Apparently, they were mannequins. Life less, mindless. Sitting by the bank of the Ganges, just as they might have been put by their owner, unperturbed by the life passing by. I went near them and it felt like I could hear whispers. It felt like some abandoned souls were singing a solitary song. I went closer and realised it was the murmur of the breeze, bringing along the stories floating in the river. I felt deep down in me that even the voiceless souls have tales to tell. All we need is ears, able enough to listen.