The Night was regular. The odor of daal and freshly baked roti crammed the modest, two-room dwelling wherever Anwar Masih lived with his spouse and two youngsters. Laughter echoed as his youngest daughter, Sara, recounted a Tale from school. It had been a straightforward, sacred second of peace—an image of https://youtu.be/gPn_ICbEbdU
A Relatives's Cry: The Human Expense Of Blasphemy Rules in Pakistan
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