The Evening was regular. The odor of daal and freshly baked roti loaded the small, two-place household the place Anwar Masih lived with his wife and two youngsters. Laughter echoed as his youngest daughter, Sara, recounted a Tale from university. It was an easy, sacred moment of peace—a picture of https://thirstyforgodchurch.blogspot.com/
A Loved Ones's Cry: The Human Price of Blasphemy Regulations in Pakistan
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