On a May afternoon at a Lucknow brick kiln, 25-year-old Mithilesh and his wife were dragging themselves to set the layers of brick moulds. High fever was not letting them walk. In the scorching heat, with burnt legs, heavy heads and dizzy vision, they were stumbling upon the stacks of bricks. They could barely hear the voice of their one-year-old who was crying uncontrollably, lying inside their temporary brick shelter that felt like a 바카라furnace바카라. Still, they must hunch over to set the layers바카라they have to make 1,000 bricks a day바카라to get Rs 50. Or else, they must sleep hungry, and their child would perhaps 바카라die바카라. Neither could they leave the place nor could they ask for relief바카라they were 바카라bonded labourers.바카라 He didn바카라t know any other way of living바카라for generations, his forefathers have been working as bonded labourers at the local zamindar바카라s land. And now, it was his turn.