Arunachalam Angappan		FOR COMMUNAL AMITY Caste or creed or religion at dawn man didn’t know. His needs were full with a cave, arrow and bow. Growing in number, fanning out in many a direction, the groups preserved uniqueness without dereliction. Watching each other curiously, apprehensions grew seriously. Fevered brains craving for authority, ushered in, in castes and creeds, a variety. Hunting tools and cooking fire cementing not ties, increased ire and man began his self to serve unaware civilization downcurve. Leading lights amidst engulfing dark showed paths various to reach the mark. Whose path? Whose mark? Questions arose pushing man to his destruction so very close. Jesus, Allah, Shiva quarrel not. Why Sam, Sahul, Sundar? Bury your hatchet born of religion, caste, and creed. An El Dorado will be the whole world if you breed love and affection not hatred that lays all asunder.		THE FORBIDDEN FRUIT It isn’t calf love— evanescent and innocuous. You can rake up, chew, and laugh at tangentially. Calf love doesn’t dog you beyond adolescence. But the other one is foxy. Cunning. Gnaws at you woolf-like all your life. Unfathomably deep. Immeasurably dark. Impenetrably strong. Million pins prick you at each and every hair root. You become a poor victim. You can’t think of anything; can’t talk of many a thing. Like an ox of the mill. Thoughts hover over her. A zombie in the limbo. You only fret and fume in a vacuum. But it’s a sin even in the promiscuous West. The business of the other woman-- The pure witchcraft. The rose in the neighbour’s garden is fragrant, but can everybody pluck it? Smell it, don’t snatch it. He planted the apple by cunning. For man to prove his capacity for good.