They committed a heinous crime this week at the workplace. I was shocked at the sight, and stood unblinking, mouth agape, as they chopped at the victims.
The roots were the first to go, methodically hacked by coldly calculated swings in a savage rhythm. As each bunch of roots was severed from the trunk, the palm shivered and was only prevented from falling by the rough hands of a callous collaborator.
After the roots were cleared, the tops were lopped off and the carnage left on the ground for sun and wind to devour. The perpetrators unabashedly left open graves.
Later in the week, the holes were filled, and in place of the old comforting palms stood thin bamboo stalks, so fragile they were held together with pieces of string. Even they will not last long, as I hear they will be replaced by something else for political reasons.
I wonder where the secret shrine to Shiva is. I can't think of any other explanation.
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