻ­āĻžāϞ āĻšā§ŸāĨ¤ āϝāĻ–āύ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ āϤāĻ–āύ āϕ⧇āω āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āϚāĻžāχāϤ āύāĻž, āĻāĻ–āύ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āϚāĻžā§ŸāĨ¤ āĻĢ⧇āϏāĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻ˛ā§āϝāĻžāϪ⧇ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āύāĻžāĻŽ āϜāĻžāύ⧇āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāχ āĻ•āĻŋāύāϤ⧇ āϚāĻžā§ŸāĨ¤ āĻāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāϚāĻŋāϤāĻŋ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻŦ⧇āϰāϤ⧇ āϚāĻžāχāĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āĻāϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āϝāĻ¨ā§āĻ¤ā§āϰāĻŖāĻž āĻšā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĻāĻžāρ⧜āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ…āĻ­ā§āϝāĻžāϏ⧇ āĻĒā§œā§‡ āϗ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āϏ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻŦ⧇āϰāϤ⧇ āϚāĻžāχāĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāϟāĻž āφāϰ āĻ­āĻžāϞāϞāĻžāĻ—āϛ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϧāϰāĻž āϝāĻžāĻ•, āφāĻ—āĻžāĻŽā§€ ā§§ā§Ļ āĻŦāĻ›āϰ āϰāĻžāĻŖāĻž āϰāĻžā§ŸāϚ⧌āϧ⧁āϰāĻŋ āύāĻžāĻŽā§‡ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āύ⧇āχāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻ• āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ āĻļ⧇āώāĨ¤ ā§§ā§Ļ āĻŦāĻ›āϰ āĻĒāϰ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻ• āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁ āĻ•āϰāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āϤāĻ–āύ āϕ⧀ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŦ āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āϤāĻ–āύ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻž āϝāĻžāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤

āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋ āϏ⧇āχāĻĻāĻŋāϕ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻšā§‡āĻˇā§āϟāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻ› ?

āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āĻ•āĻŽāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĻāĻŋā§Ÿā§‡āĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϕ⧇ āĻāχ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŋ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āωāχāĻĻāĻĄā§āϰ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āύāĻŋāϤ⧇ āϚāĻžāχāĨ¤ āφāĻ—āĻžāĻŽā§€āĻŦāĻ›āϰ āφāϰ āϕ⧋āĻĨāĻžāĻ“ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻĻ⧇āĻŦ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϚāĻžāχ āύāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āφāϰ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻ›āĻžāĻĒāĻž āĻšā§‹āĻ•āĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•ā§āϞāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāĨ¤ āĻāχ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāĻ•āĻžāϰāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϰ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŽā§āĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋ āϚāĻžāχāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻ•āϤāĻ–āĻžāύāĻŋ āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻŦ āϜāĻžāύāĻŋ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϕ⧇āω āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āϚāĻžāχāϞ⧇ āύāĻž āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻŋ āύāĻž, āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻŦāϏāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻŽā§āĻŦāĻž āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻĄāĻŋāĻĒā§āϰ⧇āĻļāύ⧇ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āϰāĻžāϗ⧇ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻĻ⧁āσāϖ⧇ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻšāϤāĻžāĻļāĻžā§Ÿ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āφāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āύāĻž āĻ—āĻŋā§Ÿā§‡ āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻŋāύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻ–ā§‹āϞāĻž āϜāĻžāύāϞāĻž āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āϞ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āφāϏ⧇, āϰ⧇āϞ āϞāĻžāχāύ⧇āϰ āĻāĻ•āĻž āϚāϞ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻ“ā§ŸāĻž āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āϞ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āφāϏ⧇, āϏ⧇āĻ•ā§āώ⧇āĻ¤ā§āϰ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āύāĻž āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻŦ āĻ•āĻŋāύāĻž āϜāĻžāύāĻŋāύāĻžāĨ¤

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