The Night was everyday. The scent of daal and freshly baked roti stuffed the modest, two-room property where Anwar Masih lived with his wife and two youngsters. Laughter echoed as his youngest daughter, Sara, recounted a Tale from university. It was a straightforward, sacred second of peace—a picture of a https://thirstyforgodchurch.blogspot.com/
A Household's Cry: The Human Cost Of Blasphemy Laws in Pakistan
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