AUTHORS' NOTE: The Yesterday part is like a snapshot into the past, a parallel story line of what might have happened after Paro was taken into the BSD Headquarters by Rudra after the Baraat massacre. I'm fleshing out the questioning, the interrogation, even the torture Paro might have faced if that track had more details, and creating a different next chapter in their lives.
Tomorrow shows what might happen in the future, after everything is settled--when life has moved them beyond conflicts. Basically you'll see the same "idea" before and after! This one is about Forgiveness. Can we forgive those who harm us? Should we? Can we move on without asking for forgiveness? Building our dreams on top of other people's pain? Who forgives whom, in Rangrasiya--yesterday, tomorrow? Find out!
PS: If you are confused, please do me a favor, read the link here! This OS is basically a continuation from the TOMORROW portion (Part 1 and 2) of the OS: Yesterday and Tomorrow : FEARS (http://www.india-forums.com/forum_posts.asp?TID=3930183 ).
AND TOMORROW: FORGIVENESS (PART TEN)
TOMORROW: Parvati Ranawat knew a thing or two about prison cells. Having spent a large portion of the past two years inside the BSD's dank holding cell, she had the experience she needed to bring some very valuable things with her today. In her large jhola there were those simple, small items that Paro would have sold her soul for during those first awful weeks of hell. Things that she had dreamed of when she was locked up in her wedding ghagra--and nothing else--in the BSD prison. Because no matter how much she had been devastated by the loss of her home and her husband and how terrified she had been by the Jallad, she also remembered those small, prosaic moments in her cell.
Those moments, the lulls between torture, the pause between punishments when all she wanted in the world was not freedom, food, or even justice for herself. She had wanted clean underwear, soap, and a comb for her tangled hair. All these items were inside the bag now, and a few clean, simple ghagras, a shawl, tailoring kit for small repairs, a kajal stick and a pair of sponge sandals for the out-house.
Paro had also brought some bars of chocolate Rudra had gotten for her a few weeks ago. She had indulged with a small piece, and the rest she had carefully saved from his eagle eyes. She had brought her entire share of the bars today because---well---chocolate was something that would, if carefully hoarded, provide small moments of pleasure to a woman trapped in a place so devoid of any. Aside from this small luxury, she had included some light food items. Tea bags, a kilo of sugar, a jar of sour- pickles to make the Jailhouse food marginally more appetizing. All items that she herself had longed for, not so long ago.
Paro, who never did anything without slow, methodical planning and thought, had given this particular visit her full attention for weeks. Imagining herself back inside that BSD jail cell had certainly helped, even if it had made her withdrawn and distant. Her eyes had dimmed with the memories, as she had quietly re-lived that painful time again. Letting images wash over her, recalling the things that had happened, and the man who had done them--none of that had been easy, and had cost her several weeks of turmoil--. In fact, the stress of the process had caused her nightmares to start again. Rudra had been furious, hammering at her to know the cause, panicked about her health. But she had of course, not said anything to her Jallad. If she had told him anything, he would have--she truly did not know what he would have done. But it would not have been possible to come on this trip, that much Paro knew.
She did not like to think about those dark times, it made her unhappy in a way that chilled her to her bones. Happy as she now was, that happiness had come at the cost of far too much. Caused wounds to too many people. Some wounds were too deep to be filled completely, they could only be covered over, could be forgotten for a while, but not forever. They were there, waiting, for Paro to come looking for them, and then they hurt her as deeply now as they had back then.
But this walk through her memories had helped her decide, once and for all, on what she needed to do today. What she had to say, and why. And, finally, aside from the items in her jhola, after weeks of thought, Paro had brought with her the two other possessions , that she now hoped would give the prisoner a few moments of soul soothing calm---she had brought her twin sons to meet Laila Bani Gupta, the woman in jail in a Chandigarth women's prison for the crime of Parvati Ranawat's attempted murder.
"The prisoner is in solitary confinement, Mrs Ranawat. Not because of us. She requested it, and she picked enough fights with the other in-mates for us to put her in there. She does not see anyone, not even her lawyer. She refused to allow social Services or the Mahila Shamitee women to even approach her cell or take up her case. I cannot guarantee she will accept your items, much less allow you to meet her. I will try my best, please let me have your contact information, and I will let you know later what the prisoner says."
The Jailor at the Chandigath Women's Correctional Facility looked at the glowing beauty sitting in front of him, and politely denied Parvati Ranwat's request. If he had his way, he would have immediately had the wife of the frightening BSD Major Rudra Pratap Ranawat escorted out of this dank, depressing and mildewed prison building as soon as she had walked into it. She should not be sitting here, in-front of him, asking to meet a woman who was not just dangerous, but also probably a little insane. And she had brought her babies! To meet the prisoner, she had said! Impossible! The two baby boys, in a pram next to Mrs. Ranawat cooed and waved their tiny fists at them both, and the Jailor involuntarily smiled down at the chubby little faces.
The mother of these enchanting babies sat before him, glowing in his dismal office like a beacon of light among the piled-up dusty files, the tobacco and dirt stained walls and falling plaster of this unkempt office. So this was Parvati Ranawat. As lovely as the stories, had said---perhaps even more so. And he had heard the stories, discussed in hushed whispers over many chai-sessions and across many dinner tables throughout Jaipur. He knew everything, of course. As if there was anyone left in Jaipur who did not know that she, of all people, should not be allowed near this particular Prisoner! Madness!
But as Parvati repeated her request in a soft voice that almost made him melt, the Jailor thought that refusing her was going to be damn difficult. She was like a lotus sitting inside the green swamp of his office the Jailor thought, with a sudden poetic flight of fancy. He imagined letting her meet the Prisoner, getting up right now and saying, with great magnanimity, that he would escort her to the Prisoner himself. Then---dreamily the Jailor imagined more---getting her heart stopping smile beamed onto him, maybe having her soft hands in his, as she pressed his palms in her gratefulness. He thought he would escort her himself, chest puffed out, a stick in his hands, a manly protector of this fragile rose.
And then, another thought came. And what if the monster she was married to found out that the Jailor had allowed her to meet Prisoner No. 675/653??!! The Lord himself knew what would happen to him then!! The Jailor would find himself cleaning the latrines here in this Facility, not running it, that was for sure. That was of course, if he didn't find himself INSIDE another jail, this time as an occupant not a guard! The stories that talked about the Bride's beauty never failed to discuss the Jallad's manic possessiveness over that beauty---and always ended with the same observation. That the Jallad could do anything---legal, illegal, anything, for his Bride!
So as he politely stood up, ready to escort Mrs. Ranawat out of this facility and back into her Jeep, the Jailor found himself praying that no one outside his office had already called the BSD with the news of the visitor in his chambers. The BSD were infamous for the moles and informants they had everywhere, the Jailor thought uneasily. Paro was still protesting, when his cell-phone beeped.
Smiling an excuse, the Jailor turned to the far corner to take the phone call. And after he got the clipped, arctic-cold instructions from the voice on the other end of the line, the Jailor found himself thanking the Lord, under his breath. He had not done anything, made any move, not agreed or disagreed with Mrs. Parvati Ranawat. "Its best that I don't know anything" The Jailor thought fatalistically as he told Mrs Ranawat to wait in the Visitor's Lounge while he brought in the prisoner. Whatever was going on, the Jailor was just glad he was out of it.
"Rudra ne bheja??" asked the beautiful woman in the white sari
with the blue border, the outfit of the jailed prisoner. "Kaise hai, woh? Aur tu, Paarvaati? Kaise hai tu? Puch ne
ke waqt nahi tha, peechle baar--shoot kar ne aiyi thi naa, baat nahi kaar paya!"
(Eng: "Did Rudra send you? How is he? and you, Paarvaati? How are you? I didn't have time to ask the last time, you know---I had come to shoot you, so we didn't have time to catch up!")
The tone was so mocking it turned the polite words into barbs of poison. Paro looked at the woman before her. Laila had not sat down, even though there were two chairs set before them in this small, meeting room with the dull glass pane set high into the wall but emitting no light inside.
Paro stood up too, her skin prickling with the sensation of danger. Laila looked even more beautiful than Paro remembered, and she had imagined her enemy for countless nights, in countless ways. But without her paint and powder, Laila's ruthless grace and fine boned face had sharpened into the lethal beauty of a knife edged with diamonds. Here in the dark, yellow-tinted light of the meeting room, she seemed to burn with the blue fire of energy and pent-up passion. She was as deadly now as she had ever been.
To Paro, it felt as if she was the prey, and Laila the hunter, as the older woman now circled Paro, examining her from every side. Paro fought the primitive urge to keep Laila in her sight, so strong was the danger emanating from the would-be-murderess examining her. But she stood calmly, staring straight ahead, allowing the predator moving with a panther's grace to look her fill.
Long moments passed, as Laila asked soft, wicked question after question. "Was Parvati still in pain from that gunshot? Did Rudra remember to kiss her on that spot every evening? How much had she bled? Did it still burn? How bad was the scar on Parvati's white skin? Red? Purple? Was there an ugly hole where the flesh was missing, where the bullet had entered her body? Did Rudra hate seeing that scar, did Parvati have to turn the lights off at night before they...???"
Paro responded quietly, that she was fine, and the scar had been tended to by the best plastic surgeon on the BSD payroll. Laila could examine it later, if she wished. Would she like to sit down now? A soft laugh greeted this display of calm dignity, and Laila finally sank down on one of the chairs.
"Kaise yaad kiya mennu? Kya, Rudra ke sath
raat acchi nahi hai? Jab tujhe pehli baar dekha, tujhe bataya
tha"tu iss tara ki mard ko seh nahi payengi. Teri gaal laal ho gaya kyu? Arre,
mein iss kii dhanda mein tha, sharmana maat. Jaanti hu mennu"jaanwar hai naa.
Dard deta hoga, jab bhi tujhe lehta hai bistar par. Tu tips ke liye aya? Kaise
bardassht karna hai jaanwar ki haavas? Uske zulmi-bhara pyar? Batau tujhe?
Tips du? Mein jaisa uski bistar pei saath nahi deh sakhti hai, experience yah jalwa
nahi hai teri andhar"lekhin batau, raat mein tujhe usko aag kaise bujhana
hoga,aur din mein bhi usko kaise khushi de sakhte hai...??"
(Eng: "Why have you come to see me? Are your nights with Rudra not going well? I had told you the very first time we met, that you wont be able to tolerate the third kind of man--the Beast. Why are your cheeks turning red? Arre, I was in this profession, don't be embarrassed before me. I know him very well, remember--he is an animal. He must hurt you when he takes you to bed right? Did you come for tips? How to tolerate the Beast's lusts, how to satiate his appetites? How to tolerate his painful version of love? Shall I tell you? Give you tips? You cant do as well as I did in bed, you don't have my experience or my spark, but should I tell you how to accept his fire at night, how to give him pleasure during the day...?")
The crude words did not shock Paro, as Laila clearly hoped they might. Her cheeks aflame, Paro stayed quiet as she waited, patiently, for Laila to be done with her second attack upon her innocence. Inwardly quaking from the kind of language she had never heard before, recoiling from the gutter-snipe descriptions of the love-making that she shared with her husband, outwardly Paro maintained her calm. The steady eyes looking at her finally brought Laila to a full stop.
Laila licked her dry lips, suddenly ashamed of what she was doing to the innocent child before her. Paro had sat before her, her eyes wounded, bewildered by the vulgarity of the words Laila had inflicted upon her, clearly not understanding most of them. But she had not reacted, or turned away from Laila's deliberate obscenity. If a shade of disgust had passed on Paro's face, Laila would have felt triumphant. Right now, she just felt... drained.
"Aya kyu?" Finally, a normal tone, a simple question. Paro looking up from her clenched hands, immediately examining Laila to see if she was done with the barbed, sweet poisoning of her enemy. Paro had waited for the other woman to ask just this. She could not quite believe she had survived that first physical danger, then the second and third wave of verbal and psychological attacks from this manipulative, lethal woman before her. Paro had not quite known what Laila would do. She had known that this was not going to be easy--but it had, in reality been quite shockingly painful, the throbbing verbal blows still reverberating within her head. But the poison had been drained, just a little. Paro sighed, relieved.
"Maafi ke liye--for forgiveness" said Paro, looking hopefully up at the woman before her. And Laila exploded.
"Paagal ho gaya kya? Tu chahta hai ki mein, MEIN, Laila, tujh se maafi maangu? Bhavali ho gaya kya? Teri himmat...! Maafi! Kiss ke liye? Tu maar gayi thi kya? Nahi, naa? Woh Rudra tujhe bachaya tha naa? Mein nahi jaanti thi teri baccha hone waali hai, saamjhi tu? Aur sunna menne teri beta bhi ho gaya, dono hua, sahi salamaat! Maafi chahu mennu, thare se? Khud ko kya samaj rakhi hai tu? Rudra ki ardhangini hai to kya tu meri maa bhi ho gaya kya, Parvati? Maafi!!"
(Eng: Have you gone mad? So you want me, ME, Laila, to beg forgiveness for my deeds--from you? Have you gone crazy? Your audacity...! Forgiveness? For what? Did you drop dead? No, right? Your Rudra saved your life, didn't he? And I didn't know that you were pregnant, with your sons, do you get that? And I've heard that you had your two sons, all safe and sound anyway. You think I will beg forgiveness? From you? Who the hell do you think you are? You are Rudra's better half, so what? Do you think that makes you my mother too, Parvati? Forgiveness!")
The burst of anger rocked through the little room, and once again Paro waited for the other woman
to speak herself into stillness. Laila yelled, muttered, and finally sank down
again, and stared sullenly at Paro.
"Aap ko maafi dene ke liye mein nahi aya hu, Baisa. Maafi mein chachta hu--aapse." (Eng: "I have not come here to give you forgiveness, Baisa. I want forgiveness--from you.")
Laila, halted in the middle of loud ranting about the sheer arrogance of army wives, and stared at Paro, open mouthed. Paro continued, as if Laila had not just called her a whole roster of names she had never heard before.
"Mein aap ko yeh kyu bolu, ke aap mujse maafi mang
lo? Mein khud ke liye maafi paa-ne aya hu, Baisa. Aaap se. Rudra ke
taraf se bhi, meri taraf se bhi. Woh nahi maangne wali--aap mujhe shoot kiya,
agar who yeh jaan gaye ke mein yaha ap ke paas aya, woh aapko choriye, woh mujhe bhi maaf nahi
(Eng: "Why will I ask you to beg my pardon?? I have come for myself, Baisa. I have come to beg you to forgive me. And to forgive Rudra too, on his behalf. He has not asked me to do this, and he wont. You shot me, if he knew that I have come here to you, its Rudra who wont forgive me, or you.")
The truth of this little joke brought an involuntary smile to Laila's lips as she sat staring at the earnest, shocking, innocent woman before him.
"Lekhin us ski taraf se, patni hone ki waje se, aap se mafi maang raha hu mein. Aur meri taraf se bhi. Aap se bohot kuch chin liya menne. Kismet ke khel tha, khud menne kuch nahi liya--yeh baat aap mane ya na mane--yeh sach hai, Baisa. Lekhin jo meri kismet mein Bholenath daal diya"woh hi Bholenaath aap se chin ke diya hai mennu. Iss liye, iss chori ke liye"maafi chahta hu mein, aapse."
(Eng:"But on his behalf, as his wife, I am asking you to forgive him, Baisa. And forgive me too. I have snatched away a lot from you. This was the work of Fate, the will of God, and I took nothing from you myself--this is something you will not believe, I know this---but this is the truth, Baisa. But whatever it is that Bholenath has poured into my lap, as my fate, that same Bholenath has snatched that away from you to gift to me. For this--for this theft, unknowing as it was--I am begging you to forgive me today.")
"Jhoot!" the harsh scream that emerged from Laila was different from all the taunts, all the previous snarling comments. A scream as if from the soul, the battered remnants of a tortured woman's burning heart. Paro, her eyes smarting with the pain of that scream reached for the long fingered hands clenched in front of her, sure that her hold would be violently rejected. She was not repulsed. They sat, holding hands, as Laila finally, completely, let go before the woman who had stolen in like the Reth wind, and swept away her world. Tears, hot, bitter, a torrential rain falling onto the desert within Laila's breast now drenched that arid landscape. Out of that dry soil emerged the first, blossoming flower of repentance.
"Aat saal, Paro" said Laila, unconsciously calling her by her nickname for the first time. Her tears rained down her face, trailing down to mingle with Paro's own, as they sat, the victim and the villain, hands entwined in a clasp of shared pain.
"Aaat saal, aur tune aakar aat hafta ke andar usko harap liya! Sab kuch tha woh--meri liye--pati, premik, beta, dost---saab kuch! Teri aur meri beech ke aisa kya bhedh hai, tu bol? Tu sundar, mein bhi!!!Tu usko bohot sari khushi deh sakhti hai? Menne bhi diya naa, aat saal ke liye?--Pyaar menne bhi kiya tha, Paro, shayed teri jaise hi pyaar---bhedh kya hai? Itna baata de tu, jaana hai menu!!"
(Eng: "Eight years, Paro. Eight years, and you came and took him away from me within eight weeks! He was everything to me ---he was my husband, my lover, my son, my friend--everything! What is the difference between you and me, tell me! You are beautiful, so am I---you can give him happiness--I did that too, didn't I? For eight years? I loved him too, Paro, perhaps even the same type of love you feel---so what is the difference between us? Tell me this much, I want to know!")
"The difference between you and me is eight minutes. If Varun, the man who had come to be my fake husband--- if he had not drunk that last glass of sherbet before the ceremony started. If I had not held Mami-sa as closely as I did, crying, if she had not made me do that last ritual. If we had headed out with the baraat just eight minutes ahead of when we did. If Rudra's car had given him just a few minutes of engine trouble before he headed out to intercept that Baraat. If the soldiers who died stopping my baraat--if one of them had stayed back at HQ to spend a few minutes more getting ready to meet their deaths.
Eight minutes more, and the baraat would have crossed the border. And I would be gone. I would not have been a woman like you. Free to choose, free to discard, a strange kind of freedom even in the choices you have made. I would be a rape victim, enslaved in some gutter, beaten and tied to some squalid town's red light district, servicing twenty men a day and praying for death. And one day I would kill a client, after one too many blows, one too many rapes.
And I would be somewhere else, in another prison, rotting away. I would not have had the strength you have had, for I would not have tried to kill the one who hurt me, I would never have returned to my home even if I could have done it. Because the shame of facing Bholenath as a woman who has become a wh**e, who her entire family has betrayed because she was not more important to them than their evil Thakur---that shame would have been too much for me to even choose revenge.
And as for Rudra---what Rudra? Those eight minutes would have never allowed Rudra Pratap Ranawat into my life--even if he had rescued me, later--I would not be the Paro I am now. Eight minutes ke liye mein yaha aur aap waha, Laila Baisa. Aur uss aat minute ke liye maafi chahti hu, aap se. "
Laila, shaken, too moved to speak, now found herself pressing the slender white fingers held in her own hands. The wise yet strangely untouched young woman went on, her soft voice filling the room and the heart of the woman locked in here with unexpected peace--
"Mein aap se mafi maang raha hu. Uss aat saal ke keemat na Rudra deh sakhta hai aapko, naa mein uss abhar chukka sakhti hu. Who aapki tyaag tha. Aapki prem. Aap uski liye kaam kiya, ussko aur bhi bara Janwar hone se bachaya. Pyaar kiya. Uski koi keemat nahi hai. Woh mard hai na--yeh baat who kaise saamjhenge. Rishta najayaaz tha---saab kehta hai. Lekin aap ke woh pyaar jayaaz tha yeh nahi kehta. Kon auraat galadh, kon auraat asli ---bekar hai yeh sab. Lekhin menne- Menne woh aat minute ke baare soch ti hu, Baisa. Aur mein jaanti hu--aapka aur mera beech mein farak hai----woh aat minute. Pyar aap bhi kar sakhte hai, aur mein bhi. Lekhin tyaag aapne kiya. Aap usko bohoth kuch diya. Aur mein uss tyag se Rudra ko paya. Iss ke liye maafi maang sakhti hu naa?"
(Eng: "I am asking you for your forgiveness. neither Rudra, nor I can give you the price of those eight years. That was your sacrifice. Your love. You worked for him, you stopped him from being even more of an animal with your love. There is no payment for that. He is a man--how will he understand this? Your relationship was illegitimate--everyone says this. But your love was legitimate--no one says that. Which one among us is the wrong woman, who is the right one-that is nonsense. But I--I think about those eight minutes, Baisa. And I know the only difference between where you sit and where I am are those eight minutes. You can feel love, and so can I. But you are the one who sacrificed--you gave him a lot. And from all that you gave, I got my Rudra. I can apologize for that, and beg your pardon for that, cant I ?")
A tiny, infinitely tiny nod, from the silent prostitute before her. Laila looked away from the anxious, earnest young woman. She stared, instead, at the wall, at the dark glass panel reflecting the wavering image of Rudra's two women--past and future-- back to her tear filled eyes.
"Soch le na, baisa. Filhal, aap ke liye kuch samaan leke ayi hu. Aap dekhoge?"
(Eng: "Think about this, baisa. For now, I have brought you a few things. Would you like to see them?")
This time Laila's nod came more firmly. A beginning had been made. It was enough, for these women, for this day.
Laila, having recovered her poise, now discreetly wiped her eyes. Sparkling with delight, those changeable, vivid eyes now examined the treasures Pro had brought for her. The two women together sat for strangely comfortable minutes as Laila exclaimed over how she needed exactly this soap and how the shawl would be very useful. Regally, Laila now commanded Paro to remember some additional things she needed as well, and meekly Paro nodded, agreeing to arrange for them immediately.
A loud cry, joined by another wail now broke into the cell. Both women froze, Paro examining Laila with wary eyes to see her reaction. Laila, with her eyes almost burning with the intensity of her delight, demanded to know if Paro was stupid enough to bring her babies into a jail, and if so, why the hell she had them outside like this. Paro went to the door, and brought in the pram.
Laila staggered to her feet, the chair crashing behind her in her haste. She launched herself to her knees, lifting up first one baby, then the other, cradling them to her breast, examining the small little fists and the perfect, if tiny faces of Rudra's twin boys. "Bilkul Rudra jaise..wohi aakhin, wohi chehra!--- Just like Rudra! The same eyes, that same face!" Laila repeated again and again, as kisses rained down with hot tears onto the little faces.
The babies were smothered with fierce love, with the despair and agony, the delight and adoration of a love starved woman. They were now cuddled by a woman who had almost ended their lives before they had even begun them. And after Laila had finally had her fill of cherishing the children that, in another lifetime, under a different world would have been hers, Paro stood up, gathering her little darlings and prepared to leave.
"I'll come again, Baisa, in a week or two. And in the meantime, I will send those additional things you need in here." Paro said, from the door.
"Accha Paro. Chale aana. Mein yaha pe hi rehta hu, jab bhi aoge tu muje yaha paoge. Aaj kaal dhande kuch kam karti hu naa!"
(Eng: Okay Paro. Come over. I am usually right here, whenever you come, you can be sure to find me here. Nowadays I am not working as much as I used to before, you see!")
Laila said, tongue in cheek, a teasing gleam in her eyes. And for a moment, Paro got a glimpse of the laughing mischievous, free spirit who had tied the beast Rudra Pratap Ranawat to herself for eight full years. The complex, fascinating woman who had both loved, and hated with a passion that still burnt in the way she had adored the children of her enemy.
Paro smiled at the pleasure her children had brought Laila. She had been right to come, and this had been the right thing to do. It was right to calm the pain of another person who loved her Rudra, and her children. Love, after all, was not evil, or profane. It was just---itself. Of course, Rudra must never know that she had done this. He would never forgive her for it, if he knew---but Paro was glad she had taken the risk, and had come here this evening. Feeling lighter, happier and finally at peace, Paro left the meeting room, promising to come back as soon as Rudra went on another mission, and left her with some free time.
The Jailor was waiting for her right outside and he carefully escorted Mrs. Ranawat and her children to her waiting jeep, and stood wiping his damp forehead as the car drove the precious cargo back home.
Laila, knowing that these visits with Paro and the children would end as soon as Rudra found out about them went slowly back to her own jail cell. With a small square of chocolate to nibble on, Laila sat down to compose a letter to send to Paro before Rudra found out about these meetings. Clutching the jhola with the treasures, Laila wondered how she could convince Paro to bring some pictures of the babies next time she came, so Laila could have them to keep with her before the Jallad put an end to these secret trips.
Rudra finally came out of the Observation Room located behind the cell where Paro and Laila had been talking. The one way mirror through which he had observed the meeting between his wife and his mistress gleamed darkly behind him as he closed the door. Rudra wiped his streaming eyes, and, turning the jacket collar up to disguise his ravaged face from any curious eyes, the Jallad slowly walked out of the Jailhouse, and into the windy, black Rajasthani night.
YESTERDAY:(FORGIVENESS) --PART 1 http://www.india-forums.com/forum_posts.asp?TID=3951666&TPN=7
YESTERDAY:(FORGIVENESS) -- PART 2 http://www.india-forums.com/forum_posts.asp?TID=3951666&PID=103613204&#p103613204
YESTERDAY:(FORGIVENESS) --PART 3 http://www.india-forums.com/forum_posts.asp?TID=3951666&TPN=20
THE YESTERDAY AND TOMORROW SERIES-ENJOY!
Topic started by napstermonster
Last replied by pal81