It was a bright and sunny morning that the villagers of Sintano woke up to that day. There was a smile on every face, a spring in every step. If there existed any strangers in that small village, I’m sure the villagers would have greeted him with open arms into their homes and their hearts. As it is, they made do with greeting their neighbours cheerily. Yes, it was that kind of a day. But it would soon change.

At around noon, the first wisp of smoke appeared to mar the perfectly clear view, and within an hour, the mist had insinuated itself into the smallest of recesses in the village. The mist was so thick that you could not see even your own palm in front of your face, forget that neighbour or stranger to smile at, which was anyways unimaginable now, for with the mist had come a clouding of the happy and cheerful mood of the morning.

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