You may not believe this story. But I can tell you it is true because I have been to Pambupatti, a village on the edge of the jungle. It is on a cliff, and the vast forest stretches below like a mossy green carpet. There are many kinds of people in the village dark fair tall short. They speak many languages. Some eat meat some don't. Some pray in a small temple at the edge of the forest. Others pray in a mosque same miles away. My name is Prem and I live many hundred miles away from Pambupatti. I had heard about the village but I's never been there. Then last year, something terrible happened. The people of my own village went mad. Far away in a place they have never even been to a temple or mosque had been burnt down, and they went mad. They started fighting with one another. Some had to run away in the middle of the night. And at three in the morning as I lay in my house half awake house were burnt down in the fire. One of them was mine. I managed to grab a few clothes, some coins my little Ganesh statue and I run! I ran for a day and a night resting whenever my legs would not carry me any further. I jumped on to a train then on a bus. No tickets. Never mind everyone seemed to be running. Finally I found myself in Pambupatti and I saw same villagers gathered near a well. I run to them and before I could say a thing I fainted. When I opened my eyes I saw an old man with white hair white beard and shining black eyes bending over me. For the next few days, he looked after me putting food in my mouth and bringing me sweet, cool water from the stream. He rubbed my feed gently and made the pain go away. Neighbours strangers everyone came to visit me.