1971.... It was yet another cold depressing evening in early December that year. She stood by the kitchen fire in her small two room home, reluctantly cooking some food which was to be her dinner. Reluctantly because she wasn't really interested in eating. For she was all alone - in the house that was small, and empty. She was all alone and lonely and that made her sad... This winter the whole day was depressing , the evenings even more so. Like during every winter this year too, she sat each day on the cot laid out in the front veranda of her house, right under the bright warm afternoon sun. She sat and did what she had been doing for years. She sat and knitted. She knitted sweaters and dabbled off and on with crochet. Her fingers were old and wrinkled but they moved the needles with such speed that they seemed but a blur... But there was something missing this winter. Her two sons, both officers in the Army, had not returned home for their regular two month annual leave. When her...