They reached Ayodhya, and as they crossed the bridge, Halima's eyes drifted to the Sarayu River below, the mesmerizing beauty of the landscape capturing her gaze. As Raza rolled down the car window, the fresh air mixed with the distant sound of temple bells, drawing her into the aura of this ancient city. He pointed out the Babri Masjid in the distance, partially visible from the bridge, standing as a quiet witness to the past and present.
Raza took in the scene around them. In a country where people seemed to be at odds over temples and mosques, he and his grandfather had always dreamed of a different Hindustan-one focused on education and development. It was 1988, and he was filled with hope for a future of progress and unity, unaware of the looming changes that would one day sweep across Faizabad and Ayodhya.
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