Mina stepped out of their hut to discard leftover gruel. It was Sunday, and she’d prepare fresh gruel for the week. She searched the bushes for edible plants. Her son liked his gruel with boiled vegetables, but ever since the government arrested her husband for treason, they lived off the scraps she made from fishing by the sea shore.
Meanwhile in the palace, a surly man sporting a mahogany moustache looked at the man crouching in front of him. “What, Muttu?”
“Sir, the fishermen are here.”
“Well done!” The governor smiled through his moustache. “You’ll be rewarded for your collaboration.”