A pair of sandals has been stolen. The search for the thief is on. There's no slacking in this hunt.
Good news! Good news! The thief has been caught! Beat him! Beat him! Gather all your strength and beat him! Those who have no strength, borrow some! Bengali unity knows no bounds when it comes to good deeds.
A merciless thrashing. Kicks, punches, slaps, blows. Nothing left out. The public is so sincere! Even the wretch who can't manage two meals a day has boundless strength in his body today!
Blood streams down the thief's body. Sweat streams down the public's bodies. The owner of the sandals has fled in fear. The river of blood settles the debt of sweat. Today they bear no responsibility, yet duty remains.
The thief has regained consciousness. They are gone now. The thief's t-shirt is torn. His half-open jeans bear witness to his underwear. Torn jeans and t-shirt merged with fresh blood.
Somehow getting to his feet, lighting the blood-soaked cigarette from his pocket, straightening his spine, the thief walks. After many days he walks with his head held high. Today he is very happy.
In his pain-torn eyes and face, gratitude is clearly etched. He thinks, they aren't bad people; if they'd wanted, they could have taken his cigarette too. Well, do none of them smoke? Or is he the only thief in this world?