Molana Tells His Story

Maulana sat at a round table, his shoes propped up on a chair, the Purple Turban gleaming on his head. Laura stood beside him, smoking a cigarette, while James munched on a sandwich. Cigar, tied to a chair, slowly regained consciousness, his head throbbing in pain.

Maulana toyed with his revolver, his eyes fixed on Cigar. "So, what do I do to you, Cigar?"

Cigar spat on the ground, his head bleeding. "That's not my name..."

Maulana's expression turned stern. "Come on, that's not how you should behave... I left you alive so that you can hear my story, you know..."

Cigar sneered. "I know about you, everything. A bastard hungry for money and women..."

Laura's eyes flashed with anger, and she pulled out a dagger, pressing it against Cigar's neck. "I'll cut your tongue out!"

Maulana's voice was calm. "Relax, Laura."

Laura stepped back, and Maulana turned to James. "And James, you wear your purple hat?"

James pulled out the hat and put it on, a hint of a smile on his face.

Maulana's eyes gleamed with nostalgia. "So, my story goes like..."

The scene shifted to a flashback, with Maulana fighting in the 1948 war against India. The general's voice boomed through the microphone. "Stay down until my order! Stay down! Stay down!"

Soldiers lay on the ground, firing at the enemy, while Maulana and Laura defied orders, charging forward. Maulana shielded Laura as they fought, and she pushed him aside as tanks fired and grenades exploded.

"You're okay?" Maulana asked, his voice filled with concern.

"Yes, Mr. Tagar!" Laura replied, her voice steady.

The flashback ended, and Maulana's eyes refocused on Cigar. "The war had us in love, but the violence was too much for us now."

James finished his sandwich, clapping his hands in appreciation, while Laura stubbed out her cigarette with her foot.