The droopy jawed Yaqoob just returned home after burying yet another son. Having had carried the funerals of his 2 robust sons, wrapped in shrouds, on his shoulders in a row the broken father felt fagged down to the ground. He had witnessed their burial, one by one, in the niche of the grave and had even cast dust into their graves till these were leveled. When the snow melts the mountain stream becomes a deluge. The pent up emotions gave way as Yaqoob entered into the room late in the evening to inquire after his wife. The old couple uttered not a word. They wept till their lachrymal glands were exsiccated.

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