#Order Indian Food In Ottawa

[rangde67]

Order Indian Food In Ottawa - Rangde Ottawa

Savor the convenience of authentic Indian cuisine at your doorstep by ordering from RangDe. Elevate your dining experience with a diverse menu, where each dish promises the rich flavors of India, delivered with the utmost care and culinary expertise.

Visit: https://www.rangdeottawa.com/

[scarlettwatson340]

Order Indian Food near Ottawa, ON

Satisfy your cravings for exquisite Indian cuisine in Ottawa, ON. At Taj Mahal, you can easily order Indian food that's rich in flavor and tradition. Explore our diverse menu, place your order online, and experience the taste of India delivered to your doorstep. Authenticity awaits at Taj Mahal Ottawa.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"DEMAND INDIANS HALT SLAUGHTER OF MOOSE," Toronto Star. October 6, 1942. Page 30. ---- Must Observe Game Laws Outside Own Reservations, Province Insists ---- "Ontario won't permit abuse of the game laws concerning shooting of large game animals like moose by Indians outside their own reserve areas," D. J. Taylor, deputy minister of game and fisheries, stated today. At Ottawa a deputation of Indians is protesting that Indians throughout Canada face starvation unless this order is amended.

Mr. Taylor cited one case in which 17 moose carcases have been found out of season with only small portions used. Sometimes only tongue would be taken and other times only a little bit of the hide to make trinkets. A moose now is worth over $200 to Ontario from the tourist hunting point of view, he said. "Indians." said Mr. Taylor, "have the right on their reserves to take game and fish for their own use at all seasons, but other than on their game reserves they are subject to the law of the white man. In the more isolated sections the department has never insisted upon strict observance of regulations by Indians other than on furbearing animals.'

At Ottawa, Thomas Favell of Vermilion Bay, Ont., spokesman for the Indian delegation, said that "these provincial rules are a direct violation of ancient treaties between the Indians and the government." The chiefs told officers of the Indian department yesterday their wives were going hungry because they cannot adapt themselves to "white man's food." and said their papooses were suffering from malnutrition.

[bramptonindianfoods]

Taste the Best Dal Makhani in Ottawa

The food at this restaurant is so delicious, you might just want to order more. No matter what you're craving, this place has it. From best dal makhani ottawa to tandoori dishes and desserts everything in-between, come taste our best dal makhani today.You won't get better Indian food than this.

[gagandeepvlrkmehfil]

The daily Lunch buffet features 12 hot items. It also includes appetizers, salads, desserts, and a special variety of chicken, lamb, and beef dishes. This is our special Mehfil buffet. The most special thing about Mehfil Indian Cuisine is that we are one of the very few buffet restaurants in Ottawa who serve the Indian buffet in Ottawa.

Can’t wait anymore to order something? Just order from our website or even if you search for an Indian restaurant near me, you would get to find us.

Looking for an authentic Indian restaurant in Ottawa? Mehfil Indian Cuisine is teamwork of

Majesty Restaurant Cafe, which aims to promote Indian buffets in downtown Ottawa. We serve our guests with a classic and unique choice of the Indian subcontinent’s most exclusive dishes. In the terms of making appropriate flavours and condiments, our spices are specifically hand-picked, dried, and well-grounded by our Chefs. We always ensure a balance in the flavours of our ingredients, which gives our cuisine an eccentric taste.

In Ottawa, Indian food is one of the things people crave for.

Our specially organized Menu draws the attention of

● Appetizers and Soups

● Hakka Style Dishes

● Tandoori Specials

● Vegetarian Dishes

● Non-Vegetarian Dishes

● Biryani and Pulao

● Naan and Roti

● Thali Specials (Dine-in only)

● Beverages

● Raita/Salad and side orders

● Meals to Go (Special Take-out Menu)

● Desserts

If you are unsure about what to order, then our staffs always has some great suggestions for you.

Come and Experience our ‘ART OF FOOD’.

Group reservations for lunches and dinners available.

Mehfil Indian Cuisine is a perfect fusion of authentic North Indian flavors and Asian cuisine. We prepare each dish with fresh ingredients and authentic spices that give you the comfort and taste of home-made food.

[buddy-basket]

Order groceries online Ottawa

Shop for your favourite Indian groceries online in Ottawa from Buddybasket. Buddybasket is one of the best Indian Supermarket that has many variety of products and brands available with them and you can choose your favourite products form them and get them delivered at your doorstep. With Buddybasket you can  Conveniently pay using your debit and credit cards. We also have QR Code scan, Google Pay and Apple pay options. Needless to say, It’s vital for us to ensure the security of any personal information shared by you on our website.

[fatehbaz]

“Names are not neutral”; more on manoomin (wild rice); “cottage colonialism”; British Empire’s appropriation of Indigenous plant knowledge; scientists redefining life and landscapes; rice uplifting a state and subduing an Indigenous “past”; establishing a “hierarchy of plants”; imaginative control; the power of names and renaming.

-------

Settlers did not abandon their cultural heritage and foodways when they moved into new regions. They brought their culinary traditions, including a sense of which plants and animals were fit for human cultivation and consumption, with them. Indeed, as Kay Anderson noted in European thinking ‘to cultivate nature was to draw it into a moral order where it became “civilized”’. The development of these moral orders was entangled in local and imperial politics, as Indigenous cultivation of manoomin, while initially acknowledged, was quickly ignored to place wild rice at the bottom of the hierarchy where tame grasses such as wheat reigned supreme.

Cerealists, botanists, and other experimentalists at the Central Experimental Farm [Ottawa] and Kew [Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew, London] framed the fate of these plants with that of specific communities. [...]

The development of Marquis wheat and the place of the breeding projects in Canadian settler colonialism highlights the importance of understanding the role played by scientists in reinforcing the imaginative control necessary to remake landscapes for different economies and societies. [...] Rather than using plants to replace one ecological and human community with another, the movement of wild rice shows how the discursive redefinition of a single species can be used to redefine land that was important for Indigenous food production yet marginal to Western agriculture towards exclusively recreational ends. 

---

Here even the name of the plant – whether it is called wild rice or manoomin – does colonial work.

In 1901 American botanist Albert Ernest Jenks listed 59 different names in use for wild rice in North America at that time. [...] Although detailed, this list was not exhaustive as additional names were applied by botanists at Kew, most often Canadian rice grass (Prain, 1908). [...] To summarize: in the three most common names we have manoomin the good berry, an important foodstuff; wild rice which has never been tamed; and Zizania, a weedy plant that is hard to categorize. [...]

Names are not neutral, and language forms a key part of ecocultural relationships and circulation. [...] Names are historically and geographically relevant to the situation in which it is employed and is fraught with cultural and political ramifications. They enact different relationships between the human doing the naming and the plant being named, as well as relationships between the namer and the wider world. [...]

---

[W]ild rice was part of one of the first shipments of plant material sent from the Central Experimental Farm to Kew Gardens in 1887. [...] Just as the development of Marquis wheat and other novel cereals was part of a re-imagination of the Canadian prairies towards grain production, wild rice at the Central Experimental Farm played a role in redefining the forests and lakes of the Canadian Shield for a new economic reality that focused, in part, on the rise of recreational economies in the form of cottages and hunting camps. [...]

Dominion scientific agriculture, including the development of Marquis wheat and other novel cereals, was essential to settler expansion. [...] The government's Indian Agents worked to keep Indigenous people on reserves while it also employed agricultural scientists to expand the productive basis of incoming white settlers.

The hand of the state that held down one community was used to uplift others. [...]

The circulation of Marquis wheat and wild rice through the hands of Canadian and imperial scientists demonstrated the hierarchy of crops in the settler colonial order. Each plant has a separate role to play in enacting the imaginative control necessary to remake the landscapes of the young Canadian state for permanent European and Euro-Canadian settlement. [...] Manoomin [...] was [renamed as and] eclipsed by wild rice, assisting in the redefinition of the lakes and forests of central Ontario away from Indigenous food ways and economics towards cottaging and tourism. [...]

The fate of wheat was that of settlers while the positioning of wild rice, including its ‘timeless’ framing, not only reflected the position of Indigenous people within settler-dominated society, but also supported their framing as unchanging relics of a past era.

---

Text by: PG Anderson. “Grasses tame and wild: Imperial entanglements in settler colonial cereal breeding and botany.” Environment and Planning E: Nature and Space. August 2018. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Italicized first paragraph/heading in this post added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[johnjahshan]

“THE BEST STORIES ARE LIKE BURGERS: FRESH, JUICY, AND INNOVATIVE”– JOHN JAHSHAN.

Oh My Burger has a team of talented chefs coming from different ethnicities who bring in the real magical experience of over 40 years in the global hospitality industry which allows us to cook authentic food from various cuisines of the world. From your Indian butter chicken cravings to a Middle Eastern kebab fair or maybe a lazy taco night. You name it, we cook it.

You can choose fresh, authentic, and affordable food by the kilo or by the container.

Guest experience is all that matters to us at OMB – Oh My Burger. We don’t say we cook awesome food but our guests say that our burgers are something they’ve never had before.

This not only gives us immense joy but also boosts us to work harder and bring more of such smiles on many faces.

We assure our guests that we take all safety measures following all the necessary protocols to cook your meals with the utmost hygiene.

We will soon be popping up with our newest store in the heart of Downtown. We’re now going to be open at Rideau and Dalhousie to serve you all a great experience. With an all-new and special menu consisting of a range of inventive Stuffed Burgers and more, OMB – Oh My Burger is going to be your spot. You may order online or simply drop in to grab your bite.

We are extremely thankful and proud to be featured as one of the top 6 new restaurants in the city!! It couldn't have been done without the support of the community at large. We thank you all for your continued support and are looking forward to catering your every need for the foreseeable future much love.

Planning for an indoor party because you can’t step out to celebrate with your loved ones? We’ve got you covered.

From an array of different items to choose from, you choose your customizations and we deliver you scrumptious meals for your gang.

Call us at 416-970-3973 to know more.

Stay home and order via UberEats or DoorDash. You can also use the UPKŪ app to order ahead and pick your order up.

A perfect place for:

●     amazing burger in Ottawa.

●     local burger in Ottawa

●     tasty burger in Ottawa

●     delicious burger

●     homemade burger

[rangde67]

Best South Indian Restaurant In Kanata

Unleash the tantalizing flavors of South India at Rang De Indian Cuisine, where authentic dishes and warm hospitality await. Discover the symphony of spices and aromas as you savor delicate dosas, fluffy idlis, and hearty curries. Experience the true essence of South Indian cuisine at Rang De.

Best South Indian Restaurant In Kanata

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“NO HARD LABOR AT JAIL MONOTONY MORE PUNISHING,” Ottawa Citizen. July 13, 1940. --- Idle Life Is Not the Good Life Ottawa Particularly When Encircled by Cement Walls and Iron Bars ---- By DAVID J. LEWIS. MALE PRISONERS when in the county jail no longer wield heavy sledge  hammers over a rockpile. But even more punishing is the dreadful monotony of having nothing to do - no way to kill time, which passes so slowly that every minute seems like an hour. 

So they yearn, most of them, for the good old days when they could have relieved their boredom by breaking stone for the roads, a job which, in this machine age, is done more efficiently, and cheaper, by machinery. Cost of moving the stone from the jail to the townships was more expensive to the townships than buying it. 

Sheriff Sam Crooks and Governor Alonzo Dawson gave me the privilege of going through the jail building, where the prisoners tussle mightily with idleness, talking, smoking, doing anything they can think of to make the hands of the clock turn faster, and doing it, apparently, without much success.

Not a Happy Life Take it from them that the idle life is not the good life - not, anyway, when it is encircled by cement walls and iron bars.

I saw three of the 78 prisoners incarcerated in the county bastille meandering up and down their cell corridor trying to sing "South of the Border.” They had just had one meal and all they had to do was wait for the next.

Another 20 prisoners were in the dining hall downstairs. They were sitting about in their blue overalls, the prison uniform, laboriously engaged in the tedious task of wasting time. They obeyed the turnkey's order to line up but they didn't make haste. When you have three months to walk 10 feet and turn around, you don't hurry.

One would expect the turnkeys would have a tough time getting chefs for the kitchen. The question is further complicated by extremely rapid turnover of prisoners. As soon as they get one trusty broken in as chief cook, his ticket et admission expires and they have to look around for a new one. 

Food Looked Good. Despite this the food looks good at "Castle Dawson". However I wasn't allowed to eat any. Turnkeys have to bring their own meals and visiting reporters go hungry.

Here is a sample day's menu: Breakfast, porridge, milk and sugar, bread and tea. Dinner: meat, potatoes, carrots, tea and bread. Supper: sausages and potatoes, beans, dessert with molasses, tea and bread.

The governor showed me the garden where much of the food is grown. The garden Iooks a lot better than most amateur efforts in spite of the disinterested attitude of the gardeners. Enough carrots were grown last year to keep the jail supplied until the middle of February.

What Trusties Do. Trusties run the jail workshop, the laundry, and barbershop. They are given the privilege of running around loose Inside the jail during the day and they are not locked into the cells until 8.30, an hour and a half after the others. 

The cells are snug enough in their way. On the south side they are three feet by 10 and on the north twice as wide. The beds seem to have been designed for strength and durability rather than for strict comfort. A pillow and a couple of blankets are supplied, but search failed to disclose anything in the way of a mattress.

I tried out one of the beds for about 30 seconds. Lying on the bed I considered the lot of the Indian fakir on his couch of nails. There seemed little to choose between the two. I learned later that prisoners are granted the prerogative of sleeping under or between the two blankets.

There is no oversleeping. The boys are awakened at six o'clock and get their breakfasts a quarter of an hour later. They clean up their cells and corridors after that and have dinner at 11.30. Sup- per is served at 5.45 and they are locked up in their cells at six. They are allowed to read magazines and books until lights-out at nine. Now and then a bibliophile takes up residence in the house of correction, but very few prisoners bother with anything more than the pictures. 

Are Allowed Tobacco. Everyone at the jail was smoking The prisoners can buy tobacco twice a week and they are chewing it or smoking is from dawn to dusk. If they ever stop It is because their funds are too low to buy it or because they were too intemperate after the last date of sale.

Every manjack of them is waiting impatiently the time when he will be able to buy his tobacco again. ////

“lan Sutherland Jail Governor,” Ottawa Citizen. September 4, 1940.  --- Will Succeed Alonzo Dawson --- Appointment of Ian A. Sutherland as governor of the Carleton County jail on Nicholas street is expected to be announced within few days.

Mr. Sutherland. an employe of the Canadian National Railways, is secretary of the West Ottawa Liberal Association and has taken an active part in politics in this district for some time. 

In his new post, a provincial appointment, he will succeed Alonzo G. Dawson, jail governor for the last 29 years and prior to that clerk of Nepean township, who is slated for retirement.

Governor Dawson has been receiving a salary of $2,000 per annum. The position also carries with it a free apartment in the jail building, heat and light. As governor of the jail Mr. Sutherland will be under the direct supervision of Sheriff Samuel Crooks in Ottawa. 

“New Governor of Jail Takes Special Course,” Ottawa Citizen. September 9, 1940. ---- Ian Sutherland, whose appointment as governor of the Carleton County jail was announced recently, is in Toronto receiving special instruction preparatory to resuming his duties. After this, special course he will make a tour of Ontario penal institutions and will return to the Capital in about three weeks, Mr. Sutherland is replacing A. G. Dawson, the present governor, who is retiring.

[spine-buster]

Alone, Together | Chapter 21 | Morgan Rielly

A/N:  Y’all deserve this one.  I’ll be at church cleansing my sins if you need me.  

Briony never got to give out Valentine’s Day cards at school because she could never afford them.  She’d get them from her fellow students, decorated with superheroes or puppies or whatever else was popular at the time, usually with a heart-shaped chocolate or a Hershey’s Kiss, but she was never able to give any out.  That was why, given the opportunity, she went out and bought really corny Valentine’s Day cards, the fold up ones that came in packs of 30, wrote one to Morgan for each day of his road trip, and hid them in his suitcase for the 13-day tour of Montreal, New York, Colorado, Las Vegas, Arizona, and St. Louis.  Bee was a bit bummed that she wasn’t able to spend time with Morgan on their first Valentine’s Day together, but there wasn’t exactly anything she could do about it.  

Instead, she was focused on the training she was completing for her new job.  The day after her interview, Mark Travers had called her back.  “Can you come back to my office?” he had asked.  Morgan was at morning practice, so she high-tailed it in an Uber.  When she got there, he sat her down in the same chair she sat in for the interview.  “What are your salary expectations?”  “There will be performance bonuses if you accept and do well.”  “We’re not going with the candidate from Montreal.  I would love for you to be part of our team.”  It was all very surreal, and of course, she accepted the job.  She was a junior financial analyst at Scotiabank.  Her hard work paid off in the best way possible.  Yes, she had a boyfriend, the best boyfriend in the world – but now, she had a job.  She had a career.  She had everything she had ever wanted.

Morgan was, of course, over the moon when she told him.  So over the moon, in fact, that the Leafs won their next two games against Anaheim and Ottawa.  She was able to go to both games after her training, just a short walk to the ACC from Scotia Plaza.  He asked so many questions and was so interested in everything she would be doing.  He was like a little kid in a candy store.  He wouldn’t shut up about it.  He told his teammates.  He told the wives and girlfriends (as if she hadn’t already).  He told Mike Babcock because, well, he just happened to be listening at the time.  He told the Uber Eats delivery man when he dropped off their food that night, a celebratory feast on Indian food.  He’d tell a park bench if it listened.  

But, like always, then he had to leave.  A thirteen day road trip for the team.  He cursed the fact that after all these big events, he always had to leave, and they could never properly celebrate.  They couldn’t even properly celebrate their first Valentine’s Day, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it.  There wasn’t exactly anything any of the other wives or girlfriends could do about it, so instead of wallowing in self-pity, Alannah had organized a “Galentine’s Day” night over at hers and Zach’s place.  The boys were facing the Vegas Golden Knights tonight, and the girls could at least watch the game together while eating junk food and sipping on mimosas and mocktails rather than spend the night alone.  

Until then, Bee found herself with Aryne, who was apparently feeling particularly stir-crazy.  There was a week of paid training before Bee assumed her full responsibilities, and in the time, Aryne made it her personal goal to meet with Bee everyday for lunch so they could check out places to eat in the financial district.  Today, they were at the Cactus Club, an import from western Canada that just opened a few blocks north of the Scotia Plaza.  Aryne had ordered them both a tuna poke bowl and non-alcoholic Valentine’s Day-themed drinks.  

They had been talking for a while, discussing who was going to be at Alannah’s place that night and what time Aryne would pick Bee up, when suddenly a shrill voice was heard from across the restaurant screaming, “Ohmigod, Aryne is that you?!”  Aryne and Bee both looked to their left, and Bee saw a beach blonde running over to them with a giant smile on her face.  

“Oh Lord,” Aryne mused under her breath as she smiled at the woman making a beeline.  

“Who’s that?” Bee asked, but it was too late.  The woman had approached their table and Aryne was smiling politely at her.

“So nice to see you here!” the woman said, bending down and giving Aryne a hug, who didn’t bother getting up from her seat.  “I can’t believe I ran into you here of all places.  What are you doing here?”

“I’m having lunch with my friend,” Aryne said.  Why else would she be in a restaurant with another person sitting across from her?  “Bee, this is Sydney.  Sydney this is Bee McTa--”

“So you’re Bee?” she said slyly, not bothering to offer her hand for a polite shake.  “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“From who?” Bee asked.

“From Instagram,” Sydney said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  Bee got worried the second she mentioned it.  She didn’t even know who this Sydney was – why did she knew who Bee was?  What had she seen on Instagram that made her feel like she already knew who Bee was?  “I just love that Chanel bag that Morgan got you.”

“What have you been up to, Sydney?” Aryne intervened the split second she saw Bee’s eyebrows furrow.  “What brings you back to Toronto?”

“Well, I had my dress fitting at Kleinfeld today.  Jessica had a working lunch so I thought I’d come to Cactus Club and see what the food’s like,” she explained.  Bee had no idea who Jessica was and she wasn’t inclined in the slightest to ask.

“Jessica who?  Mulroney?” Aryne asked.

“Of course, Aryne.  Who else?” Sydney smiled.  “Anyway, the second dress was already ordered in Southampton so we’re waiting for that to come in for alterations as well.  Then there’s the veil and the flower wall and just, like, so many other things.”

“Should’ve eloped,” Aryne winked.

“Boomer wouldn’t want that,” she giggled, turning her attention back to Bee.  “You must know my fiancé Matt?  Or my father Boomer Esiason?”

Bee didn’t understand.  Did Sydney just ‘my father’ her a la Meghan McCain?  Was she just name-dropping people in the hopes that Bee would recognize who she was?  Why would she want anyone to recognize her?  Bee shook her head.  “I’m sorry, I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“My fiancé is Matt Martin.  He plays for the Islanders.  He was on the Leafs last year,” her tone was light but she spoke in short sentences, talking to Bee like she was an idiot.  “Do you not know about hockey?”

“Not a lot, actually,” Bee tried to keep her voice as cordial as possible.  She could see Aryne trying to suppress a smirk.  “I’m usually too busy with work to learn about other teams, so I just stick to the Leafs.”

“Oh…” Sydney was taken aback by Bee’s answer, by Bee’s lack of interest in who she was, in Bee’s lack of caring about anything to do with her.  

“Bee’s a financial analyst with Scotiabank,” Aryne informed Sydney.

“And Morgan’s okay with that?”

A shiver ran up Bee’s spine.  “Why wouldn’t he be okay with that?”

“Morgan earns more than enough money for the both of you.  All the hockey players I know would love to have their girlfriends at home with them to help with the hockey schedule.  You know how boys are so dependent,” she tried to turn it into a joke.  “They can be so useless sometimes.”

Maybe her boy was dependent, but Morgan could get by on his own.  Bee didn’t like the insinuation that he was the only one that mattered in the relationship and that her needs took second place to his.  That’s not the way she lived her life, ever, and that’s not the way she and Morgan acted in their relationship.  “Morgan loves that I have my own career,” Bee said definitively, taking a sip of water to prevent her from saying anything else she might regret.

Sydney smiled politely.  “Well, I won’t keep you two much longer,” she gave a half smile to Bee before focusing on Aryne.  “Look for the invitation to come late May.  It’s going to be in Southampton.  We’ll provide hotel details.”

“Good luck with the rest of the planning,” Aryne smiled before Sydney walked away, readjusting a Prada bag on her shoulder.  Aryne looked back at Bee and gave her a look.  “Sorry about that.  I thought we’d be safe here.”

“Is she always like that?  Namedropping Jessicas and Boomers and who her husband is?” Bee asked.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Aryne rolled her eyes slightly.  “Her dad was a pro football player and now she’s getting married to Matt.  He played for the Islanders with John, then played in Toronto for two years, but now he’s back on the island.  She’s really close with Steph.”

Bee tried not to roll her eyes.  She didn’t like those types of people – those that would namedrop to get what they want or so they could let you know who they were.  It actually did say a lot about who they were, and to Bee, it wasn’t that good.  She didn’t even like it when Morgan did it all those months ago at Cibo.  “What did she mean she saw me on Instagram?” Bee asked.

“Well obviously we’ve been uploading pictures and stuff,” Aryne said, taking her phone out of her purse.  “But then there’s like, the fanpages or whatever.  She stalks them a bit to see what they say about her and Matt.”

“The what?”

“The fanpages.  You know, like the girls who somehow get a hold of our pictures and then post them on their accounts?” she phrased it as more of a question.  When she saw the confused look on Bee’s face, she shook her head.  “Oh come on Bee.  You have to know about them.”

“I know about the girls who send me messages telling me I’m fat and Morgan’s my sugardaddy,” she said bluntly.  Aryne knew about them too.  They laughed about them together.  “I don’t know about these so called fan-pages.  How do they get the pictures if our profiles are private?”

“Oh, they find their ways,” Aryne typed something into her phone and swiped through a few screens.  “It’s nothing horrible.  They literally just post pictures.  But…yeah.  Here’s you,” she said, showing Bee her phone over the table.

Bee took Aryne’s phone in her hands and swiped through the post from @theladyleafsoftoronto: ten pictures stolen from her Instagram account, from Ashley’s Instagram, and even from Lucy’s private one somehow.  Group shots of her with the girls.  None of her and Morgan together, thankfully, because those were few and far in between.  She had just posted her first one, series of photos of them together in Vancouver, after they got back from their trip.  She’d cleared her Instagram like Angie told her to, and she hoped they wouldn’t get out.

“Check out at NHL wives and girlfriends,” Aryne said the name of another account before she stuffed her face with contents of her poke bowl.  “Those girls should work for CSIS.”

Bee punched the handle into the search bar and immediately saw the account.  She didn’t have to scroll far to see the two different posts, each with another series of photos and videos of her.  Twenty total.  They had screengrabbed Instagram stories of her and Morgan kissing from Auston’s New Years Eve party and others, Boomerangs from Halloween in their costumes, and even went so far as to include one of the oldest pictures of herself she had posted to Instagram.  They were crazy.  And somehow – yup, of course, of-fucking-course – the series of photos of her and Morgan together from Vancouver were on there.  She didn’t even want to know how they got there.

“Wait…” Bee said as she noticed one specific picture.  Their backs were to the camera and they were standing on the seawall on Kitsilano Beach, where Andy brought them when they landed in Vancouver.  “That’s…that’s not…”

“What’s wrong?”

“One of these is Shirley’s picture,” she said.  “Shirley…she only posts to Facebook.  You mean to tell me they stalk her Facebook?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Aryne shrugged her shoulders.  “I told you.  They should work for CSIS.  They could get information on anyone.  Hell, if you didn’t even have an online presence they’d still find you.”

It was at that point, staring at the candid picture Shirley had taken of them in Vancouver, that Bee realized there was nothing she or Morgan could do about it.  Absolutely nothing.  They could switch on every privacy button they could, they could refuse to post – none of it mattered.  It would still end up somewhere.  It would still end up on an Instagram profile with almost 10,000 followers and fifty comments on the post.  It was completely out of their control.

So why bother?

“Jesus,” Bee shivered slightly, and it wasn’t because of the cold outside.  She handed Aryne’s phone back to her.  “I didn’t know…I mean, these girls must have a lot of time on their hands.”

“I know it’s a lot, but it’s not a big deal.  It happens to us all.  They all find it somehow.  The more you come to just accept that it’s gonna happen, the less freaked out you get when it does happen,” Aryne explained.  “The fact that you don’t care what they say helps, too.  Yours and Morgan’s relationship is strong and you’re better than what they say about you.  Other girls aren’t as strong as you.”

***

Bee had received a text with a picture of every Valentine Morgan found on his 13 day road trip followed by a heart and a message of “I can’t wait to see you”.  Now that he was finally on his way home, Bee sent him a text back: “I can’t wait to fuck you.”

She was restless.  All she wanted was him with her, beneath her, above her, beside her, behind her – she didn’t fucking care at this point.  She wanted touch him and to feel him so desperately she was willing to jump his bones the second he got in the door.  Hell, she’d meet him down in the parking garage if it meant getting her hands on him.  But with the last ounce of self-restraint she had, she put on her blush coloured baby doll lingerie set and waited for him on the bed.  

Even as she heard the door open and shut, she stayed in her position.  “Bumblebee?” Morgan called out, the sound of his bag hitting the floor loud in the quietness of the apartment.

“In here!”

She heard his footsteps make their way to the bedroom.  When he opened the door, he was greeted with her, sitting on the bed on her knees in her lingerie.  He stopped for a moment, taking in the scene before him.  “Well well well…happy belated Valentine’s Day to me,” he hummed.

“Happy Valentine’s Day baby,” she smiled, noticing he had something in his hand.  “What’s that?”

“Your valentines,” he said.  “Wanted to give you a kiss for every one you left me, but it seems like you have other plans in mind,” he licked his lips.  “I’ve never seen this before.”

“I was keeping it a secret.”

“Oh were you,” he sauntered over to her, making a come hither motion with his finger.  She moved towards the edge of the bed where he was standing, slipping her arms around his neck.  “I mean it.  Thirteen kisses,” he mumbled, grabbing hold of the flesh at her hips before giving her the first kiss.  “I love the pink,” he mumbled.

“I knew you would,” she said, biting his bottom lip.  “God, I missed you so fucking much.”

“I missed you too, Briony.  But I’m home now.”

She kissed him again, unable to wait any longer.  They definitely gave each other more than thirteen kisses as they made out, but she wasn’t exactly complaining.  Morgan’s hands on her flesh were intoxicating and all she wanted to feel.  She wasted no time in ridding him of his clothes.  He moved quickly to put the valentines on the dresser so he wouldn’t lose them.  

“Lie on the bed,” she directed him when he came back.

“What?”

“I said lie on the bed,” she repeated as she made way for him to do just that.

“What are you --”

“Can you stop asking questions and just lie on the bed!” she giggled, pulling him down so he had no choice.  Crawling in between his legs, she couldn’t help but smile as he put his hands behind his head to view her.  She grabbed a pillow for him so he could use it in place of his hands.  She needed his hands for this.  “Did your cock miss me?”

“Mmmm, you have no idea,” he said, his voice low.  

She helped him out of his boxer-briefs and scratched her nails teasingly down his thighs.  When she finally grabbed hold of his cock, she smiled before kissing the head gently.  Morgan bit down on his lip as he looked at her.  “C’mon baby.”

“Nuh-uh,” she shook her head, a devilish smile on her face.  “Nice and slow.”

He glared at her momentarily.  “Excuse me?”

“Nice and slow,” she repeated, her eyes flashing with revenge.  “I can tease too, you know.”

“What are you – wha…” he didn’t understand what she was trying to say, but then it hit him.  This was payback.  ‘Nice and slow’ was payback for their little impromptu rendezvous before Auston’s New Year’s Eve party, where he’d teased her so achingly slow with his fingers.  “Baby, please --”

“No,” she said definitively, licking the underside of his cock, but pulling away right after.  “Nice.  And.  Slow.”

He let out an exasperated sigh.  He knew he was going to pay for that one day.

 True to word, miraculously, she worked on his cock slow and steady, making sure to take her time with the foreplay and use all of her tricks that she knew would drive him wild: the moaning, the dirty talk, even the simple act of catching his eye while his cock was in her mouth and rolling them to the back of her head in pleasure.  His body felt like it was a thousand degrees as she worked her magic.  

When she began to take him deeper into her mouth and throat, he made sure to gather her hair in his hand as he guided her up and down his shaft.  Like always, his eyes rolled back when she would gag slightly, but because she was taking this all nice and slow, everything seemed heightened.  She was thoroughly enjoying herself and taking her time, and by her actions he knew she wasn’t forcing herself to do anything she was uncomfortable doing.  

“Feeling good, baby?” she asked quickly before taking him into her mouth again.

He grunted in appreciation, tightening his grip on her hair slightly.  “You’re so fucking good.”

She moaned a little before she sucked him from base to tip, ending with a pop.  “I wanna taste you baby.”

His breathing was hot and heavy.  “W-What?” he stuttered out.

“I want you to cum down my throat baby.  I want to taste you,” she cooed.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” he moaned out, but before he could say anything else, she took him deep in her throat quickly, gagging, and he actively had to think about something else to prevent him from exploding right then and there.  He caught her eye as she looked up at him.  “I won’t last long if you keep doing that.”

She giggled.  “Good,” she said before continuing her actions.

True to his word, it wasn’t long before he began to lose control.  He tightened his grip on her hair one last time before he rocked his hips so he could push himself even deeper into her throat.  After one last moan and one last gag, she felt him shoot his hot load into her throat.  His breathing was erratic, his sighs more high-pitched than normal, and Bee let out a satisfied sound as she swallowed every bit of him.  

She continued sucking until she felt him get soft, ending with another pop and another devilish grin on her face.  “Happy Valentine’s Day, Morgan.”

“Hap…Hap…” he tried to speak, but he couldn’t.  He couldn’t even think straight.  “I can’t…I can’t…” he repeated, worried, still on a high.  He didn’t know what to do.  He couldn’t move, but he knew the night couldn’t end here.  No way.  He never wanted to not make her come, especially for Valentine’s Day celebration, but after doing so himself, like that, he didn’t know how long he’d have to take to recuperate.  Needless to say, he didn’t exactly want to wait either.  

“C’mon Morgan,” she whispered, her voice breathy and low, her lips grazing against his ear.  

His brain was fucking mush.  He wasn’t even sure where he was to be honest.  “I…I…” he tried to formulate a coherent thought, completely spent and still trying to catch his breath.

“C’mon baby.  I’m all dressed up,” she taunted him.

He watched her as she slipped her hand underneath her panties and began to touch herself.  He regained enough semblance of a conscience to realize he didn’t want her to be doing that.  He wanted to be the one.  “Stop,” he said as firmly as he could.  

She did as she was told.  She looked at him and a small smile crept onto her lips.  “How do you want me?” she asked.  

Just by the way she phrased it he was ready to explode again right then and there.  “Get on your knees,” he said, and she followed instructions, lying back on her knees to face him.  “Other way,” he directed, watching the surprise spread across her face as she did what she was told yet again.  

Finally regaining enough consciousness, he got on his knees too, getting behind her so her back was flush with his chest. ��He wrapped his left arm around her slowly, making sure his fingers grazed her skin underneath the material of the babydoll.  His right hand was already playing with the lacy material of her underwear.  He kissed his way along her shoulder and up her neck until he got to her ear.  “You trust me?” he asked.

Bee nodded her head.  “I trust you.”

He gave her another tender kiss on her neck, his right hand already reaching over and slipping into the front of her panties to tease her hot core.  She jumped at his touch, knowing what he was about to do.  “I’m gonna start with one,” he whispered in her ear.

“Two.”

A shiver went up his spine.  “Two?”

She nodded her head.  “I want it so bad.”

He sighed contently, chuckling to himself at the desperation in her voice.  He began teasing her with two fingers, playing with her slick folds and rubbing circles on her clit as he continued to kiss and bite the skin along her neck and shoulders, definitely leaving marks.  He could feel her getting wetter with each passing moment and, lacking all self-control, he didn’t wait to push his fingers inside of her.  

She moaned at the action, grinding her hips against his hand as much as possible.  She snaked her hand along Morgan’s arm that wrapped around her body and intertwined her fingers with his.  “Fuck, Mo.”

“Feel good?” he bit down on her neck.

Bee could only nod her head as he curled his fingers in her, hitting the spot that made her shake in pleasure.  “Feels so fucking good,” she managed to breathe out.

His kisses were a mix of tender and hungry; his bites both loving and heated.  He bit his way back up to her ear.  “Are you gonna be a good girl for me Briony?” he asked.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes.  “Yes.”

“Are you gonna take more?”

“Yes.  Yes,” she said, desperate, grinding her hips again.  “Please Mo.  I want more.”

He slipped another finger in, now three fingers deep in her.  Bee shouted out slightly at the sensation, adjusting to the new feeling as much as she could before her body began reacting before her brain could.  A warm shiver went up her spine and she leaned back into Morgan, his chest slick with sweat.  “You okay?” he asked quickly.

“Go harder, Morgan.”

Was it possible to self-combust?  Because between the blowjob and this, he was sure he was going to spontaneously self-combust right then and there on the bed.  She knew just the right tone to use in her voice when she begged to drive him wild.  “You’re fucking desperate, aren’t you?”

“Please Morgan,” she begged again, bringing her free hand up to yank at his hair, pulling him so she could give him a sloppy kiss.  

His fingers continued to curl inside her and she moaned out in pleasure.  This time, he tightened the grip his arm had around her body, limiting her movement so she couldn’t grind against his hand as much.  He knew how much she liked when he held her hips down while he ate her out, making sure the responsibility of her pleasure was in his hands the most, and he figured she’d enjoy it just as much in this situation too.  A whine escaped her as she realized what he was doing; despite her best effort, she wasn’t able to grind down as much.  “Harder,” she panted out.

Losing any semblance of restraint he had left, he began pumping his three fingers in and out of her quickly, much to her wish and indulgence.  Her moans were loud and desperate, long and throaty, while, by some miracle, he was still rubbing against her clit and he was still kissing and biting down on the sensitive skin on her neck.  It was all too much for her – the different sensations in different places – and her body became hot and she could feel her orgasm already building as Morgan continued to work.  “Morgaaaaaaannnnn,” she elongated his name, pleading with him to continue exactly what he was doing.  

“You like that, huh,” he mumbled against her skin, making her nod her head.  “You’re so fucking desperate for me to fuck you like this.”

“Morgan, please,” she didn’t know what else to say.  She knew it was all she was saying but she could barely form a coherent thought.  This was so unlike anything they’d ever done; although he had fingered her before, it was never like this.  It was never this hot and this steamy and this raw.  She was so close she felt like she was going to explode already.  “I’m so close.”

“Then make a fucking mess, Briony.”

That’s it.  She’s lost it.  She cried out loudly, repeating his name over and over again as he curled his fingers in her one last time, making sure it lasted as long as it could as she collapsed against his body, her head leaning back onto his shoulder.  Her legs felt like jelly and her hair stuck against his skin.  

His fingers were still in her and her thighs were wet as he gave her a tender kiss.  “You’re such a good girl for me.  Always such a good girl,” he whispered.

“Again.”

He stopped momentarily.  He wasn’t expecting to hear that.  “What?”

“More.  And again.”

The shock was written all over his face, but she couldn’t see because between not facing him and her eyes rolling to the back of her head, she couldn’t see much of anything.  “I…you want more?” he clarified.

“Keep going,” she nodded her head.  “I want more.  Keep going until I can’t scream anymore.”

In a snap second he realized what she was asking him to do.  “Are you sure?” he asked one more time.

“Positive.  Go wild, baby.”

He practically growled at her request, tightening his grip around her once more and starting to move his fingers in and out of her again.  “You gonna take it all like a good girl?”

“Like your good girl.”

“Mmmmm, that’s right.  You’re my good girl,” he licked at her jawline.  “You ready?”

Bee nodded her head.  She whimpered when he curled his fingers and began pounding them into her even harder than before.  She felt so warm and wet and the sounds they were making, the moaning and the screaming and the panting, the squelching of her wetness against his hands, it was all so hot and heavy and neither Morgan nor Bee could get enough.  “Mooorrrrgaaannnnn, fuck you’re so good baby,” she cried out.

“You want to come again, Briony?  So desperate for me to make you come again?” he tormented her.

“Yes baby.  Over and over.”

“Over and over till you can’t walk tomorrow.”

“Yes!” she screamed out, apparently loving the idea.  “Yes baby.  Because of you.  Only you get to do this to my pussy.”

“You gonna make another mess?”

“Yes.  Yes Morgan.  Always.”

“You gonna come for me?”

“Only for you baby,” she turned her head as much as possible to kiss him.  “Don’t stop, baby.  Keep going until I can’t fucking take it anymore.”

Morgan did just that.  Over and over Bee cried out, losing control, screaming, panting, her body being shattered as waves of pleasure continually washed over her, non-stop, especially after Morgan slipped a fourth finger into her, stretching her completely and filling her like she hadn’t been filled before.  Her body felt like it was on fire as Morgan held her up in his arm, but the constant state of orgasm and the more overstimulation she felt, the more her body began to feel like it was going to collapse onto the bed at any given moment.  

The longer they went, the more orgasms she had, and the longer they went, the more Morgan recovered and began to feel hard again.  He didn’t even know how long they’d been going for, but because of the overstimulation, his non-stop movements, and the fact that Bee hadn’t been silent since they started, he also wasn’t truly sure how many orgasms she’d had.  “How many?”

She didn’t answer at first.  She couldn’t answer.  She was so wrecked she didn’t know words were a thing she could use.  “How many, Briony?” Morgan repeated.

“I d’know,” she let out quickly.  

“You wanted this baby.  How many?” he demanded an answer from her.  

“I don’t…I don’t know,” her moans were broken, her skin shining from the sweat.  “It’s so much.”  A rose flush had taken over her body.  His fingers hadn’t stopped.  She was too concentrated on the feeling; the feeling of pleasure but also the feeling of being completely lost to another person, her pleasure in his control, and feeling one hundred percent safe about it.  

“C’mon baby, you can keep going,” he encouraged her.  

“Morgan,” she cried out, so hot and so wet and so…so willing to keep going.

“C’mon, you can do it again, huh?  Like a good girl?  Like my good girl?”  His voice was soft instead of demanding, filled with love instead of forcing her to do something.  

“Y…Yes,” she panted out.  All she knew was that she was close, she was so close, but she wasn’t done yet.  It was a lot, almost too much, definitely more than she had ever felt before, but she wanted to keep going.  

“That’s my good girl,” Morgan cooed as he placed a kiss on her temple.  “I’m almost ready, okay?  But you’re being such a good girl.”

“Fuck me when you’re ready,” her voice was hoarse and strained.  

“Don’t worry baby.  I’ll fill you up like I always do.  Stretch that pretty pussy how you like it.”

“Mmmmmmm fuck, keep going Morgan.  Keep going,” she whimpered.  

“C’mon baby, you can take it.  You can take it,” Morgan hummed as he began moving his fingers inside her again.  She was so sensitive that any movement sent her over the edge quickly.  She cried out his name over and over, his fingers and her thighs absolutely fucking soaked, and it wasn’t long before he felt her walls clench around his fingers again, and again, and again.  

Finally, finally, the arm keeping her up loosened, his hand going to his cock to stroke himself and get him as hard as he could.  She immediately collapsed down, hitting the sheets as he teased at her entrance.  It wasn’t long before he pulled her by her hair, slick with the sweat from their bodies, and brought her back to be flush with his chest.  “Are you okay baby?” he asked.  She barely nodded her head.  “One more?”

She closed her eyes, another barely there nod.  “I need your cock deep inside me.”

He entered her in one quick go, gasping at how fucking wet she was and how fucking easy it was to slide in to her aching, hot pussy as she collapsed on the bed again, ass up in the air for him.  He knew he wasn’t going to last long, his hard thrusts burying his cock deep inside of her.  She screamed and moaned and whimpered over every movement, practically sobbing at the feeling of feeling completely and absolutely wrecked by Morgan.  When she felt his hot cum squirt inside her, one last orgasm – after way too many to count – ripped through her body, sending her into one last rush of pleasure before Morgan collapsed on top of her body, cock softening inside her but refusing to pull out.

It was a long time before they came back down to earth.  Bee’s heart was threatening beat right out of her chest, the overstimulation still running rampant through her, especially since Morgan’s cock was still inside her.  She took some deep breaths to try and calm herself.  When Morgan’s arm wrapped around her and he shifted their bodies slightly so he was spooning her, he placed tender kisses along her shoulder, now absolutely ravaged with red hickeys and bite marks, and she felt her heartbeat slow down a bit.

“You okay, baby?” he whispered.

At first, she could only nod her head.  Her throat was so dry it hurt to speak.  She wondered if she would have a voice tomorrow.  “I’m okay.”

“You did so good baby.  You were so good for me,” he cooed, giving her another tender kiss.  “Always such a good girl.”

She couldn’t get enough of him calling her his good girl.  She knew she was always good for him, to him, but he was good to her and for her, too.  She twisted her body so she could somewhat see him yet still keep his cock inside her.  She was absolutely spent, just absolutely destroyed, but she wanted to see the face of the man who made her feel this way; the face of the man who indulged her every want but always kept her needs in mind.  “Thank you, baby,” she whispered.  She wouldn’t have been confident doing this with anybody else, and for that, she was truly thankful.  She could completely lose herself to him and know she would be safe.  She knew he would explore this with her but always keep her in control.  

“Thank you, baby,” he kissed her.  “I love you so much.  I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No.  No, you didn’t hurt me.  It was better than what I wanted.  I love you too.”

“You wanna clean u--”

“No,” Bee said as he began to move.  Her desperate hand on his skin stopped his movements.  She knew it probably wasn’t the best decision but she didn’t care.  “I don’t care right now.  Just stay here with me.”

Morgan nestled back into her, arm draping over her body as he pulled her close against his chest, their bodies still slick with sweat.  She’d kill him once she realized what her shoulders and neck looked like, but for now, all he could do was kiss the skin peppered with love bites until they both drifted off to sleep.

[gagandeepvlrkmehfil]

Mehfil Indian Cuisine is the best Indian food delivery in Ottawa to experience authentic North Indian cuisine with a fusion of Indo-Asian flavors.

Set in the middle of Somerset Street West, Ottawa, Canada,  this is the Best Indian restaurant Ottawa that takes you on a journey through the streets of Southeast Asia, grazing on the local street food and cuisine. In fact, the restaurant is the brainchild of Majesty Restaurant Cafe, which aims to promote fusion of Indo-Asian flavors across the area.

For those looking for neighborhood ambiance and comforting take away food, Mehfil Cushine has it all. Mehfil Cushine is the ideal place for a relaxing dinner for two, a large party, or a mid-sized family dinner, and serves as  Indian Delivery & Takeout Restaurant as well.

Over the top, the mission is simple: serve delicious, affordable and authentic north Indian cuisine. We are so curious about getting the guests, return to us week after week.

If you drop by to try the lunch buffet, we are open all weekdays.  We are sure you are not going to be disappointed—we plate up daily Lunch Buffet with 12 incredible and hot items, which includes appetizers, salads, desserts, and a variety of chicken, lamb & beef dishes.

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Our Address: 792 Somerset St W, Ottawa, ON K1R 6R2, Canada

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[rinagfood]

With almost 35 years of expertise, Rinag has been setting the standard for catering and event services in Ottawa, Kingston, Montreal, and surrounding areas with authentic Indian cuisine.

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[fatehbaz]

Remember when Canadian government land managers, between the 1890s and 1930s, wanted to bring “civilization” to the Arctic, and they took inspiration from how the United States government administered Indigenous communities in Alaska and thought it’d be cool to disconnect Indigenous people from their livelihoods and force them to integrate into the so-called civilized market by eliminating native caribou herds only to replace them by importing European reindeer (literally the same species, but relatively domesticated)? But then the entire weight of the federal Canadian government and all of its resources couldn’t even successfully establish a viable reindeer herd in the taiga and Arctic tundra because they forgot to notice that corralling a bunch of big mammals into a single space actually degrades the soil and prevents regrowth of the lichen that reindeer depend on for food?

Excerpt:

---

Game ranching was not the only economic activity that federal officials proposed as a pathway leading toward northern agricultural development. Nothing, in fact, captured the imagination of bureaucrats and private promoters in the early twentieth century more than the idea of importing domesticated reindeer from northern Europe as the vanguard of a settled and prosperous agricultural civilization in northern Canada. 

In large measure, the enthusiasm for reindeer introductions among senior politicians and bureaucrats within the Departments of the Interior and Indian Affairs was a response to the success of American attempts to transform Inuit hunters along the western coast of Alaska into reindeer herders. In 1892, Sheldon Jackson, a Presbyterian Missionary and General Agent of Education for the U.S. Department of the Interior, introduced 171 Siberian reindeer to Teller, Alaska. […] By 1916, the reindeer herd numbered just over 82,000 and an Alaskan Bureau of Education Report proudly proclaimed that the Inuit has been assimilated into a new social and ecological order: "within less than a generation, the Eskimos throughout northern and western Alaska have been advanced through one entire stage of civilization, from making their living by the precarious method of hunting and fishing to the pastoral stage in which by their own industry they provided against want."

Vilhjalmur Stefansson offered additional inspiration for the reindeer introductions in Canada. Through late 1918 and early 1919, the famous northern explorer lobbied intensively in Ottawa to persuade senior Canadian politicians and bureaucrats that a combined program of reindeer importation and muskoxen domestication not only would save the Native hunter from privation, but also provide a cheap food supply to fuel the growth of industry in the Canadian North. [...]

It was much easier, however, to dream of an expanding commercial empire based on reindeer ranching than to actually create one. Despite several state-led initiatives and the implementation of a Dominion policy in July 1918 granting free grazing leases to those willing to undertake the risky enterprise of Arctic ranching, all attempts to establish a viable reindeer population in the region before the end of the 1920s failed dramatically. […]

One private sector initiative -- an attempt by Vilhjalmur Stefansson and his financial backers in the Hudson Bay Reindeer Company to import 680 Norwegian reindeer to Baffin Island in the summer of 1921 -- failed because the reindeer encountered only a combination of barren rock and unpalatable mosses when they were released on their new grazing lands. [...]

A Royal Commission established in 1919 to examine the economic potential of reindeer and muskoxen industries in northern Canada responded three years later to these early failures by recommending that reindeer be introduced to northern grazing ranges only after careful botanical investigations of proposed sites. […]

---

By the mid-1920s the Department of the Interior had identified the Mackenzie Delta as one possible location for an experimental herd. The site was attractive not only because of the abundant forage for reindeer but also because the wild caribou herds had been decimated in this region to supply whaling ships with meat in the late nineteenth century. Senior officials in the Department of the Interior thus presumed that the introduction of even a small reindeer herd could provide badly needed food and clothing and also introduce a new modern industry to help advance Inuit [...] beyond their "primitive" state. […]

In 1929 the Dominion government purchased three thousand reindeer from the U.S. based Lomen Reindeer Company, which in turn hired a Sami herder, Andy Bahr, to deliver the animals overland to the Mackenzie Delta from Kotzebue Sound in western Alaska. Bahr spent an astonishing six years driving the surviving 2,382 reindeer across the northwestern Arctic mainland, delivering them to their grazing preserve on the west side of the Mackenzie River only in February of 1935. [...]

An information pamphlet published by the Department of the Interior in 1938 celebrated the adoption of herding among the Inuit, nothing that “the change from hunter to husbandhman is necessarily a gradual process but progress has been made and the administration looks for further advances in this line.” This assessment proved to be overly optimistic, however, as all the Native herds but one had declined in numbers and each was sold back to the main government herd by 1956. By 1958 the total herd had declined to approximately six thousand animals and in 1960 the government sold the herd to private interests. […]

Why did the reindeer herds fail to expand in population and geographic range? […] The most prominent threat to the reindeer operation was the tendency of the animals to run off with their genetically identical cousins that populated the resurgent wild caribou herds of the Mackenzie Delta. [...]

---

Text excerpt from: 

Liza Piper and John Sandlos: “A Broken Frontier: Ecological Imperialism in the Canadian North.” Environmental History Volume 12, Number 4. 2007. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[expatimes]

‘A ghost that haunts’: Living with landmines in Kashmir | Human Rights News

One night in December 2000, Mohammad Yaqoob says he was selected by the Indian army for patrol duty along the Line of Control (LoC), the border dividing the Indian and Pakistani-administered regions of Kashmir.

Twenty years ago it was standard but informal practice in parts of Indian-administered Kashmir for the army to select young men from nearby villages for night patrol along the 734km LoC, to keep watch for “infiltrators” from the other side of the border. For this, Yaqoob says he and other men from his village did not receive any training, pay or compensation.

As he returned home just before dawn, the 30-year-old stepped on a hidden landmine and, in an instant, lost his leg.

Fellow villagers who were also part of the patrol that night took him to the nearest army hospital in Tangdar, Kupwara. While medicine was provided by the army free of cost, Yaqoob had to pay for the surgery he needed.

When Al Jazeera contacted the Divisional Commissioner of the Indian Government to clarify what the official policy is towards using villagers for patrols and the treatment of landmine victims in Kashmir, we were asked to submit our questions, which we did via email. These remain unanswered several weeks later.

A telephone call and email with questions to the Chief Secretary of Jammu and Kashmir, the Administrative Head of the State Secretariat, also went unanswered.

The spokesman for the Indian Ministry of Defence, Rajesh Kalia, referred us to the Indian army for comment. The spokesman for the Indian army, Aman Anand, also asked us to email questions, but these, too, were not answered despite numerous follow-up emails and text messages.

Former Director-General of India’s Defence Intelligence Agency Kamal Dawar did talk to us. He said: “These are localised practices and not official. The station army officer may take villagers to guide them through their area, for patrolling purposes. I am not sure if they pay them or not.” He further stated that India does not lay landmines during peace time but only when there is “a threat from an enemy state or possibility of an imminent war.”

‘My wife divorced me’

For Yaqoob, that night changed the course of his life. A member of the Pahari tribe, he lives in the village of Prada in the Kashmir district of Kupwara, just 4km from the LoC.

Sitting in his house, Yaqoob explains that he used to work as a labourer and, during summers would take his cattle to graze up in the mountains. After losing his leg, however, he cannot go to the mountains or take on any labour work. For the past two decades, this has left him with no income apart from a small pension.

After a landmine injury, victims must file a First Informer’s Report (FIR) in order to qualify for a 1,000-rupee ($13.60) monthly pension paid by the Indian Social Welfare Department to landmine survivors.

“While I was in the hospital after surgery, my brother went to file the FIR,” says Yaqoob. “He found out that the Army had already filed an FIR in our name, in which they had stated that I was in the forest collecting timber when I had stepped on a landmine. It was shocking for all of us.”

Mohammad Yaqoob lost his leg to a landmine in 2000 and receives $13 a month in compensation

He still received the pension but soon after his injury, he says, his wife divorced him and moved back to her parents’ house, leaving him to raise his two daughters, then aged four and six, alone. Yaqoob had to move in with his brother.

Today, his daughters are studying at the University of Kashmir in Srinagar. Relatives and neighbours help Yaqoob cover their tuition and living costs. He says he has faith in his daughters and hopes they will build successful lives through their education.

Division lines

The LoC is a de facto border which divides Kashmir into India-Administered Kashmir and Pakistan-Administered Kashmir. It is one of the most dangerous and militarised borders in the world and is heavily guarded on both sides by the Indian and Pakistani armies.

The Indian Army first planted landmines along the LoC during the 1965 India-Pakistan war, then again during the 1971 Indo Pak war, the 1999 Kargil war and, again, in 2001 under Operation Parakram, a military standoff between India and Pakistan in Kashmir. Like India, Pakistan has not signed up to the Mine Ban Treaty.

According to the Landmine Monitor Report 2004, the last confirmed large-scale use of anti-personnel landmines by Pakistan took place between December 2001 and mid-2002 along the LoC.

‘Preventing militants’

In April 2008, Brigadier SM Mahajan, Director of Military Affairs at the Ministry of External Affairs in India, stated that the main reason for laying landmines was to prevent the “infiltration of Kashmiri militants across the Line of Control”.

But on the Indian side of the LoC, there have been few reports of rebels being killed by landmines over the years. Most of the victims are civilians or members of the Indian army.

According to the research group, the Landmine and Cluster Munition Monitor, the total number of casualties among civilians and the Indian army is not officially recorded. But the group gathers the figures it can from a patchwork of anecdotal reports and media accounts. Between 1999 and 2015, the Monitor identified 3,191 victims of activated mines or improvised explosive devices (IEDs) and explosive remnants of war (ERW) in India. Of these, 1,083 were killed and 2,107 were injured, with the fate of one victim unknown.

An Indian border security force soldier searches for landmines with a metal detector during a patrol at the India-Pakistan border in RS Pora, southwest of Jammu, in October 2016

Yeshua Moser-Puangsuwan, a research coordinator with the Landmine and Cluster Munition Monitor, says: “There is no known press report of an insurgent being killed by a landmine since we started the Landmine Monitor in 1999.

“Before 2011, the Indian Army maintained a website which regularly reported on deaths of insurgents in encounters, but none in minefields. In only one case, in a media report on July 29, 2020 in Nowshera, some militants were reportedly shot while trying to cross. Subsequently they “heard a blast”, and assumed it must have been a landmine triggered by a fleeing militant.”

A perfect storm

The Ottawa Convention – also known as the Mine Ban Treaty – of March 1, 1997, has been signed by 164 countries. This treaty prohibits signatory states from use, stockpiling, production or transfer of anti-personnel landmines (APLs). India has yet to sign it. The official stance of the government has been that the country has “volatile borders”, and if and when a non-lethal alternative to APLs is introduced, the country will ban the mines.

The International Campaign to Ban Landmines is a global network of non-government organisations (NGOs) which is active in about 100 countries. It claims that the largest stockpiles of landmines are held by Russia, Pakistan, India, China and the United States.

Apart from killing and maiming people, landmines impede people’s freedom to go about their normal lives. They affect the local economy by rendering land useless for cultivation.

Khurram Parvez, a leading human rights activist and programme coordinator for Jammu and Kashmir Coalition of Civil Societies (JKCCS), says: “Once landmines are planted in fields, for people the need to stay alive becomes much greater than the need to cultivate crops or collect fodder for cattle. Not cultivating crops means a decrease in food production and landmines kill domesticated animals.”

Moser-Puangsuwan, adds: “Generally, the impact is measured in how much land becomes inaccessible due to the presence of mines. There is no publicly available information on this in India.”

A Gujjar woman with her livestock close to the Line of Control border between Indian- and Pakistan-controlled Kashmir, an area which has been blighted by landmines

The agricultural and pastoral communities living alongside the LoC are mostly from the Gujjar and Pahari tribes (Yaqoob is Pahari). These people have found themselves caught in a perfect storm. On the one hand, they are economically one of the most marginalised groups in Jammu and Kashmir because they are so remote from central government areas. On the other, living near the LoC comes with the perpetual fear of a landmine blast or a mortar shell hitting them. Most of these villages are less than 2km away from the LoC.

‘Landmines were planted in our fields’

Iftikhar Shah, 27, an independent researcher working in Srinagar, who also lives in the village of Prada, says: “In late 1990s, landmines were planted in our fields. Our region is mountainous and, because of this, we are able to cultivate only a few crops like maize. With landmines in our fields now, it has been rendered completely useless. We did not even get compensation for it.”

“The Indian army provides compensation for land where bunkers and camps are built, but not for the land where landmines are planted,” explains Parvez, who himself lost a leg to a landmine.

In 2013, it was reported that landmines had been laid across approximately 3,512 acres of land in several villages in 1999.

However, when we asked about this, the sub-district Magistrate of Tangdhar Block, Kupwara, Bilal Mohiuddin, said: “I have no knowledge about any landmines in the region, neither have we received any cases of injuries or casualties.”

Parvez, however, says he believes “the civil administration and local police are not informed about the landmine plantation. For the army, they don’t want to leak out the information as there is a possibility that non-state actors might pick this vital information up”.

‘A fast track to poverty’

Adding to the plight of the villagers in the area is the fact that up until 2005, minefields were neither marked with warnings nor fenced off.

“In 2002, a man from Warsun, Lolab (Kupwara) lost both his legs in a landmine blast in a non-LoC area,” says Parvez. “Later, Jammu and Kashmir Coalition of Civil Societies advocated for the installation of danger signboards in Urdu and the fencing-off of areas with landmines. It was implemented to some extent. The army fenced the camps with mine plantations but they didn’t do so in areas along LoC.

“In my opinion, for the army, the objective of planting mines along the LoC is to stop incursions and if they start fencing the areas with mines off, then their objective is defeated.”

A sign warns of landmines near the Line of Control between Pakistan- and Indian-administered Kashmir

Moser-Puangsuwan says: “For the family in which a landmine casualty occurs, it is devastating. It is a fast track to poverty. This also has an impact on their community. The productivity of landmine survivors diminishes greatly, usually completely in regards to their former occupation.”

He adds: “We have no idea how well-marked the areas affected by landmines are. These areas are not accessible to international human rights groups to determine that. We have no reports from people living in the areas adjacent to the LoC how comprehensive and clear the marking is. India is a state party to the Amended Protocol II of the Convention on Conventional Weapons. Article 4 of that convention requires ‘measures are taken to protect civilians from their effects, for example, the posting of warning signs, the posting of sentries, the issue of warnings or the provision of fences’.”

In this hilly terrain, however, landmines can slide down from their original position during rain or snowfall. So, even if there is a warning sign, it may be in the wrong place.

Signs used to be in Hindi, but this was changed to Urdu after advocacy efforts from the International Campaign to Ban Landmines and Jammu and Kashmir Coalition of Civil Societies. “People in Kashmir cannot read and write Hindi,” Parvez explains.

A heavy price

In 2010, a court in Kupwara district directed the government of India to pay 1.2 million rupees ($26,200) to Gulzar Mir, a double amputee who lost his legs to an anti-personnel mine in 2002 while grazing livestock in the village of Warsun. Such action, however, is rare and victims often struggle to apply for compensation, according to Moser-Puangsuwan.

Victims often have to wait up to six months until they start receiving the 1,000 rupees (just under $13.50) per month pension from the state Social Welfare Department, and the sum is too small to cover their living costs.

Getting medical treatment for injuries can also be onerous as the road infrastructure connecting villages and towns is poor. For some people, it can take half a day to reach the nearest medical facility. According to the victims, medical expenses in the aftermath of a landmine blast can be as high as 200,000 rupees ($2,700), which for agricultural workers who earn as little as 225 rupees per day ($3) is a very heavy price.

It is not unusual for an injured person to be carried from house to house so that every villager can contribute to the cost of getting them to a hospital.

‘There is always a fear’

About 30km from the main town of Uri, in the Baramulla district of Kashmir, lies Churranda – one of the most remote villages on Indian territory before the LoC.

The well-worn roads leading to this village of 226 households are inaccessible in the winter months due to heavy snowfall. Set against a backdrop of mountains veiled by a white sheet of snow and snow-capped pine trees, the concertina wires enclosing the village disturb its natural beauty.

It is hard for the residents of the villages in this area to tell their stories to the wider world. People from other parts of Kashmir and the rest of India are not permitted to enter, nor are journalists without prior permission from both the local authority and the army. For this report, we were required to present our IDs to army personnel stationed in the area. We went on two occasions – on the first we were allowed in; on the second we weren’t.

The gate at the entrance to Churranda village, where all visitors must show permission documents and be frisked by the army before they can go inside. Visitors are not allowed to take cameras or mobile phones into the village

A small army blockhouse is situated just outside the gate to Churranda. Here, the army frisks the men, check their bags and examines their permission documents if they are not locals. Women are led to a small concrete booth, inside which a local woman in army uniform frisks them and checks their belongings.

Visitors are not allowed to carry cameras or mobile phones inside the village.

The residents of Churranda recall the nights during the 1990s when they would be taken by army personnel down towards the deep mountain ravine along the LoC to help plant the landmines, cutting back crops and clearing land in the darkness to do so. But now it is impossible to pinpoint the exact location of the mines.

Pointing towards a patch of land down the hill, Mohammad narrates his story with sadness: “We – I and a few of my friends – were taken there to cut the crops for them to plant mines on. It was a very difficult time for us, but we were helpless. We don’t have any choice but to cooperate with them for our own survival.”

In August 2017, Hakam Bi, now 21, was collecting fodder for her family’s cattle along with other women from her village. Walking up the hill, she stepped on a landmine. When she came round, she found herself in a local taxi with blood all over her body. She was taken to a hospital more than 100km away in the summer capital, Srinagar city. Her right leg had to be amputated.

Bi explains that she was living with her mother and three sisters at the time and that the family lived off the income of the oldest sister’s husband. In 2015, her marriage to Mohd Sadiq, who lived in the same village, had been agreed. They married in 2018, but in many similar cases, marriages fall through as individuals with disabilities can be considered a burden to a family.

We enter Bi’s house to find her blowing into a wood-fire stove, preparing morning tea for her mother-in-law and husband, while her mother-in-law stitches a quilt. Seeing us enter, a group of young men and children gather around the house, wanting to know what is going on. Feeling uncomfortable speaking in front of the village boys, Bi takes us to the side of her house to tell us her story.

Mohammad Yaqoob, who lost his leg – and ability to work – to a landmine in 2000, was left to provide for his two small children

With tears in her eyes, she explains: “I belong to a poor family, I don’t even remember my father’s face – I lost him when I was a child because of a medical condition. At my mother’s home, I didn’t have enough clothes to wear and I couldn’t demand them from my brother-in-law. Never had I thought that my life could get even worse. Now I am even scared to have children in future. How will I take care of them? How will I do my routine tasks?”

To compound all this worry, her husband must risk his life on a daily basis to provide for his family. He works as a porter for the army in the area were landmines are planted. “There is always a fear of losing a leg or even my life, but I have no other option,” says Sadiq, 21. “I cannot migrate to the town like many have done here as I don’t have enough resources to cover the cost of living in Srinagar city.”

As government employment schemes do not reach as far as these border villages, many are dependent on the army for work as porters, labourers, cooks and watchmen, and must accept the risks that come with that.

The army pays porters a monthly salary of 15,000 to 18,000 rupees ($205 to $246). These workers are also responsible for maintaining the LoC fence, along which most of the landmines are planted. Any landmine victim is regarded as a “casualty within service” and receives a one-off compensation payment of, usually, approximately 22,000 to 23,000 rupees (around $300). But local men, such as Yaqoob, who are just casually selected to accompany patrols, do not qualify for this payment.

Each unit of the army remains in the area for two years and is then replaced by a new one. Injured porters have a degree of job security with the units with which they were working, and these units will often write a recommendation letter to the next unit. But this is not guaranteed and, in 2016, according to locals, the new unit did not employ any of the injured porters.

‘The most important thing is that he cares about me’

In Kamalkote, another border village in Uri, Mohamed Ameen, 20, lost his leg in 2016 while working at the Khamoshi border post as an army porter. He was taken by army vehicle to Srinagar for treatment. The family stayed there for six months and incurred a total cost of 4 lakh ($5,400). The army provided 23,000 rupees ($310) towards his treatment. Ameen now survives by sharing his retired father’s pension and the 1,000 rupees a month he receives from the state.

Ameen sits with his father and younger brother in his home. His face reflects the trauma he has endured when he explains how no one wants him to marry their daughters due to his disability.

In this regard, Muneer Hussain, 55, who lost his leg when he was working as a porter in 1999, is one of the “lucky” ones. He got married a few years after his accident. His wife, who is 46 but did not give her name, says: “The most important thing is that he cares about me and our three children. I am more than happy to support him in these times of crisis. It is not a bad life, we have been surviving like this for years now and will definitely thrive in future.”

Hussain received 22,000 rupees from the army but had to pay the remainder of the treatment cost himself – about two lakh ($2,700).

In many families, it is the sole breadwinner that has been injured. Since income drops off after such an incident, parents are often unable to pay for their children’s education, and a vicious cycle of poverty ensues.

Soni Begum, 45, lost a leg when she stepped on a landmine in 1998. Three years later, her husband also lost a leg while working as an army porter

In some cases, more than one member of the family has fallen victim to landmines. In 1998, Soni Begum, 45, who lives in the village of Jabra in Uri, lost her leg after she stepped on a landmine while taking her livestock to grazing land.

“Back then, Jabra was not connected by roads. I was carried by neighbours on their shoulders to reach the nearest health facility, 30km away,” she recalls.

From the balcony of her small house, overlooking the hills of Churranda, she points out one of the hills where her family’s fields are located.

“Three years later, my husband, who worked as an army porter, was building a bunker at the Nanak Post. He unknowingly stepped on a landmine and lost his leg,” says Begum. “Two kanals (a quarter of an acre) of our land are under the control of the army. This land is enclosed within the wires and we are not allowed to access it.” She says the family has not been compensated for this.

‘The last village’

Karnah, in Kupwara, is located in the northern area of the Kashmir valley and is 90km from Srinagar. To reach it, travellers must cross the Sadhana Pass, which is more than 11,000 feet above sea level and divides the Karnah block from other parts of Kupwara and the rest of the valley.

During winter, the pass is covered in 20 feet of snow, effectively cutting off the “capital” village of Tangdhar.

The road to Seemari, the last village in Indian-administered Kashmir, close to the Line of Control. On the other side of this valley is Pakistan-administered Kashmir

The Hindu Kush mountain range stands tall and, approaching the LoC, one can feel a rise in temperature. The maize fields here lie barren but the Kinnow fruit, a type of orange, is plentiful and adorns trees in the front gardens of local houses, ripened by the warmer climate.

Across the river Kishenganga (or Neelum in Pakistan) lie the villages of Pakistan-administered Kashmir. A suspension bridge on the river in Teetwal connects the two sides.

Seemari is the last village in Indian-administered Kashmir. The borders, as marked out by the bridge and the river, along with the presence of the Indian army highlights the controlled nature of people’s lives here.

Waving to a man across the river, standing on the Pakistan-administered side, our local guide tells us: “That could be my relative or my neighbour’s relative. It is such a strange thing that we have been separated from our family.”

Haider Mughal, 70, lives in Seemari. Sitting beside the front door, while his wife prepares dinner, he greets us. The sun has gone down and a lantern lights up the small kitchen. He tells us that he lost his right leg due to a landmine in 1997.

Haider Mughal lost his right leg in 1997 when he stepped on a landmine while grazing livestock on his family’s land. Landmines had been planted there without the family’s knowledge

Just as on any other day, Mughal had gone up to his share of the common grazing land to feed his livestock, when he stepped on a landmine which was hidden under the ground. “This land belongs to my family. I have the papers as well – we used to pay our share of tax to the state revenue department. We have absolutely no idea when the army planted these landmines,” he says.

Mughal has two daughters and a son. Back in 1997, he had to sell all of his livestock, which was his family’s primary source of income, to raise the funds for his operation. He now has an artificial limb which needs to be replaced every year due to wear and tear caused by the rough terrain on which he must walk.

One artificial limb costs about 10,000 rupees ($135). With the support of the army, a Jaipur-based organisation provides the initial artificial limbs – known as “Jaipur feet” – to victims. However, future expenses, such as the cost of replacement limbs, must be met by the victims themselves.

‘Plastic legs don’t work’

Amroohi village is surrounded by a fence guarded by the army. At the gate, everyone must undergo frisking and ID checks before entering and may only enter or exit at certain times of the day.

Niyaz Mohammad, 75, endures the process every day as he returns from Tangdhar. A few metres from the gate, just out of sight of the soldiers posted there, Mohammad shares his story.

He was 25 when he went out to his fields to graze cattle and stepped on a landmine. He lost his right arm. “In 1971, when landmines were planted, there were no signboards,” he says. “I was walking when I suddenly stepped on a landmine. Family members and neighbours took me to Srinagar. We had to bear all expenses on our own.”

Shakeela Begum, 60, lost her left leg to a landmine that had been planted in her back yard, while she was gathering vegetables from her garden

In 1994, Shakeela Begum, 60, a resident of Amroohi whose husband is a retired policeman, was walking towards the back yard of her house where her family had planted vegetables when she stepped on a mine and lost her left leg.

“One day before this incident, the army, during their regular night patrolling had installed mines in my back yard without informing us,” says Begum. “Due to this injury, I have been suffering multitudes of joint and backbone issues.”

At the time, she was a young mother to two daughters and a son. She has since had two more sons.

Sitting beside her, her older brother, Bashir Ahmed, adds: “We took her to the army hospital in Tangdhar. We were charged 24,000 rupees for the operation and had to pay all the costs on our own.” The family took their case to the District Magistrate in Kupwara but has never received any compensation.

Gulab Jan, 35, is sitting on the front veranda of her house in Amroohi. She says she stepped on a landmine and lost her right foot while working in her field in 1995. She says she received no compensation at all for the cost of her treatment and now survives on the 1,000-rupee monthly pension from the Social Welfare Department.

The army did take her to its artificial limb centre in Pune city and provided her with a prosthetic leg. “The plastic prosthetic legs don’t work in hilly areas,” she says. “We have to walk on the rough terrain and those legs break easily. A local cobbler has made this artificial leather shoe for me and I get it repaired when needed.”

Gulab Jan stepped on a landmine in 1995 while working in her field, and lost her foot. She says the plastic prosthetic leg she has been given is useless on the mountainous paths where she lives

The haunting

In 2016, the International Campaign to Ban Landmines urged the Indian state to cease all mine-laying activities and to join the 1997 Mine Ban Treaty.

However, India is reported to be planning to lay more mines. “It is extremely disappointing that the world’s largest democracy is reportedly contemplating the use of landmines again,” says Megan Burke, director of the International Campaign to Ban Landmines.

In October 2017, India reiterated that the Amended Protocol II of the Convention on Conventional Weapons (CCW) “enshrines the approach of taking into account legitimate defence requirements of states with long borders”.

The statement also mentions that India believes that new military alternative technologies that can perform the defensive role of anti-personnel landmines will enable it to stop using landmines altogether. In this statement, India also said that it had ceased the production of “non-detectable” landmines and had started increasing public awareness to minimise the humanitarian cost.

Landmine clearance is a time-consuming and dangerous task. In 2005, it was reported that 1,776 Indian soldiers had died while laying and removing mines since 2001.

And for the people living along the LoC, Parvez says, landmines are like a “ghost that haunts even after the war is over”.

Read full article: https://expatimes.com/?p=17347&feed_id=30835

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Indian Pleads Ancient Right to Secure Game,” The Porcupine Advance (Timmins). June 12, 1930. Page 3. ---- A despatch from Toronto last week says: ‘An indignant Indian who cannot understand why he should have to pay a fine or go to jail for shooting partridge and setting traps out season, ‘when partridge was given the poor Indian by Christ for his food,’ will be the central figure in an appeal case to be heard at Osgoode Hall shortly.

Peter Bombard, treaty Indian of Goulais Bay, who was fined with the alternative of a jail sentence for two breaches of the game laws by Magistrate Elliott at Sault Ste. Marie on May 11, will endeavour to establish the rights of the Indian people to the game of the air, the fish of the stream and the fur animals of the forest which they shot and caught and trapped before the coming of the white man and his laws.

Unable to bear the costs of an appeal to the Appellate Division, Bombard asked aid of the Department of Indian Affairs at Ottawa. After consideration of all the facts of the case, the department agreed to pay all expenses connected with the appeal and appointed M. F. Ludwig, K.C., to act as his counsel.

Edward Bayly, K.C., Deputy Attorney-General will likely act for the province. Constitutional history may figure in the appeal, and it is anticipated many points in regard to the status of Indian people will be raised.

“I did not steal it. Why should I pleaded guilty to that?’ he told the magistrate at the trial. On a charge of shooting a partridge in the closed season he was fined $10 or one month in jail, and on the second charge of trapping beaver, was ordered to pay a fine of $20 or one month in jail.