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Manak was a smithy, an extraordinary wordsmith who picked the words, evaluated them, polished them, and then arranged them in strings of many types. His words flourished like flowers, endeavouring to understand and reveal the mysteries of nature. His words consoled the afflicted hearts of the poor and infused them with new strength. He did not want any higher reward than that. He had the skill of arousing every known and, perhaps, unknown emotion. The one who read his words could not escape either of the two inevitable emotions: happiness and sorrow. A Muslim could find the voice of Azan and a Hindu could hear the sound of temple bells in his words. Manak held that words were the holiest thing in his possession; he loved his words and he never played with his words, like the politicians who manipulate the world of words to exploit the masses. He would be sad to see how some people misused words.Manak was his pen-name; his real name was Money Ram. This name smelled of greed and selfishness, a very prosaic name. Manak, the poet, was all right. It seemed to be away from all the worldly possessions. It was actually Mani (a gem) but with the passage of time it got transformed into Money Ram.