“Assalamu alaikum. Peace be with you...” This is the traditional Muslim greeting with a warm blessing – which I usually touched my breast lightly with my palm and make a slight bow towards the visitor who moved with measured steps into our home at a small quiet village known as Taluksangay.
Taluksangay... A place that is almost a sigh when uttered. A place consecrated by the blood of our forefathers. A fitting destination for a banished tribe of Samas that lived and bled in a struggle to gain its rightful place. Now Taluksangay looks more like a sacred duty. Like my ancestors before me I have duty to Taluksangay.
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