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Showing posts with label Short Story 2017. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Short Story 2017. Show all posts
Wednesday, 15 November 2017
Sunday, 15 October 2017
Friday, 15 September 2017
Short Story 2017 Longlist Vikas Sharma
Art of Living
Those days I was working in a school as a teacher. There was transport facility for students and teachers of school. Once I came back from school in another bus because I had some work on the route of that bus .In bus, I saw one of the lady teacher of our school was talking to a student of sixth class.She was shaking hands with boy saying and asking him that they were friends means that lady teacher and the boy.The boy gave a nod with a smile. He was happy in that company.
Other teachers and students also had fun talking to him. They were asking their own names from the boy in fun. She told the boy pointing towards me that I was also Dass (a caste). The boy looked at me and asked if I was.I replied in some funny way because I was not Dass actually.Then she asked the boy to sing a song for me as she told him that I was Dass like the boy.The boy sang a Bengali song 'Ekla chalo re, Ekla chalo re'. All these moments were entertaining for us.But somewhere I was feeling bad for the boy though the boy had a smiling face.
Later on, when bus started she told me that the boy is Bengali and also simple minded since birth.She was doing all this with the boy so that behaviour of other students making a fun of him don't hurt him.On the way,bus dropped him at his bus stop. He waved a good bye to all with smiling face.
The teacher also told us one more poignant incident of her one student who was in primary class.That boy had lost his mother few years back.She talked him with affection and the boy also met and wished her happily.Once in bus he asked about her birthday.She told the date of her birthday,taking it as usual.On her birthday the boy came and gave a gift to her.The teacher got emotional and asked him why he spent money for the gift and how he came to know about her birthday.The boy said, ''Once I asked you about it in the bus and later on I thought to give you a gift on your birthday,'' I remembered the same. Please accept it. She accepted it and thanked the boy. The boy left from there.
She burst into tears and also everyone who listened this incident from her .The boy got attached with teacher and somewhere he found her like his mother. Human is a beautiful creature of the God.He made us to spread love,affection and every good thing which we can share with others.But in today's time everybody is in a hurry. We do not have time for such things even to think about. Still we have people like the teacher in the above incidents who know this art of living though they also live in same society and face the similar problems as others are facing .If we can not give happiness to others then at least we can do one thing not to create problems for others.
Those days I was working in a school as a teacher. There was transport facility for students and teachers of school. Once I came back from school in another bus because I had some work on the route of that bus .In bus, I saw one of the lady teacher of our school was talking to a student of sixth class.She was shaking hands with boy saying and asking him that they were friends means that lady teacher and the boy.The boy gave a nod with a smile. He was happy in that company.
Other teachers and students also had fun talking to him. They were asking their own names from the boy in fun. She told the boy pointing towards me that I was also Dass (a caste). The boy looked at me and asked if I was.I replied in some funny way because I was not Dass actually.Then she asked the boy to sing a song for me as she told him that I was Dass like the boy.The boy sang a Bengali song 'Ekla chalo re, Ekla chalo re'. All these moments were entertaining for us.But somewhere I was feeling bad for the boy though the boy had a smiling face.
Later on, when bus started she told me that the boy is Bengali and also simple minded since birth.She was doing all this with the boy so that behaviour of other students making a fun of him don't hurt him.On the way,bus dropped him at his bus stop. He waved a good bye to all with smiling face.
The teacher also told us one more poignant incident of her one student who was in primary class.That boy had lost his mother few years back.She talked him with affection and the boy also met and wished her happily.Once in bus he asked about her birthday.She told the date of her birthday,taking it as usual.On her birthday the boy came and gave a gift to her.The teacher got emotional and asked him why he spent money for the gift and how he came to know about her birthday.The boy said, ''Once I asked you about it in the bus and later on I thought to give you a gift on your birthday,'' I remembered the same. Please accept it. She accepted it and thanked the boy. The boy left from there.
She burst into tears and also everyone who listened this incident from her .The boy got attached with teacher and somewhere he found her like his mother. Human is a beautiful creature of the God.He made us to spread love,affection and every good thing which we can share with others.But in today's time everybody is in a hurry. We do not have time for such things even to think about. Still we have people like the teacher in the above incidents who know this art of living though they also live in same society and face the similar problems as others are facing .If we can not give happiness to others then at least we can do one thing not to create problems for others.
Short Story 2017 Longlist Vani Manchanda
Untitled
"Face me. Make me
listen to the truth,
even if it breaks me.
You cannot Judge me.
Love me.
If you're hating me,
Do it Honestly."
-- Kelly B. Clarkson
And there she is, standing all alone today. She is all dressed in white, beautiful as always, but today the charm is missing from her face. All one could see are tears of her eyes. Tears, because she didn't do what she could have done. Tears, because she didn't do what she should have done. And I am truly helpless. At this moment when she needed someone, I possibly couldn't support her. I told her many a times to not to cry when this moment came, but I think all of it is in vain. Though, I've heard a lots about how crying out lightens your heart and how it helps loosen your worries, still I feel that crying is never a solution, and that too when you know that you cannot deal with some specific problems.
I always try to get this into people's mind that problems should not be treated as boulders on the way, rather they are the teachers, which make us learn how to get rid of boulders that might await. According to the theory of Darwin who proposed that it is the fittest who survives, the one who can tackle the problems on his way, survives in this cold world. Problems will come, changes will occur, but we have to remember that nature changes, that change is nature, and that the only thing that is in our hands is we ourselves and nothing else. So, we have to just keep learning what our lives want us to learn. Because, sometimes it's not all about just living...
And there Lavanya is standing all alone today.
***
It all started four years back, when I used to study in eighth standard. It might look astonishing that I am writing about such a topic at such a young age, but as I have always mentioned that this life is full of surprises and I really have faced many of them. Moreover love has no age. Yes, it's about love. She was my classmate. She was my soul mate too. She was almost five feet five inches at that time, taller than me. She was a little dark in color with a large forehead which ended in bright and deep eyes. I could have stared into them all my life. She had her perfect gait. And we both were in a relationship; the only tragedy was that we were not in a relationship with each other. She being with her guy for more than a year then, and mine was just a fleeting one.
I don't even remember when and how I fell for her. It was just like I knew her from class sixth. Those were the days when we had a pretty strict class teacher, and we used to obey everything she wanted us to obey. One of the rules were to be seated as per she wished. A boy with a girl. And again it wasn't me whom she used to sit with, it was my best friend, Kunal. They both used to sit on the desk behind mine. While Kunal and me were pretty good friends from the day we met, it was not very often that I talked to Lavanya. I just so clearly remember the first time that we talked.
It was a science period. It has always been the science period which has commenced new chapters in my life. Our class teacher, Ms. Gupta was on a leave due to some surgery. As usual I was without a book and so was my desk mate, Ananya. While Kunal and Lavanya, both were having one. So, Kunal came to my place and I went and sat with Lavanya. The moment was magical. She was just trying to concentrate on what was going on in the class and in doing so, she left my concentration broken, forever. Her eyes were just gleaming pieces of gemstone. It was like I was on a tour of heavens. It was like every part of my body danced in joy. It was like some kind of current was being induced by her. It was like love, pure love.
I was able to utter only three words, often considered to be magical, "I Love You".
***
According to a great writer, love is the purest form of energy that exists in this world. It's only that we misjudge it and underestimate the true potential of what lies in the depth of love. And that day, it was the first time that I was able to feel it's real power. The energy was traversing all through my body. "I Love You". I don't even know where the words came from. Moreover, I don't know where the guts to say those words came from.
"Sorry?" Yeah, this was the word which brought me back from my world of fairies. For once I changed the topic. I wish I wouldn't have, I wish I would have gathered some more guts and told her what I was feeling. But, as it is said, that some things do not happen, because the time hasn't arrived yet. And I am a true believer in signs, that this life provides you with.
I didn't talk to her on the topic for the next few days. But slowly and steadily, somewhere our bond was building. I was feeling it. Then one day, I confessed. It was early October, less of a usual day. It was raining cats and dogs, which doesn't really happen at that time of year. She was standing by the window of our classroom. Nobody else was there. I slowly walked to her and said,"I am in love with you". My heart beat must be echoing in the empty class. She uttered,"I know."
Some kind of excitement ran through my body. But I wish I would have heard her completely before getting too much excited. She continued," I know you love me by the way you stare me, by the way you talk to me, but sorry for you, I am already in a relationship. And I love my guy too much". That was exactly when I came to know that she was in a relationship and that too since a year. Hopes shattered. And then the usual, that happens. First the sadness came in, total emotional break down, and then it faded away by the feel that I can still be getting her. After all, who knows what life has in store for us. But somewhere inside my head, I knew, that nothing is going to work out now. Still what harm could I have faced in trying. Moreover, the girl was worth a try. Ah! Today I wish I hadn't decided so.
***
We were normal friends once again. I didn't thought it would be that easy. But she was really a cool girl. I mean, she even used to respond to my random flirting. I remember it was her birthday in October. Out of surprise, I bought no gift. I belong to a family which merely earns four square meals a day. Any other purchases would have generated stress on the monthly budget.
But, somehow, I handled the situation pretty well. I offered myself as a birthday present. "Take me, as I am, take all I have. Take my heart, make my life your own. I wanna live with you, I wanna live for you." She just smiled on this. The smile which was worth millions for me. The day was special, at least, for me, it was. One more month passed. It was like time was flying when I was with her. Our friendship grew stronger. I made a girlfriend. Her name was Tina. There was nothing serious with her. We both wanted to have a little fun in our lives. So, we decided to date each other. I used to tell Lavanya about my life. She used to tell me about hers. And with all this going on, we always managed to have some sweet romance. She still wasn't even considering me as an option.
The rumor about a boy and a girl hanging out together spreads like fire in the forest. We started getting asked if we our dating. The answer was of course a "no". But, in all of this mess, I sensed that she was starting to get attracted towards me. What else could have I dreamed of!
It was December, December 2010. The month which is the most significant in our little history. Fifth of the month was the date of her relationship anniversary. But, that fact isn't that much significant as the twenty third of that month. Our winter holidays were going to get started. Our science period was going on, when she told me. What she told me, was a little hard to digest. I was left dumbstruck at that moment. She had got a break up from her guy!! She wanted to get mingled with me. I wasn't able to believe it at once. It was like dream come true. Twenty third December, the day when it all changed, forever. Our "under the table leg chases" became more romantic. Our eye catches became longer. Our sweet talks went sweeter. Everything was just golden.
***
But, the golden era didn't last long. Happiness is something that the Gods missed while writing my destiny.
All of it ended. All of it crashed. Exactly after three weeks of such a beautiful time, on thirteenth of January, it all happened. It was a science period, it had to be, she told me that she hadn't got any breakup. That, it was all just a farce. That, she was just playing with me. She was playing with my heart. I think I must have cried for hours before I gained back my senses. And then, the obvious happened. I stopped talking to her. For almost ten days, we just looked at each other, neither she said anything, nor did I. She wasn't even bothered, I think. I hope, I would have understood this at that time. But as it is said, some things are just ought to happen.
Moreover, it was the first time, anyone ever made me feel what friendship means and how it feels when you enjoy your life. It was the first time that I fell in love. So, I got back to her and that too in only ten days. I started calling her my sister. It took all the pain in the ass to do that. We started talking again. This time, I didn't flirt. This time, I didn't want to get her, because I knew I've already got her, not as a partner, but as a friend. This time, I was more of myself.
She fell in love with me. Though she didn't choose to confess at that time. After all she was having a guy. Having a relationship, makes your life more of a jail. And that's what forced us to move away. Probably his boy friend wasn't too comfortable with our friendship.
We parted, this time slowly and viciously. There wasn't much pain. By march, we were already on our own ways. As we advanced in class ninth, there wasn't much of talking. That's exactly when I became sure that we are not going to be comfortable with each other again, not then, not some time later, never. Still, to serve the thoughts within me, I waited, I waited for almost three years in the hope that she'll come back. She did come back. Yes, she did, just today.
And, there Lavanya is standing all alone today. She is all dressed in white, beautiful as always, but today the charm is missing from her face. All one could see are tears of her eyes. Tears, because she didn't do what she could have done. Tears, because she didn't do what she should have done. And I am truly helpless. At this moment when she needed someone, I possibly couldn't support her.
And there she is, standing all alone today, in my funeral ceremony.
My mother always says that we come to know the true worth of things and people only when they are gone. I wanted to test it myself. She is right. Mothers are always right, you know. And as a great writer has once written, it's not like today I face all this because of what happened in past, it's because I chose to redeem what happened in the past, by making the full use of my present. Even if it leaves me with no future.
They say that the hour of death can't be predicted. Death can come to you any moment. But when they say this, they think that this hour of death is locked somewhere in distant future. It never occurs to us that it can hit us any day, even today.
But after all this, her tears tell me, that she'll never let me die, I'll always stay alive in her heart. I'll breathe through her love. I'll feast on the memories that are left behind.
Love makes you immortal.
"Face me. Make me
listen to the truth,
even if it breaks me.
You cannot Judge me.
Love me.
If you're hating me,
Do it Honestly."
-- Kelly B. Clarkson
And there she is, standing all alone today. She is all dressed in white, beautiful as always, but today the charm is missing from her face. All one could see are tears of her eyes. Tears, because she didn't do what she could have done. Tears, because she didn't do what she should have done. And I am truly helpless. At this moment when she needed someone, I possibly couldn't support her. I told her many a times to not to cry when this moment came, but I think all of it is in vain. Though, I've heard a lots about how crying out lightens your heart and how it helps loosen your worries, still I feel that crying is never a solution, and that too when you know that you cannot deal with some specific problems.
I always try to get this into people's mind that problems should not be treated as boulders on the way, rather they are the teachers, which make us learn how to get rid of boulders that might await. According to the theory of Darwin who proposed that it is the fittest who survives, the one who can tackle the problems on his way, survives in this cold world. Problems will come, changes will occur, but we have to remember that nature changes, that change is nature, and that the only thing that is in our hands is we ourselves and nothing else. So, we have to just keep learning what our lives want us to learn. Because, sometimes it's not all about just living...
And there Lavanya is standing all alone today.
***
It all started four years back, when I used to study in eighth standard. It might look astonishing that I am writing about such a topic at such a young age, but as I have always mentioned that this life is full of surprises and I really have faced many of them. Moreover love has no age. Yes, it's about love. She was my classmate. She was my soul mate too. She was almost five feet five inches at that time, taller than me. She was a little dark in color with a large forehead which ended in bright and deep eyes. I could have stared into them all my life. She had her perfect gait. And we both were in a relationship; the only tragedy was that we were not in a relationship with each other. She being with her guy for more than a year then, and mine was just a fleeting one.
I don't even remember when and how I fell for her. It was just like I knew her from class sixth. Those were the days when we had a pretty strict class teacher, and we used to obey everything she wanted us to obey. One of the rules were to be seated as per she wished. A boy with a girl. And again it wasn't me whom she used to sit with, it was my best friend, Kunal. They both used to sit on the desk behind mine. While Kunal and me were pretty good friends from the day we met, it was not very often that I talked to Lavanya. I just so clearly remember the first time that we talked.
It was a science period. It has always been the science period which has commenced new chapters in my life. Our class teacher, Ms. Gupta was on a leave due to some surgery. As usual I was without a book and so was my desk mate, Ananya. While Kunal and Lavanya, both were having one. So, Kunal came to my place and I went and sat with Lavanya. The moment was magical. She was just trying to concentrate on what was going on in the class and in doing so, she left my concentration broken, forever. Her eyes were just gleaming pieces of gemstone. It was like I was on a tour of heavens. It was like every part of my body danced in joy. It was like some kind of current was being induced by her. It was like love, pure love.
I was able to utter only three words, often considered to be magical, "I Love You".
***
According to a great writer, love is the purest form of energy that exists in this world. It's only that we misjudge it and underestimate the true potential of what lies in the depth of love. And that day, it was the first time that I was able to feel it's real power. The energy was traversing all through my body. "I Love You". I don't even know where the words came from. Moreover, I don't know where the guts to say those words came from.
"Sorry?" Yeah, this was the word which brought me back from my world of fairies. For once I changed the topic. I wish I wouldn't have, I wish I would have gathered some more guts and told her what I was feeling. But, as it is said, that some things do not happen, because the time hasn't arrived yet. And I am a true believer in signs, that this life provides you with.
I didn't talk to her on the topic for the next few days. But slowly and steadily, somewhere our bond was building. I was feeling it. Then one day, I confessed. It was early October, less of a usual day. It was raining cats and dogs, which doesn't really happen at that time of year. She was standing by the window of our classroom. Nobody else was there. I slowly walked to her and said,"I am in love with you". My heart beat must be echoing in the empty class. She uttered,"I know."
Some kind of excitement ran through my body. But I wish I would have heard her completely before getting too much excited. She continued," I know you love me by the way you stare me, by the way you talk to me, but sorry for you, I am already in a relationship. And I love my guy too much". That was exactly when I came to know that she was in a relationship and that too since a year. Hopes shattered. And then the usual, that happens. First the sadness came in, total emotional break down, and then it faded away by the feel that I can still be getting her. After all, who knows what life has in store for us. But somewhere inside my head, I knew, that nothing is going to work out now. Still what harm could I have faced in trying. Moreover, the girl was worth a try. Ah! Today I wish I hadn't decided so.
***
We were normal friends once again. I didn't thought it would be that easy. But she was really a cool girl. I mean, she even used to respond to my random flirting. I remember it was her birthday in October. Out of surprise, I bought no gift. I belong to a family which merely earns four square meals a day. Any other purchases would have generated stress on the monthly budget.
But, somehow, I handled the situation pretty well. I offered myself as a birthday present. "Take me, as I am, take all I have. Take my heart, make my life your own. I wanna live with you, I wanna live for you." She just smiled on this. The smile which was worth millions for me. The day was special, at least, for me, it was. One more month passed. It was like time was flying when I was with her. Our friendship grew stronger. I made a girlfriend. Her name was Tina. There was nothing serious with her. We both wanted to have a little fun in our lives. So, we decided to date each other. I used to tell Lavanya about my life. She used to tell me about hers. And with all this going on, we always managed to have some sweet romance. She still wasn't even considering me as an option.
The rumor about a boy and a girl hanging out together spreads like fire in the forest. We started getting asked if we our dating. The answer was of course a "no". But, in all of this mess, I sensed that she was starting to get attracted towards me. What else could have I dreamed of!
It was December, December 2010. The month which is the most significant in our little history. Fifth of the month was the date of her relationship anniversary. But, that fact isn't that much significant as the twenty third of that month. Our winter holidays were going to get started. Our science period was going on, when she told me. What she told me, was a little hard to digest. I was left dumbstruck at that moment. She had got a break up from her guy!! She wanted to get mingled with me. I wasn't able to believe it at once. It was like dream come true. Twenty third December, the day when it all changed, forever. Our "under the table leg chases" became more romantic. Our eye catches became longer. Our sweet talks went sweeter. Everything was just golden.
***
But, the golden era didn't last long. Happiness is something that the Gods missed while writing my destiny.
All of it ended. All of it crashed. Exactly after three weeks of such a beautiful time, on thirteenth of January, it all happened. It was a science period, it had to be, she told me that she hadn't got any breakup. That, it was all just a farce. That, she was just playing with me. She was playing with my heart. I think I must have cried for hours before I gained back my senses. And then, the obvious happened. I stopped talking to her. For almost ten days, we just looked at each other, neither she said anything, nor did I. She wasn't even bothered, I think. I hope, I would have understood this at that time. But as it is said, some things are just ought to happen.
Moreover, it was the first time, anyone ever made me feel what friendship means and how it feels when you enjoy your life. It was the first time that I fell in love. So, I got back to her and that too in only ten days. I started calling her my sister. It took all the pain in the ass to do that. We started talking again. This time, I didn't flirt. This time, I didn't want to get her, because I knew I've already got her, not as a partner, but as a friend. This time, I was more of myself.
She fell in love with me. Though she didn't choose to confess at that time. After all she was having a guy. Having a relationship, makes your life more of a jail. And that's what forced us to move away. Probably his boy friend wasn't too comfortable with our friendship.
We parted, this time slowly and viciously. There wasn't much pain. By march, we were already on our own ways. As we advanced in class ninth, there wasn't much of talking. That's exactly when I became sure that we are not going to be comfortable with each other again, not then, not some time later, never. Still, to serve the thoughts within me, I waited, I waited for almost three years in the hope that she'll come back. She did come back. Yes, she did, just today.
And, there Lavanya is standing all alone today. She is all dressed in white, beautiful as always, but today the charm is missing from her face. All one could see are tears of her eyes. Tears, because she didn't do what she could have done. Tears, because she didn't do what she should have done. And I am truly helpless. At this moment when she needed someone, I possibly couldn't support her.
And there she is, standing all alone today, in my funeral ceremony.
My mother always says that we come to know the true worth of things and people only when they are gone. I wanted to test it myself. She is right. Mothers are always right, you know. And as a great writer has once written, it's not like today I face all this because of what happened in past, it's because I chose to redeem what happened in the past, by making the full use of my present. Even if it leaves me with no future.
They say that the hour of death can't be predicted. Death can come to you any moment. But when they say this, they think that this hour of death is locked somewhere in distant future. It never occurs to us that it can hit us any day, even today.
But after all this, her tears tell me, that she'll never let me die, I'll always stay alive in her heart. I'll breathe through her love. I'll feast on the memories that are left behind.
Love makes you immortal.
Short Story 2017 Longlist Vadiraja M S
THE KEY
He saw it from a distance. It was glittering in the early morning sun rays seeping through the thick branches of the large tree. What is it? He thought. Did not look like a glass piece but something else. As he came closer, he saw that it was a large key! Bending down he took the key in his hands. It was indeed quite heavy to hold; must have weighted around hundred grams. He held the key and looked at closely.
It was an unusual key. It measured almost six inches and as he held it in his hands, he looked around trying to identify the owner. Someone must have lost it on their way to walk, he thought. But on closer look, he identified dust on the face of the key and concluded that it must have been lying there for quite some time. Why I didn’t notice it yesterday, he thought.
As he held the key in his hands, he looked around. Although he took the same route every day for his morning walk, he seldom noticed the surroundings. But today, as he stood there, he could see a bench few meters away on the other side of road. But no one was sitting on it.
Holding the key in his hands, he turned it around and gasped loudly. The words that were written on the key was smeared on the edges but very clear to read. It was in English. As he held the key to the light rubbing the dust away, he read the words loudly:” The key to happiness!”
He realized that other morning walkers were looking at him and heard his voice and he felt embarrassed as well as disturbed. Who could possibly create a key like this? And what is the significance of writing those words, he thought. He also felt like throwing the key in the bushes, but somehow held it back.
As he walked for the rest of the journey, he kept feeling the key in his jersey pocket and felt strange feelings that he could not put his finger on it; but it was pleasant.
As soon as he reached home, he realized that he was already late for the office and hence, threw the jersey on the cot and went about his morning ritual of getting ready to leave.
He didn’t remember the key till very late at night. While he inclined on his bed reading a book, suddenly he remembered the key and a worried look crossed his face. Has wife seen it? May be she threw it out? He could not find the track suit and called his wife to enquire. She too had forgotten to check his track suits before washing, and there, the key very much intact on the side pocket of his track suit hung for drying. He took the keys and put it under his pillow and slept blissfully.
As soon as he went out for his usual walk, he put his hand in his pocket to ensure that the key was there. An odd feeling ran through his mind as he touched the cold key. He could not understand the feeling. No, it was neither fear; it: was something else.
What kind of a box does this key belongs to? He thought as he walked. Must be a big box by looking at the size of the key and may be buried deep down the earth; containing jewellery or cash? He looked at the key and read the words once again The key to happiness! May be, the box contains something else; what would bring happiness to anyone by opening the box? He thought and contemplated ways and means of finding the box.
He walked briskly with purpose written all over his body and as he strode to the very place where he had found the key a strange feeling came to him and he stood rooted to the place under the shadow of the large tree. As he looked around, he realized that someone appeared to be sitting on the bench. An old man was sitting on the bench and was staring at the far away horizon oblivious to his surroundings.
He approached the old man cautiously and seeing that there was space left on the bench, sat down at the edge and looked closely at him. The old man must be around 80 or 90, he thought. He had a lengthy beard and was small in build. But it was his eyes; though they were not looking at him, he thought they had mesmerizing quality to them; they were sharp and deep. Suddenly, the old man turned towards him and asked; “So, what have you done with the key”. The man was shocked that the old man knew about the keys.
“Is it yours? I have it in my pocket.” He replied, trying to pull the key out from his jersey pocket. “Thank god I found you. Are you are the owner of the box? I am sure it contains something very valuable. By the way, when did you lose the keys”? But old man just smiled and said as if he didn’t hear a word “So, what have you done with the key?”
The man looked at the old man and said “Nothing just going around with it and trying to find the true owner. Thank god I found you” The old man laughed aloud and said. “Hmm... that’s what you have been doing all your life, anyway.”
The man felt offended. “What do you mean all life? I found the key just two days ago.” The old looked at the man and with a wry smile on his face and whispered to himself. “Who said anything about the key”. The man heard the whispering sound but the words were not clear. He looked at the old man and asked him. “Sorry, can you please repeat what you said”?” The old man simply closed his eyes and said nothing. After what looked like an eternity, the old man got up and started to walk away.
“Hey, wait” the man shouted and followed the old man now walking briskly. “Tell me what should I do with the key?”
For a brief second the old man stopped and looked directly into the eyes of the man and replied. “You are not ready yet. But when the time comes, you will know what to do” the old man walked away as the man, confused, stood there. He pondered about the old man’s last words. “You are not ready yet.”Ready for what? he thought as walked away.
The man searched for the old man on his next few days of morning walk. But the old man appeared to have disappeared.
An odd sense of feeling ran through him every time he touched the key. As he walked to the now vacant bench and sat down with the key in his hand. He slowly took the key and looked at the inscribed words once again. “The Key to Happiness.” While he looked at the key, the old man’s words came back to him “That’s what you have been doing all your life, anyway.” Suddenly, the realization hit him hard. He started laughing aloud, oblivious to the passersby, who looked at him with a quizzical look on their faces.
The man got up from the bench and put the key back exactly where he found them a week back, and started walking with springs in his legs. Now he knew what to do; not just with key, he thought out loudly.
The man came back next day morning and seeing the key was still lying where he had put it, decided to wait in the shadow of the tree where the passersby couldn’t see him.
He need not had to wait for long. A man may be in his early forties, saw the glittering key and took it in his hands, turning it around looked around for the owner. As expected, the gasping sound came when the man looked at the inscribed words on the key. He looked around once again, trying to identify the owner or perhaps, trying to see whether anyone saw him picking up the key.
The man standing on the shadow watched his new prey with a smile on his face. I have to wait for couple of days before sitting on the bench and waiting for the man with the key, he thought as he moved away with a happy smile on his face!
He saw it from a distance. It was glittering in the early morning sun rays seeping through the thick branches of the large tree. What is it? He thought. Did not look like a glass piece but something else. As he came closer, he saw that it was a large key! Bending down he took the key in his hands. It was indeed quite heavy to hold; must have weighted around hundred grams. He held the key and looked at closely.
It was an unusual key. It measured almost six inches and as he held it in his hands, he looked around trying to identify the owner. Someone must have lost it on their way to walk, he thought. But on closer look, he identified dust on the face of the key and concluded that it must have been lying there for quite some time. Why I didn’t notice it yesterday, he thought.
As he held the key in his hands, he looked around. Although he took the same route every day for his morning walk, he seldom noticed the surroundings. But today, as he stood there, he could see a bench few meters away on the other side of road. But no one was sitting on it.
Holding the key in his hands, he turned it around and gasped loudly. The words that were written on the key was smeared on the edges but very clear to read. It was in English. As he held the key to the light rubbing the dust away, he read the words loudly:” The key to happiness!”
He realized that other morning walkers were looking at him and heard his voice and he felt embarrassed as well as disturbed. Who could possibly create a key like this? And what is the significance of writing those words, he thought. He also felt like throwing the key in the bushes, but somehow held it back.
As he walked for the rest of the journey, he kept feeling the key in his jersey pocket and felt strange feelings that he could not put his finger on it; but it was pleasant.
As soon as he reached home, he realized that he was already late for the office and hence, threw the jersey on the cot and went about his morning ritual of getting ready to leave.
He didn’t remember the key till very late at night. While he inclined on his bed reading a book, suddenly he remembered the key and a worried look crossed his face. Has wife seen it? May be she threw it out? He could not find the track suit and called his wife to enquire. She too had forgotten to check his track suits before washing, and there, the key very much intact on the side pocket of his track suit hung for drying. He took the keys and put it under his pillow and slept blissfully.
As soon as he went out for his usual walk, he put his hand in his pocket to ensure that the key was there. An odd feeling ran through his mind as he touched the cold key. He could not understand the feeling. No, it was neither fear; it: was something else.
What kind of a box does this key belongs to? He thought as he walked. Must be a big box by looking at the size of the key and may be buried deep down the earth; containing jewellery or cash? He looked at the key and read the words once again The key to happiness! May be, the box contains something else; what would bring happiness to anyone by opening the box? He thought and contemplated ways and means of finding the box.
He walked briskly with purpose written all over his body and as he strode to the very place where he had found the key a strange feeling came to him and he stood rooted to the place under the shadow of the large tree. As he looked around, he realized that someone appeared to be sitting on the bench. An old man was sitting on the bench and was staring at the far away horizon oblivious to his surroundings.
He approached the old man cautiously and seeing that there was space left on the bench, sat down at the edge and looked closely at him. The old man must be around 80 or 90, he thought. He had a lengthy beard and was small in build. But it was his eyes; though they were not looking at him, he thought they had mesmerizing quality to them; they were sharp and deep. Suddenly, the old man turned towards him and asked; “So, what have you done with the key”. The man was shocked that the old man knew about the keys.
“Is it yours? I have it in my pocket.” He replied, trying to pull the key out from his jersey pocket. “Thank god I found you. Are you are the owner of the box? I am sure it contains something very valuable. By the way, when did you lose the keys”? But old man just smiled and said as if he didn’t hear a word “So, what have you done with the key?”
The man looked at the old man and said “Nothing just going around with it and trying to find the true owner. Thank god I found you” The old man laughed aloud and said. “Hmm... that’s what you have been doing all your life, anyway.”
The man felt offended. “What do you mean all life? I found the key just two days ago.” The old looked at the man and with a wry smile on his face and whispered to himself. “Who said anything about the key”. The man heard the whispering sound but the words were not clear. He looked at the old man and asked him. “Sorry, can you please repeat what you said”?” The old man simply closed his eyes and said nothing. After what looked like an eternity, the old man got up and started to walk away.
“Hey, wait” the man shouted and followed the old man now walking briskly. “Tell me what should I do with the key?”
For a brief second the old man stopped and looked directly into the eyes of the man and replied. “You are not ready yet. But when the time comes, you will know what to do” the old man walked away as the man, confused, stood there. He pondered about the old man’s last words. “You are not ready yet.”Ready for what? he thought as walked away.
The man searched for the old man on his next few days of morning walk. But the old man appeared to have disappeared.
An odd sense of feeling ran through him every time he touched the key. As he walked to the now vacant bench and sat down with the key in his hand. He slowly took the key and looked at the inscribed words once again. “The Key to Happiness.” While he looked at the key, the old man’s words came back to him “That’s what you have been doing all your life, anyway.” Suddenly, the realization hit him hard. He started laughing aloud, oblivious to the passersby, who looked at him with a quizzical look on their faces.
The man got up from the bench and put the key back exactly where he found them a week back, and started walking with springs in his legs. Now he knew what to do; not just with key, he thought out loudly.
The man came back next day morning and seeing the key was still lying where he had put it, decided to wait in the shadow of the tree where the passersby couldn’t see him.
He need not had to wait for long. A man may be in his early forties, saw the glittering key and took it in his hands, turning it around looked around for the owner. As expected, the gasping sound came when the man looked at the inscribed words on the key. He looked around once again, trying to identify the owner or perhaps, trying to see whether anyone saw him picking up the key.
The man standing on the shadow watched his new prey with a smile on his face. I have to wait for couple of days before sitting on the bench and waiting for the man with the key, he thought as he moved away with a happy smile on his face!
Short Story 2017 Featured Tushar Jain
The Guidelines
As the editor, I am overjoyed that you've chosen to send your work to our little magazine. We at 'Our Little Magazine' are always on the lookout for new and exciting literary work in poetry, fiction, non-fiction, photographed offensive graffiti and versified grocery lists.
We genuinely hope that the writing being submitted meets our vision. But more importantly, it should meet our guidelines. Any submitted material that does not follow these will be, mercilessly and instantly, rejected.
But firstly, as editor, it is my duty to inform all interested parties that for the September issue, we will not be accepting submissions from writers whose names begin with 'P', 'N', 'F', or 'T'. For the October one, writers with surnames starting with 'L', 'O', 'U' and 'R' should similarly refrain from submitting. For the month of November, writers with initials 'N.P.', 'S.R.' and 'P.C.' are strictly warned against accessing the magazine's website. The website software will be designed to attack and infect the machines of the said and forewarned initial-bearers if they choose to access us in November.
Those who have submitted earlier will naturally be aware that submissions, as usual, will open on February 29th, 23:59:59 P.M. and close on March 1, 00:00:00 midnight.
THE WORK BEING SUBMITTED
While the word limit for work that may be submitted is 750, 000, we tend to pick pieces no longer than 400 words.
The story or poem should be pasted within the body of the email, added as attachment and also mailed in three different SAUSEs (Self Addressed, Unequivocally Stamped Envelopes). The envelopes should be of red, green and lilac colours. On each envelope, a kangaroo smoking a cigar need be drawn with a 2B pencil and coloured in with locally available crayons. The kangaroo may or may not be wearing shades. We leave that to the discretion of the writer. We are not crazy people.
In the piece being submitted, odd paragraphs should be left-aligned and even paragraphs should be right-aligned. However, paragraphs that are multiples of five or contain the word "legitimate" should be centrally-aligned. Though, if possible, writers must try and avoid the word "legitimate" entirely.
At Our Little Magazine, we are very accepting of your font choices. Being in the business of stories, we hear from writers of all ages who describe the sheer difficulty and terror with which they opened up to their parents about preferring Verdana to Times New Roman. At Our Little Magazine, we accept your Arial Narrow and your Comic Sans MS. Be unafraid. Be very unafraid. We accept your font no matter what you choose. Of course, that is, except Calibri. That is just sick.
Please state the word count of your piece on the top left of every page of your submission in square brackets (the opening bracket should be a deep, soulful turquoise and the closing bracket must be a pining, wistful mauve). It is pivotal that your word count is divisible by 17.83. If it is not, we shall find it impossible to accept your work, regardless of any other merits.
THE EMAIL
Please specify within the body of the email your height, your weight and your B.M.I. or Body Mass Index. We have provided a link at the end of this page to help you calculate this. Submitting writers must have a B.M.I. of or close to 25.3. If not, please only contact us after at least three months of cardio.
Along with the other details, please include three photographs of yourself. The first photograph should be with a cat (animal lovers will be given preference). The second photograph should be with a hobo (humanitarians will be given more preference). The third photograph is vital. Please send us this final photograph of yourself dressed up as Saddam Hussein. This is a relevant step in your application. Any 'strong' resemblance to the dead dictator, we are sad to say, will unfortunately lead to an immediate rejection. To get a clear, precise idea, please scroll through our earlier issues for photographs of poets and writers dressed up as the dead Hussein.
The name of the file containing your work should bear your maternal great-grandfather's nickname next to the title of your submission followed by the name of your favourite one of the now extinct Jonas Brothers. E.g. Monty_Title_of_Your_Submission_Nicholas_Jerry_Jonas. Writers who deviate from this will be met with a firm 'no'. A 'Nein'. A 'Non'. A 'Hasta la vista, Author'.
Send your submission to ourlittlemagazine@gmail.com. We do not yet have a Submittable account. If you're willing to design and maintain one for us, your submission will automatically be in the running for some of our preference.
We will typically respond within three years of your submission. In the meantime, contributing authors shouldn't email, call or approach the editors in the street to make inquiries about the said submission. Submitting writers should know that the editors of 'Our Little Magazine' are very heavily armed at all times. Any attempt at inquiry will be met with fierce action.
Please send your submission as a MS Excel file only (no other format shall be opened).
THE COVER LETTER
In your cover letter, please include your richly detailed third-person Bio in no more than seven words. Please list all your awards, accomplishments, every prior publication (age five onwards) and any relevant school certificate we should know of. Do state names and addresses of any wealthy relatives, with a recognisable tendency towards self-harm, interested in funding a literary magazine.
In the cover letter, do tell us why you specifically chose us to publish your work. Moreover, on the website, there's a photograph of a very handsome and available editor. If you're a woman, in your forties, and like what you see, it's required of you to include a phone number in the letter as well. Also, in this particular case, a fourth photograph of the submitting entity in uncomfortable beach wear, (perhaps, a bikini?), will also be needed.
A FINAL WORD
We either accept simultaneous submissions or multiple submissions. If you're making a simultaneous submission, ensure that it's not a multiple one. In case you're making a multiple submission, be certain that it's not simultaneous. In the event we receive a submission from you that is both simultaneous and multiple in nature... this is all what we have to say about that:
We do not know who you are. We don't know what you want. But we do have a very particular set of skills. Skills that we have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make us a nightmare for writers like you. If it is revealed that your submission happens to be both multiple and simultaneous, we will look for you. We will find you. And we will kill you.
For further guidelines, please click the link below.
As the editor, I am overjoyed that you've chosen to send your work to our little magazine. We at 'Our Little Magazine' are always on the lookout for new and exciting literary work in poetry, fiction, non-fiction, photographed offensive graffiti and versified grocery lists.
We genuinely hope that the writing being submitted meets our vision. But more importantly, it should meet our guidelines. Any submitted material that does not follow these will be, mercilessly and instantly, rejected.
But firstly, as editor, it is my duty to inform all interested parties that for the September issue, we will not be accepting submissions from writers whose names begin with 'P', 'N', 'F', or 'T'. For the October one, writers with surnames starting with 'L', 'O', 'U' and 'R' should similarly refrain from submitting. For the month of November, writers with initials 'N.P.', 'S.R.' and 'P.C.' are strictly warned against accessing the magazine's website. The website software will be designed to attack and infect the machines of the said and forewarned initial-bearers if they choose to access us in November.
Those who have submitted earlier will naturally be aware that submissions, as usual, will open on February 29th, 23:59:59 P.M. and close on March 1, 00:00:00 midnight.
THE WORK BEING SUBMITTED
While the word limit for work that may be submitted is 750, 000, we tend to pick pieces no longer than 400 words.
The story or poem should be pasted within the body of the email, added as attachment and also mailed in three different SAUSEs (Self Addressed, Unequivocally Stamped Envelopes). The envelopes should be of red, green and lilac colours. On each envelope, a kangaroo smoking a cigar need be drawn with a 2B pencil and coloured in with locally available crayons. The kangaroo may or may not be wearing shades. We leave that to the discretion of the writer. We are not crazy people.
In the piece being submitted, odd paragraphs should be left-aligned and even paragraphs should be right-aligned. However, paragraphs that are multiples of five or contain the word "legitimate" should be centrally-aligned. Though, if possible, writers must try and avoid the word "legitimate" entirely.
At Our Little Magazine, we are very accepting of your font choices. Being in the business of stories, we hear from writers of all ages who describe the sheer difficulty and terror with which they opened up to their parents about preferring Verdana to Times New Roman. At Our Little Magazine, we accept your Arial Narrow and your Comic Sans MS. Be unafraid. Be very unafraid. We accept your font no matter what you choose. Of course, that is, except Calibri. That is just sick.
Please state the word count of your piece on the top left of every page of your submission in square brackets (the opening bracket should be a deep, soulful turquoise and the closing bracket must be a pining, wistful mauve). It is pivotal that your word count is divisible by 17.83. If it is not, we shall find it impossible to accept your work, regardless of any other merits.
THE EMAIL
Please specify within the body of the email your height, your weight and your B.M.I. or Body Mass Index. We have provided a link at the end of this page to help you calculate this. Submitting writers must have a B.M.I. of or close to 25.3. If not, please only contact us after at least three months of cardio.
Along with the other details, please include three photographs of yourself. The first photograph should be with a cat (animal lovers will be given preference). The second photograph should be with a hobo (humanitarians will be given more preference). The third photograph is vital. Please send us this final photograph of yourself dressed up as Saddam Hussein. This is a relevant step in your application. Any 'strong' resemblance to the dead dictator, we are sad to say, will unfortunately lead to an immediate rejection. To get a clear, precise idea, please scroll through our earlier issues for photographs of poets and writers dressed up as the dead Hussein.
The name of the file containing your work should bear your maternal great-grandfather's nickname next to the title of your submission followed by the name of your favourite one of the now extinct Jonas Brothers. E.g. Monty_Title_of_Your_Submission_Nicholas_Jerry_Jonas. Writers who deviate from this will be met with a firm 'no'. A 'Nein'. A 'Non'. A 'Hasta la vista, Author'.
Send your submission to ourlittlemagazine@gmail.com. We do not yet have a Submittable account. If you're willing to design and maintain one for us, your submission will automatically be in the running for some of our preference.
We will typically respond within three years of your submission. In the meantime, contributing authors shouldn't email, call or approach the editors in the street to make inquiries about the said submission. Submitting writers should know that the editors of 'Our Little Magazine' are very heavily armed at all times. Any attempt at inquiry will be met with fierce action.
Please send your submission as a MS Excel file only (no other format shall be opened).
THE COVER LETTER
In your cover letter, please include your richly detailed third-person Bio in no more than seven words. Please list all your awards, accomplishments, every prior publication (age five onwards) and any relevant school certificate we should know of. Do state names and addresses of any wealthy relatives, with a recognisable tendency towards self-harm, interested in funding a literary magazine.
In the cover letter, do tell us why you specifically chose us to publish your work. Moreover, on the website, there's a photograph of a very handsome and available editor. If you're a woman, in your forties, and like what you see, it's required of you to include a phone number in the letter as well. Also, in this particular case, a fourth photograph of the submitting entity in uncomfortable beach wear, (perhaps, a bikini?), will also be needed.
A FINAL WORD
We either accept simultaneous submissions or multiple submissions. If you're making a simultaneous submission, ensure that it's not a multiple one. In case you're making a multiple submission, be certain that it's not simultaneous. In the event we receive a submission from you that is both simultaneous and multiple in nature... this is all what we have to say about that:
We do not know who you are. We don't know what you want. But we do have a very particular set of skills. Skills that we have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make us a nightmare for writers like you. If it is revealed that your submission happens to be both multiple and simultaneous, we will look for you. We will find you. And we will kill you.
For further guidelines, please click the link below.
Short Story 2017 Featured Trippayar Sahasranaman Priyaa
City Lights
Could they care less about how others walking down the hallway would feel?
The stretch between G-103 and G-109 was strewn with tufts of garbage. There were beer bottles, rotten uneaten morsels of leftover food on melancholic plastic plates and cigarette butts, name it and you had it there! Radhika gingerly hopped through the little gaps between the litters hoping to keep her shoes clean. Her brows contracted as she thought of how the litter-bug would savor sound slumber after his party on this quiet morning while those poor uninvited souls struggled to keep their eyelids open after a sleepless noisy Friday night. “I need a massage to relieve me of this awful spectacle,” she murmured as she escaped the last bit of garbage in front of G-105. “I am a Samaritan, and I will take the bull by the horns, soon enough.
The vibration of her phone sufficed to shake off her reverie. “Yep. I will meet you in thirty minutes,” Radhika paused. “Yep, Ravi, at the office” she answered her call in a reassuring voice. “Thirty minutes I think, it depends on the traffic…Yes. Sure..Bye.”
As she disconnected the call, something dawned on her. She turned around and walked back to the corridor with alacrity on her face. Within seconds, her slick silvery mobile was put to utmost use. Mobiles served more than just the calling purpose, though it had been only a decade after their genesis. Radhika scrutinized each picture she had taken with a streak of victory in her eyes. Relief wiped the frown of her face as she headed outside the building.
***
Ring road had always been a place of slow moving traffic, but that day the pace of traffic was destined to make a mark in its history. Disgruntled, Radhika gaped out at the road that had become the nightmare of the citizens off late.
A thin layer of dust on the outer side of the clean pane of her cab told her volumes about the polluted exterior. Each tick of the watch seemed to detonate a bomb in her head as she patiently waited for the traffic to move. The driver gorged on a pack of biscuits as they advanced at the pace of a snail. Radhika’s eyes wandered outside the window that had been wiped clean that morning and caught a glimpse of the neighboring KSRTC bus. There were people standing on the footboard of the overflowing six-wheeler. Radhika wondered how the country grumbled under the yoke of so many filthy citizens with red paan dripping from the edge of their mouths and their sweat racing onto the body of others as the people stood close enough to get strangled by the presence of one another.
“I think that there has been an accident madam,” said the driver with his upper body drooping outside the window. He got down from the car in a mission to observe the traffic that trailed behind them. It took a couple of seconds for his words to seep through Radhika’s head. She stared at him for a few seconds in silence, then stepped out of the realm of qualms into the world of reality. “Okay, so here is your money,” she said handing out the fare.
The humidity of the hot afternoon made her wonder if the weather would ever let go of its vengeance towards the city. Long were those days since the benevolent trees were cut down and the once green hinterland had turned into an industrial hub. The thought made her sigh. She took a few fast paced steps towards the site of the causality. She halted for a few seconds when she saw a motley group of people surrounding a bleeding man a few meters away. She inched towards them as her painful heels begged her feet for a break. As she stretched her neck over an array of shoulders her eyes caught the sight of the injured man. Soaked in blood, his hands and feet shook deliriously. Radhika took a closer look at the man who bore uncanny resemblance to someone she knew. The subtle wrinkles on his forehead complemented his silvery hair. His skin though old looked supple and had the clarity of a youngster’s.
A few fruits rolled out of a plastic cover that lay lifelessly beside him. Blood continued to spurt out of his knee. However his face with closed eyes seemed to be intact.
For a minute Radhika could feel her heart stop. It took a few more seconds for the horrifying spectacle to send a jolt down her spine. It intrigued her as to how not an ounce of concern constituted the emotions the rest of the crowd. “Give him some space and someone call an ambulance and take him to the hospital,” she cried out. Her voice seemed to disappear into the inkles of the throng. “Why don’t you take him?” she could hear a comeback from a man who stood nearby. Halfhearted, she walked as fast as she could occasionally turning back.
The morning had given her such a bitter start that could suffice to keep her gloomy for the rest of day. The face of the injured man kept flashing through her head as she sat in her cubicle. Discomfort manifested itself as a frown on her face while she ruminated over various thoughts until they were interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Good afternoon Rad’s. So… you were on time once again today,” exclaimed Ravi with a streak of sarcasm laced into his premise. “I had a hard morning. By the way, thanks for asking,” Radhika replied with a stern face.
“Looks like you are in a bad mood,” sighed Ravi. “Just tell me what happened and you’ll feel better.” His husky voice was promising.
“Don’t remind me of it, man! One of my neighbors keeps the rest of us awake every Friday night with his noisy parties. This has been happening for the last one year.” Radhika grunted. “And the cherry on the top of it is that every Saturday we wake up to a corridor that looks like .. well, just see this picture.. You know, my day begins like this!” she pulled out her phone, opening her gallery . “I took a picture of this to show the owner.”
“Why can’t all you people put your heads together and talk to your noisy neighbor by yourself. You could put an end to this weekly menace. I mean you have been living there for over a year and he is your neighbor after all!” Ravi’s lips curled into the merest silver of a smile as he put forth his remedy.
“You really think that people like us have time for all this?” Radhika retorted. Her answer seemed to push her listener’s brows upwards. “We are interns, Rads, interns and it will take another year for us to be called “professionals”. I come from a village and for a person like me it is an utmost duty to know who I live around. You city people are so different.” The intensity of Ravi’s voice attenuated as he spoke. A minute of awkward silence transpired between them.
“Well, it doesn’t end there!” said Radhika after a moment of prudence and reasoning. “On my way to work, I see this man, you know, badly injured and bleeding after a hit and run probably.”
Ravi raised his eyebrows. “And?”
“And what? People surrounded him and watched the whole episode while he shivered and blood oozed out of his wounds. Nobody seemed to bother about taking him to the hospital.” A gush of warm air humid with uneasiness escaped Radhika’s lips. “He seemed to be a well of person wearing decent formals, must be in his mid-forties.”
“And does the word ‘people’ include you?” Ravi’s inquisitiveness seemed to puncture Radhika’s garb of self-righteousness.
“I hardly saw the man, I just happened to pass by,” she said in a soft voice. “Let’s put this to rest for now.”
**
It was five minutes past six. Radhika sat by the window with her chin rested on her fist. She looked down at the street illuminated by the bright street light. It had cursed every bit it had ever fallen on. It hadn’t spared the immobile trees or even their shadows - they disappeared as the city light grew brighter. How had it encroached on the privacy of the birds and their little nests on the solitary lifeless tree that stood beside the road? They would soon be extinct, she thought. As she aimlessly gazed at the cluttered road five stories below, her eye caught the sight of a woman dumping trash near a lamp post and rushing back into their building.
“Oh yes, yes,” Radhika threw her fist into the air as she added one more relic to her phone’s gallery for that day. She walked with her held high up towards the door and slammed it from the other side.
The stairs weren’t lovely, but they were dark and deep indeed; Radhika took careful steps towards the top. Soon, she was on the seventh floor, pounding on the door of Mr. Nayak. A woman with a vacuous visage opened the door.
“Where is Mr. Nayak?” inquired Radhika.
“He has gone out, something urgent came up. Any problem?” asked the woman as if it was a rhetorical.
“Actually, yes,” said Radhika with an asymmetric grin. Unfazed, the woman stretched out her hand pointing to the black velvet sofa. “He should be here any time, please wait.”
Radhika parked herself on a corner of the sofa. Her fingers ran over the touch screen of her phone as the woman of the house kept herself busy with her household chores. “Would you like to have anything? Tea or coffee?” asked the woman in a voice with a silky touch to it.
“Yes, coffee please,” replied Radhika. The woman’s expression changed. She dropped the broom she was holding and stomped into the kitchen as if she had expected her guest to nix the offer made out of mere courtesy.
The coffee never made its way to Radhika until the minute hand of the clock traversed quarter of its circle. The door left ajar creaked as it swayed back and forth. Bored of twiddling her thumbs, Radhika rose up to put an end to the groans of the wood tethered by rusty hinges when a fifty something man barged in. His face looked as if it shrieked out of sorrow in silent agony.
“Mr. Nayak,” Radhika exclaimed. “I want to show you something.” She unlocked the keypad of her mobile.
“Hi Radhika, how are you?” said Mr. Nayak with no modulation in his voice.
“Fine, fine,” Radhika’s words raced out of her mouth as fast as they could. “See how people of our apartment dump garbage carelessly, while the rest of us work so hard to maintain our surroundings.”
Mr. Nayak opened his mouth to say something, but Radhika continued. “I mean, there are some us,” she said resting her hand on her chest, “who work so hard to be good citizens. We help people around, maintain things clean and spread the word about cleanliness and organization, while others like this,” she pointed to the picture she had taken that morning, “who dump garbage outside their own home and that of others too. I mean look at this; the people of G 103. I took this picture at around 9 30 this morning. Can you see the garbage that he has freshly dumped outside his house and that of others? It doesn’t end there. Every Friday night ends with awful party noises. These neighbors of mine seemed to be annoyed by the notion of peace. ” Radhika heaved in a morsel of air as her lungs held her back from ranting.
“G-103,” sighed Mr. Nayak. “I have heard this number more than once today. You stay in G-102 don’t you?” he asked her. Radhika nodded in affirmation. For a few seconds Mr. Nayak stared into Radhika’s wide open eyes as if he was searching for something inside them.
“And I suppose the picture you showed me was that of G-103,” he continued. “And you stay in 102,” he rephrased his redundant sentence as if he had been desperately waiting to show off the knowledge he had about his tenants. “Don’t you know that your neighbor from G-103 met with an accident around 9 am this morning on Ring road? And for your information I caught a teenager red handed while he was dumping garbage outside homes on your floor this morning. I have told him to vacate as soon as possible.”
The whole subject of their discussion seemed to tour out of her mind by the mere mention of Ring road. Radhika stood still, lost in thought. Mr. Nayak continued. “What a pity! You didn’t know your neighbor who has lived next to you for over a year, and now you are blaming a dead man for dropping garbage outside his own house! I can vouch for one thing, neither he nor his old mother who live there would have ever contributed to a fraction of noise that you spoke of. Life of senior people like us has become hell in this city. You youngsters bully us – elderly people so much; you make noise, you dump garbage outside their homes and make fun of us when we do anything. The city has become so corrupt, but really, when did it get this bad, that you people don’t know your own neighbors?”
Tongue tied, Radhika walked towards the window recollecting how the face of the man who had shivered and trembled bleeding to death while she had chosen to blindly walk past him that morning. Was she a Samaritan anymore? Had the city light fallen on her as well?
Paan: betel leaves prepared and used as a stimulant.
Could they care less about how others walking down the hallway would feel?
The stretch between G-103 and G-109 was strewn with tufts of garbage. There were beer bottles, rotten uneaten morsels of leftover food on melancholic plastic plates and cigarette butts, name it and you had it there! Radhika gingerly hopped through the little gaps between the litters hoping to keep her shoes clean. Her brows contracted as she thought of how the litter-bug would savor sound slumber after his party on this quiet morning while those poor uninvited souls struggled to keep their eyelids open after a sleepless noisy Friday night. “I need a massage to relieve me of this awful spectacle,” she murmured as she escaped the last bit of garbage in front of G-105. “I am a Samaritan, and I will take the bull by the horns, soon enough.
The vibration of her phone sufficed to shake off her reverie. “Yep. I will meet you in thirty minutes,” Radhika paused. “Yep, Ravi, at the office” she answered her call in a reassuring voice. “Thirty minutes I think, it depends on the traffic…Yes. Sure..Bye.”
As she disconnected the call, something dawned on her. She turned around and walked back to the corridor with alacrity on her face. Within seconds, her slick silvery mobile was put to utmost use. Mobiles served more than just the calling purpose, though it had been only a decade after their genesis. Radhika scrutinized each picture she had taken with a streak of victory in her eyes. Relief wiped the frown of her face as she headed outside the building.
***
Ring road had always been a place of slow moving traffic, but that day the pace of traffic was destined to make a mark in its history. Disgruntled, Radhika gaped out at the road that had become the nightmare of the citizens off late.
A thin layer of dust on the outer side of the clean pane of her cab told her volumes about the polluted exterior. Each tick of the watch seemed to detonate a bomb in her head as she patiently waited for the traffic to move. The driver gorged on a pack of biscuits as they advanced at the pace of a snail. Radhika’s eyes wandered outside the window that had been wiped clean that morning and caught a glimpse of the neighboring KSRTC bus. There were people standing on the footboard of the overflowing six-wheeler. Radhika wondered how the country grumbled under the yoke of so many filthy citizens with red paan dripping from the edge of their mouths and their sweat racing onto the body of others as the people stood close enough to get strangled by the presence of one another.
“I think that there has been an accident madam,” said the driver with his upper body drooping outside the window. He got down from the car in a mission to observe the traffic that trailed behind them. It took a couple of seconds for his words to seep through Radhika’s head. She stared at him for a few seconds in silence, then stepped out of the realm of qualms into the world of reality. “Okay, so here is your money,” she said handing out the fare.
The humidity of the hot afternoon made her wonder if the weather would ever let go of its vengeance towards the city. Long were those days since the benevolent trees were cut down and the once green hinterland had turned into an industrial hub. The thought made her sigh. She took a few fast paced steps towards the site of the causality. She halted for a few seconds when she saw a motley group of people surrounding a bleeding man a few meters away. She inched towards them as her painful heels begged her feet for a break. As she stretched her neck over an array of shoulders her eyes caught the sight of the injured man. Soaked in blood, his hands and feet shook deliriously. Radhika took a closer look at the man who bore uncanny resemblance to someone she knew. The subtle wrinkles on his forehead complemented his silvery hair. His skin though old looked supple and had the clarity of a youngster’s.
A few fruits rolled out of a plastic cover that lay lifelessly beside him. Blood continued to spurt out of his knee. However his face with closed eyes seemed to be intact.
For a minute Radhika could feel her heart stop. It took a few more seconds for the horrifying spectacle to send a jolt down her spine. It intrigued her as to how not an ounce of concern constituted the emotions the rest of the crowd. “Give him some space and someone call an ambulance and take him to the hospital,” she cried out. Her voice seemed to disappear into the inkles of the throng. “Why don’t you take him?” she could hear a comeback from a man who stood nearby. Halfhearted, she walked as fast as she could occasionally turning back.
The morning had given her such a bitter start that could suffice to keep her gloomy for the rest of day. The face of the injured man kept flashing through her head as she sat in her cubicle. Discomfort manifested itself as a frown on her face while she ruminated over various thoughts until they were interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Good afternoon Rad’s. So… you were on time once again today,” exclaimed Ravi with a streak of sarcasm laced into his premise. “I had a hard morning. By the way, thanks for asking,” Radhika replied with a stern face.
“Looks like you are in a bad mood,” sighed Ravi. “Just tell me what happened and you’ll feel better.” His husky voice was promising.
“Don’t remind me of it, man! One of my neighbors keeps the rest of us awake every Friday night with his noisy parties. This has been happening for the last one year.” Radhika grunted. “And the cherry on the top of it is that every Saturday we wake up to a corridor that looks like .. well, just see this picture.. You know, my day begins like this!” she pulled out her phone, opening her gallery . “I took a picture of this to show the owner.”
“Why can’t all you people put your heads together and talk to your noisy neighbor by yourself. You could put an end to this weekly menace. I mean you have been living there for over a year and he is your neighbor after all!” Ravi’s lips curled into the merest silver of a smile as he put forth his remedy.
“You really think that people like us have time for all this?” Radhika retorted. Her answer seemed to push her listener’s brows upwards. “We are interns, Rads, interns and it will take another year for us to be called “professionals”. I come from a village and for a person like me it is an utmost duty to know who I live around. You city people are so different.” The intensity of Ravi’s voice attenuated as he spoke. A minute of awkward silence transpired between them.
“Well, it doesn’t end there!” said Radhika after a moment of prudence and reasoning. “On my way to work, I see this man, you know, badly injured and bleeding after a hit and run probably.”
Ravi raised his eyebrows. “And?”
“And what? People surrounded him and watched the whole episode while he shivered and blood oozed out of his wounds. Nobody seemed to bother about taking him to the hospital.” A gush of warm air humid with uneasiness escaped Radhika’s lips. “He seemed to be a well of person wearing decent formals, must be in his mid-forties.”
“And does the word ‘people’ include you?” Ravi’s inquisitiveness seemed to puncture Radhika’s garb of self-righteousness.
“I hardly saw the man, I just happened to pass by,” she said in a soft voice. “Let’s put this to rest for now.”
**
It was five minutes past six. Radhika sat by the window with her chin rested on her fist. She looked down at the street illuminated by the bright street light. It had cursed every bit it had ever fallen on. It hadn’t spared the immobile trees or even their shadows - they disappeared as the city light grew brighter. How had it encroached on the privacy of the birds and their little nests on the solitary lifeless tree that stood beside the road? They would soon be extinct, she thought. As she aimlessly gazed at the cluttered road five stories below, her eye caught the sight of a woman dumping trash near a lamp post and rushing back into their building.
“Oh yes, yes,” Radhika threw her fist into the air as she added one more relic to her phone’s gallery for that day. She walked with her held high up towards the door and slammed it from the other side.
The stairs weren’t lovely, but they were dark and deep indeed; Radhika took careful steps towards the top. Soon, she was on the seventh floor, pounding on the door of Mr. Nayak. A woman with a vacuous visage opened the door.
“Where is Mr. Nayak?” inquired Radhika.
“He has gone out, something urgent came up. Any problem?” asked the woman as if it was a rhetorical.
“Actually, yes,” said Radhika with an asymmetric grin. Unfazed, the woman stretched out her hand pointing to the black velvet sofa. “He should be here any time, please wait.”
Radhika parked herself on a corner of the sofa. Her fingers ran over the touch screen of her phone as the woman of the house kept herself busy with her household chores. “Would you like to have anything? Tea or coffee?” asked the woman in a voice with a silky touch to it.
“Yes, coffee please,” replied Radhika. The woman’s expression changed. She dropped the broom she was holding and stomped into the kitchen as if she had expected her guest to nix the offer made out of mere courtesy.
The coffee never made its way to Radhika until the minute hand of the clock traversed quarter of its circle. The door left ajar creaked as it swayed back and forth. Bored of twiddling her thumbs, Radhika rose up to put an end to the groans of the wood tethered by rusty hinges when a fifty something man barged in. His face looked as if it shrieked out of sorrow in silent agony.
“Mr. Nayak,” Radhika exclaimed. “I want to show you something.” She unlocked the keypad of her mobile.
“Hi Radhika, how are you?” said Mr. Nayak with no modulation in his voice.
“Fine, fine,” Radhika’s words raced out of her mouth as fast as they could. “See how people of our apartment dump garbage carelessly, while the rest of us work so hard to maintain our surroundings.”
Mr. Nayak opened his mouth to say something, but Radhika continued. “I mean, there are some us,” she said resting her hand on her chest, “who work so hard to be good citizens. We help people around, maintain things clean and spread the word about cleanliness and organization, while others like this,” she pointed to the picture she had taken that morning, “who dump garbage outside their own home and that of others too. I mean look at this; the people of G 103. I took this picture at around 9 30 this morning. Can you see the garbage that he has freshly dumped outside his house and that of others? It doesn’t end there. Every Friday night ends with awful party noises. These neighbors of mine seemed to be annoyed by the notion of peace. ” Radhika heaved in a morsel of air as her lungs held her back from ranting.
“G-103,” sighed Mr. Nayak. “I have heard this number more than once today. You stay in G-102 don’t you?” he asked her. Radhika nodded in affirmation. For a few seconds Mr. Nayak stared into Radhika’s wide open eyes as if he was searching for something inside them.
“And I suppose the picture you showed me was that of G-103,” he continued. “And you stay in 102,” he rephrased his redundant sentence as if he had been desperately waiting to show off the knowledge he had about his tenants. “Don’t you know that your neighbor from G-103 met with an accident around 9 am this morning on Ring road? And for your information I caught a teenager red handed while he was dumping garbage outside homes on your floor this morning. I have told him to vacate as soon as possible.”
The whole subject of their discussion seemed to tour out of her mind by the mere mention of Ring road. Radhika stood still, lost in thought. Mr. Nayak continued. “What a pity! You didn’t know your neighbor who has lived next to you for over a year, and now you are blaming a dead man for dropping garbage outside his own house! I can vouch for one thing, neither he nor his old mother who live there would have ever contributed to a fraction of noise that you spoke of. Life of senior people like us has become hell in this city. You youngsters bully us – elderly people so much; you make noise, you dump garbage outside their homes and make fun of us when we do anything. The city has become so corrupt, but really, when did it get this bad, that you people don’t know your own neighbors?”
Tongue tied, Radhika walked towards the window recollecting how the face of the man who had shivered and trembled bleeding to death while she had chosen to blindly walk past him that morning. Was she a Samaritan anymore? Had the city light fallen on her as well?
Paan: betel leaves prepared and used as a stimulant.
Short Story 2017 Featured Swatilekha Roy
Monsoon Diaries
The first few drops of rain brought with it the mist.
It was through the mist that I saw the speck of color and heard shallow laughter.
The rain washed fir gently swished its branches, as the reeds swayed in the air. The river of eternity flowed with renewed vigor, its icy whirlpools rising and falling, milky crests carrying debris and forsaken blossoms. Broken, dead leaves and twigs, like fallen soldiers, were carried along to a higher plane of existence while the willows lining the bank sang their elegy.
In a valley, one's life revolves around mystery. It's like a rift between the unseen wilderness of mountains and the familiar effervescence of life!
That monsoon, the rain came early, filling the golden skies with dark clouds, and bringing the mist. As Mist trod over the valley with her dainty feet, she wrapped them in a cold embrace and held them firmly to her bosom.
It was a melancholic day. The mist made everything look eerie. Humming a mountain song, I kept gazing outside the window at the blanketed world, as the rain pattered against the roof.
The fact that Ramu had had the wisdom to bring in my weekly supplies beforehand impressed me. He was indeed a man of the valley! He could feel nature's pulse better than any weather vane.
The laughter was soothing to the ears, sweet and lulling. Was it the willows whispering to the birches, the river gurgling with its new inhabitants?
Or had it simply been an outburst of my fancies, invigorated by the playful mist?
However, beyond the smoke from my fireplace and the mist, a speck of tangerine had greeted my eyes. Could this be an illusion too?
Then that I heard the song of the mist:
...As the harsh river swept- the blossom with its tide, The helpless willows wept, and her albino mother cried...
Again that laughter!
In a trance, I left the porch and yielded my jacket.
Who could it be at this hour of the day, amidst this rain and mist?
As I crossed the threshold of my ancestral villa and walked out, a cold blast of air hit my face.
Again, the lulls of a melodious voice drifted back. This time, it seemed guarded, as if aware of intrusion.
She travelled a long, dreary way From the valley to the meadows And cried and cried all day- Till she befriended the shadows...
Again, there was a cry of laughter!
...Will the mist be her song? And the flowers adorn her hair? As the church hits its gong- In the hours of despair...
I was transfixed. Who was singing, if there was nobody? Just then, I heard the throaty cry of a cicada.
It was drizzling and the mist had cleared some. But where had the voice disappeared?
Then, I heard it again, sure and steady.
...And cried and cried all day- Till she befriended the shadows...
Just as I was about to begin this chase again, there was a sudden deafening boom of thunder. Before I could gather my senses, my eyes fell on a fleeting speck of red, rapidly disappearing into the woods.
"Who are you?" I screamed into the mist. There was no reply but by then, my eyes were focused.
I was surprised by what I saw: a little girl in a tangerine frock! Before I could call out, she disappeared into the woods, giggling and singing.
I considered going after her and helping her back home when the weather was better. Then, the thought struck me: I was the only person living here. For miles, there wasn't a soul inhabiting this desolate corner of the valley.
Apparently, I was wrong. The girl must have had been from the woods! What parents let their children play around in such unfriendly weather? I made a mental note to go to her house, when the weather cleared and rebuke her parents about such carelessness.
The mist was settling in again, this time bringing a tinge of frost and my teeth started chattering. So, with a silent hope that the girl had reached home safely, I decided to get back.
Back in the warmth of my parlor, I sat with my art portfolio and some hot, steaming coffee.
Frequently, I kept looking out of the window, as if somehow expecting that strange girl to materialize again.
I wrote the day's diary entry before retiring to bed that night. After some hesitation, I added the song of the girl from the woods, in long cursive letters.
The next day, I woke up to the grating calls of the bulbul and the sunbeam dancing on my eyes.
After too many days of rain and mist, the golden rays painting the skies with glamour came as a sweet release.
Ramu came early, apologizing for the last day's delay and cursing the weather. "It's going to get worse Sahib! I can smell it." Seeing his dramatic expression, I grinned.
During the course of the day, Ramu did his chores while I enjoyed the last day of my stay, before returning back to Delhi. At around noon, I remembered the previous day's curious happenings.
"Ramu, who lives in those woods?” I asked.
"In the woods?" he hesitated. "None, Sahib."
"Are you sure?"
"I swear on Him. There is nobody in there. None that I know of!"
Seeing my grave expression, he must have had figured out that something was wrong.
"What's wrong, Sahib?"
In a nutshell, I told him everything.
When I stopped, I was shocked to see the color draining from his plum face. "Are you sure she was wearing red? What did you say she was doing?" he asked nervously. "What exactly was she singing?"
"Look Ramu, it's nothing serious. She could simply have come here for a stroll!"
The stupidity of what I was suggesting hit me.
"She was singing about blossoms carried away by the river, shadows and church bells."
For a moment, I thought Ramu might faint. I made him sit and drink. When blood returned to his pallor, I told him to proceed.
He began in a small voice, with shaking hands. "She isn’t a girl but a wandering soul, Sahib. Krishan claimed to have seen her, but none of us believed him, as he is a liar. But now that you saw her, it's true!"
I didn't believe him but didn't tell him so either as men of the valley are very sentimental.
Assuring Ramu that I would be extremely careful and letting him pack my trunks, I released him.
Alone again, I sat with a coffee mug and my portfolio.
The sun was blushing red and a sweet breeze was blowing. Unable to concentrate, I decided to take a stroll.
Walking past the dust road and ferns, I reached the turn where the river flowed the fiercest. Just a hundred yards away, stood the deserted remains of the countryside church- one of the only signs that people had once lived here.
I walked towards the river and peered over its edge. A shudder ran down my spine. Somehow, I got reminded of floating blossoms.
It was then that I realized that all around me, mist had set in. 'Ramu was right. The weather is getting worse!' I told myself.
Even before I could rush, big drops of rain started falling. I swore. There was no way I could get back without drenching myself to the bone. Besides, the mist was tricky!
So, like a logical man, I ran for cover, which happened to be the church.
The church gave an air of welcoming solitude.
Once inside, the rain started falling harder. The mist disappeared. Having nothing else to do, I started exploring the old nave. All that remained of the lectern and pews were broken planks. Outside the northern window, stood the huge walnut tree, waving its branches.
Then, I felt the shiver. All of a sudden, the entire building started reverberating with horrid childish laughter.
That voice!
The song followed soon after.
I was shaking head to toe and looking around me frantically, trying to figure out where she was! The walls kept echoing the sound, making it hollow and muffled.
Just as I was about to go insane in fear, a lightning bolt hit the smoked glass window and shattered it.
Then, I saw her; for the first time I realized how lovely she looked in spite of that ghastly aura around her. Loneliness was prominent on her face. She kept looking longingly at the church bell.
...Will the mist be her song? Will the flowers adorn her hair...
She looked less like some evil spirit and more like a ten year old child, who had lost her childhood and landed here.
The laughter stopped and was replaced by a sad wail. I felt a strange urge to console this pitiful voice. I realized that all along, she had been trying to tell me something.
In a blink, she vanished into oblivion. I was delirious!
However, where she had been a moment ago, something caught my eye. On walking towards the western wall of the church, I saw some phrases engraved on it. Having removed the layer of soot, I read: The mist will offer her respite, The birds will teach her to sing! Till someday a passerby might- Make the church bell ring! Her soul be set free that night, And let joy the blossom bring!
I remembered her song and rushed down the aisle towards the gong. I rang it twice, thrice but the weeping continued.
What now?
As I kept ringing it, the wails became louder.
Ring! Ring!
Laugh!
Ring! Ring! Swish!
My heart beating at one twenty and mind delirious, I finally passed out.
My mind was morbid with bizarre dreams of ringing bells and floating blossoms!
Ring! Ring! The voice! The wails? Are those coming from me? Why am I shaking? My jacket! Splash!
I jerked wide awake. Someone had sprinkled water on me. Who was it? The spirit? No, familiar face. Ramu's? How can it be Ramu's? No, I was hallucinating...
"Sahib!”
"Oh my God, Ramu? You here? The rain? The bell? Is it ringing? Where is she..."
Something about his demeanor seemed alien to me! Or was it his disorienting smile...
The candle in his hand gave him a strange aura; almost a supernatural one, but...
I must be hallucinating. Badly.
Ramu nodded and helped me to my feet. With shaking legs and feverish thoughts, I followed him out.
With a last glance at the church, I staggered down the dirt road.
"But how did you... "
Ramu silenced me, shaking his head.
I reserved my questions for later.
Almost at the doorstep, I turned back to invite him in. 'He needn't go back to the village at this hour', I thought. But...
"Ramu?"
There was not a soul behind me, just darkness and mist. A distant hoot of an owl!
I abandoned my search and went in. Having shut all the doors and windows, I settled for a warm bath that cleared my head.
How had Ramu materialized there, only to disappear again?
I left the next day, full of unanswered questions and an interesting tale to share with the city-battered mechanical souls, though I wondered how many would believe me!
Sahib: Hindi for gentleman
The first few drops of rain brought with it the mist.
It was through the mist that I saw the speck of color and heard shallow laughter.
The rain washed fir gently swished its branches, as the reeds swayed in the air. The river of eternity flowed with renewed vigor, its icy whirlpools rising and falling, milky crests carrying debris and forsaken blossoms. Broken, dead leaves and twigs, like fallen soldiers, were carried along to a higher plane of existence while the willows lining the bank sang their elegy.
In a valley, one's life revolves around mystery. It's like a rift between the unseen wilderness of mountains and the familiar effervescence of life!
That monsoon, the rain came early, filling the golden skies with dark clouds, and bringing the mist. As Mist trod over the valley with her dainty feet, she wrapped them in a cold embrace and held them firmly to her bosom.
It was a melancholic day. The mist made everything look eerie. Humming a mountain song, I kept gazing outside the window at the blanketed world, as the rain pattered against the roof.
The fact that Ramu had had the wisdom to bring in my weekly supplies beforehand impressed me. He was indeed a man of the valley! He could feel nature's pulse better than any weather vane.
The laughter was soothing to the ears, sweet and lulling. Was it the willows whispering to the birches, the river gurgling with its new inhabitants?
Or had it simply been an outburst of my fancies, invigorated by the playful mist?
However, beyond the smoke from my fireplace and the mist, a speck of tangerine had greeted my eyes. Could this be an illusion too?
Then that I heard the song of the mist:
...As the harsh river swept- the blossom with its tide, The helpless willows wept, and her albino mother cried...
Again that laughter!
In a trance, I left the porch and yielded my jacket.
Who could it be at this hour of the day, amidst this rain and mist?
As I crossed the threshold of my ancestral villa and walked out, a cold blast of air hit my face.
Again, the lulls of a melodious voice drifted back. This time, it seemed guarded, as if aware of intrusion.
She travelled a long, dreary way From the valley to the meadows And cried and cried all day- Till she befriended the shadows...
Again, there was a cry of laughter!
...Will the mist be her song? And the flowers adorn her hair? As the church hits its gong- In the hours of despair...
I was transfixed. Who was singing, if there was nobody? Just then, I heard the throaty cry of a cicada.
It was drizzling and the mist had cleared some. But where had the voice disappeared?
Then, I heard it again, sure and steady.
...And cried and cried all day- Till she befriended the shadows...
Just as I was about to begin this chase again, there was a sudden deafening boom of thunder. Before I could gather my senses, my eyes fell on a fleeting speck of red, rapidly disappearing into the woods.
"Who are you?" I screamed into the mist. There was no reply but by then, my eyes were focused.
I was surprised by what I saw: a little girl in a tangerine frock! Before I could call out, she disappeared into the woods, giggling and singing.
I considered going after her and helping her back home when the weather was better. Then, the thought struck me: I was the only person living here. For miles, there wasn't a soul inhabiting this desolate corner of the valley.
Apparently, I was wrong. The girl must have had been from the woods! What parents let their children play around in such unfriendly weather? I made a mental note to go to her house, when the weather cleared and rebuke her parents about such carelessness.
The mist was settling in again, this time bringing a tinge of frost and my teeth started chattering. So, with a silent hope that the girl had reached home safely, I decided to get back.
Back in the warmth of my parlor, I sat with my art portfolio and some hot, steaming coffee.
Frequently, I kept looking out of the window, as if somehow expecting that strange girl to materialize again.
I wrote the day's diary entry before retiring to bed that night. After some hesitation, I added the song of the girl from the woods, in long cursive letters.
The next day, I woke up to the grating calls of the bulbul and the sunbeam dancing on my eyes.
After too many days of rain and mist, the golden rays painting the skies with glamour came as a sweet release.
Ramu came early, apologizing for the last day's delay and cursing the weather. "It's going to get worse Sahib! I can smell it." Seeing his dramatic expression, I grinned.
During the course of the day, Ramu did his chores while I enjoyed the last day of my stay, before returning back to Delhi. At around noon, I remembered the previous day's curious happenings.
"Ramu, who lives in those woods?” I asked.
"In the woods?" he hesitated. "None, Sahib."
"Are you sure?"
"I swear on Him. There is nobody in there. None that I know of!"
Seeing my grave expression, he must have had figured out that something was wrong.
"What's wrong, Sahib?"
In a nutshell, I told him everything.
When I stopped, I was shocked to see the color draining from his plum face. "Are you sure she was wearing red? What did you say she was doing?" he asked nervously. "What exactly was she singing?"
"Look Ramu, it's nothing serious. She could simply have come here for a stroll!"
The stupidity of what I was suggesting hit me.
"She was singing about blossoms carried away by the river, shadows and church bells."
For a moment, I thought Ramu might faint. I made him sit and drink. When blood returned to his pallor, I told him to proceed.
He began in a small voice, with shaking hands. "She isn’t a girl but a wandering soul, Sahib. Krishan claimed to have seen her, but none of us believed him, as he is a liar. But now that you saw her, it's true!"
I didn't believe him but didn't tell him so either as men of the valley are very sentimental.
Assuring Ramu that I would be extremely careful and letting him pack my trunks, I released him.
Alone again, I sat with a coffee mug and my portfolio.
The sun was blushing red and a sweet breeze was blowing. Unable to concentrate, I decided to take a stroll.
Walking past the dust road and ferns, I reached the turn where the river flowed the fiercest. Just a hundred yards away, stood the deserted remains of the countryside church- one of the only signs that people had once lived here.
I walked towards the river and peered over its edge. A shudder ran down my spine. Somehow, I got reminded of floating blossoms.
It was then that I realized that all around me, mist had set in. 'Ramu was right. The weather is getting worse!' I told myself.
Even before I could rush, big drops of rain started falling. I swore. There was no way I could get back without drenching myself to the bone. Besides, the mist was tricky!
So, like a logical man, I ran for cover, which happened to be the church.
The church gave an air of welcoming solitude.
Once inside, the rain started falling harder. The mist disappeared. Having nothing else to do, I started exploring the old nave. All that remained of the lectern and pews were broken planks. Outside the northern window, stood the huge walnut tree, waving its branches.
Then, I felt the shiver. All of a sudden, the entire building started reverberating with horrid childish laughter.
That voice!
The song followed soon after.
I was shaking head to toe and looking around me frantically, trying to figure out where she was! The walls kept echoing the sound, making it hollow and muffled.
Just as I was about to go insane in fear, a lightning bolt hit the smoked glass window and shattered it.
Then, I saw her; for the first time I realized how lovely she looked in spite of that ghastly aura around her. Loneliness was prominent on her face. She kept looking longingly at the church bell.
...Will the mist be her song? Will the flowers adorn her hair...
She looked less like some evil spirit and more like a ten year old child, who had lost her childhood and landed here.
The laughter stopped and was replaced by a sad wail. I felt a strange urge to console this pitiful voice. I realized that all along, she had been trying to tell me something.
In a blink, she vanished into oblivion. I was delirious!
However, where she had been a moment ago, something caught my eye. On walking towards the western wall of the church, I saw some phrases engraved on it. Having removed the layer of soot, I read: The mist will offer her respite, The birds will teach her to sing! Till someday a passerby might- Make the church bell ring! Her soul be set free that night, And let joy the blossom bring!
I remembered her song and rushed down the aisle towards the gong. I rang it twice, thrice but the weeping continued.
What now?
As I kept ringing it, the wails became louder.
Ring! Ring!
Laugh!
Ring! Ring! Swish!
My heart beating at one twenty and mind delirious, I finally passed out.
My mind was morbid with bizarre dreams of ringing bells and floating blossoms!
Ring! Ring! The voice! The wails? Are those coming from me? Why am I shaking? My jacket! Splash!
I jerked wide awake. Someone had sprinkled water on me. Who was it? The spirit? No, familiar face. Ramu's? How can it be Ramu's? No, I was hallucinating...
"Sahib!”
"Oh my God, Ramu? You here? The rain? The bell? Is it ringing? Where is she..."
Something about his demeanor seemed alien to me! Or was it his disorienting smile...
The candle in his hand gave him a strange aura; almost a supernatural one, but...
I must be hallucinating. Badly.
Ramu nodded and helped me to my feet. With shaking legs and feverish thoughts, I followed him out.
With a last glance at the church, I staggered down the dirt road.
"But how did you... "
Ramu silenced me, shaking his head.
I reserved my questions for later.
Almost at the doorstep, I turned back to invite him in. 'He needn't go back to the village at this hour', I thought. But...
"Ramu?"
There was not a soul behind me, just darkness and mist. A distant hoot of an owl!
I abandoned my search and went in. Having shut all the doors and windows, I settled for a warm bath that cleared my head.
How had Ramu materialized there, only to disappear again?
I left the next day, full of unanswered questions and an interesting tale to share with the city-battered mechanical souls, though I wondered how many would believe me!
Sahib: Hindi for gentleman
Short Story 2017 Longlist Sunita Singh
Roop Kanwar
It was a dark and stormy night. Meenu, a little girl of ten, shuddered as a bolt of lightning thundered and streaked across the dark sky. Ananya, her sister, younger to her by just two years also felt a little scared. Without a word, they went to the adjoining bedroom where they found their grandmother reading out a story to their little brother, Vikram.
“Nanima, please can we come too?” asked Meenu. The old lady in a white saree, who was their grandmother smiled, an indulgent look on her face, “Of course Mrinalini!” she answered. Grandmother disliked the habit of abbreviating names and always addressed everyone with their proper names. Meenu found it odd, but the kids adored her, she was unlike other grandparents who always criticised or lectured the kids. Their grandmother loved reading detective stories and told them interesting ones too.
“Didi, were you scared by the sound of thunder?” Vikram, a little boy of six, sniggered, his dark eyes dripping with naughtiness.
“Be quiet!” Ananya answered angrily.
“Nanima, please tell us a story, shut this book, your stories are so much more interesting.” Meenu requested. The grandmother, a handsome woman of about eighty, looked at Vikram questioningly. Vikram wanted to refuse, just to displease his older sisters, but then the hunger for more adventurous ones told by grandmother got the better of him and he too agreed. “Tell us a story of Roop Kanwar, please!” pleaded Ananya. “Yes, Yes!” Meenu also loved stories about Roop Kanwar. Nanima cleared her throat, thought for a while, a far-away look came into her eyes as she started.
“It was a dark, moonless night. The sound of the nearby river, gushing forth broke the silence of the night. But instead of a re-assuring sound, it seemed more eerie. Without the light from the moon and the stars the entire area was shrouded in a veil of darkness. Roop Kanwar looked up from the book that she was reading and gazed at her little girl, a soft look on her face. Kaushalya was about eight months old, a bonny baby with a gentle disposition. Her older child, a boy, lay on another cot, sleeping. Kirtiman was about five years old, and very naughty. A thick mop of hair framed his cherubic face. Roop smiled as she recalled how upset he had been when they moved from Datia, a very small town to the suburbs of Raghopur, a small town in the Lakshmanpur state. Raghopur had good schools and Dushyant Singh was happy that he was being transferred there as the Sub-Divisional Magistrate(Judicial). His ancestral place was near Raghopur and he would now be able to keep an eye on his lands. It was decided that instead of living in the government quarters, they would build their own house in the suburbs of Raghopur, where, they had a piece of land situated across the river.
The place was picturesque and Roop Kanwar fell in love with it as soon as she saw it. Just across the fiercely flowing river lay orchards of guavas and mangoes interspersed with the fragrance of flowering trees and shrubs of jasmine, jungle flame, wild roses and others. After crossing this orchard there was a small hillock – it was decided to build the house at this location. The only problem was that there were hardly any houses in that area. However, since Dushyant had enough staff to look after the security of the place, this problem was easily taken care of. Besides, Roop Kanwar was no ordinary lady. She was the daughter of a zamindar, and her father, rather open-minded for his times, had taught her horse riding and also how to shoot with a gun. Infact, in many feats, she easily outdid her brothers, which greatly pleased her father. Thus, fear was unknown to this Chandela Rajput beauty. She knew how to take care of herself”.
It was a dark and stormy night. Meenu, a little girl of ten, shuddered as a bolt of lightning thundered and streaked across the dark sky. Ananya, her sister, younger to her by just two years also felt a little scared. Without a word, they went to the adjoining bedroom where they found their grandmother reading out a story to their little brother, Vikram.
“Nanima, please can we come too?” asked Meenu. The old lady in a white saree, who was their grandmother smiled, an indulgent look on her face, “Of course Mrinalini!” she answered. Grandmother disliked the habit of abbreviating names and always addressed everyone with their proper names. Meenu found it odd, but the kids adored her, she was unlike other grandparents who always criticised or lectured the kids. Their grandmother loved reading detective stories and told them interesting ones too.
“Didi, were you scared by the sound of thunder?” Vikram, a little boy of six, sniggered, his dark eyes dripping with naughtiness.
“Be quiet!” Ananya answered angrily.
“Nanima, please tell us a story, shut this book, your stories are so much more interesting.” Meenu requested. The grandmother, a handsome woman of about eighty, looked at Vikram questioningly. Vikram wanted to refuse, just to displease his older sisters, but then the hunger for more adventurous ones told by grandmother got the better of him and he too agreed. “Tell us a story of Roop Kanwar, please!” pleaded Ananya. “Yes, Yes!” Meenu also loved stories about Roop Kanwar. Nanima cleared her throat, thought for a while, a far-away look came into her eyes as she started.
“It was a dark, moonless night. The sound of the nearby river, gushing forth broke the silence of the night. But instead of a re-assuring sound, it seemed more eerie. Without the light from the moon and the stars the entire area was shrouded in a veil of darkness. Roop Kanwar looked up from the book that she was reading and gazed at her little girl, a soft look on her face. Kaushalya was about eight months old, a bonny baby with a gentle disposition. Her older child, a boy, lay on another cot, sleeping. Kirtiman was about five years old, and very naughty. A thick mop of hair framed his cherubic face. Roop smiled as she recalled how upset he had been when they moved from Datia, a very small town to the suburbs of Raghopur, a small town in the Lakshmanpur state. Raghopur had good schools and Dushyant Singh was happy that he was being transferred there as the Sub-Divisional Magistrate(Judicial). His ancestral place was near Raghopur and he would now be able to keep an eye on his lands. It was decided that instead of living in the government quarters, they would build their own house in the suburbs of Raghopur, where, they had a piece of land situated across the river.
The place was picturesque and Roop Kanwar fell in love with it as soon as she saw it. Just across the fiercely flowing river lay orchards of guavas and mangoes interspersed with the fragrance of flowering trees and shrubs of jasmine, jungle flame, wild roses and others. After crossing this orchard there was a small hillock – it was decided to build the house at this location. The only problem was that there were hardly any houses in that area. However, since Dushyant had enough staff to look after the security of the place, this problem was easily taken care of. Besides, Roop Kanwar was no ordinary lady. She was the daughter of a zamindar, and her father, rather open-minded for his times, had taught her horse riding and also how to shoot with a gun. Infact, in many feats, she easily outdid her brothers, which greatly pleased her father. Thus, fear was unknown to this Chandela Rajput beauty. She knew how to take care of herself”.
Short Story 2017 Featured Sudha Viswanath
Beyond The Window
The clock struck four times. Even as the world slept through this darkness, it was dawn for Gauri. Each day followed a clockwise routine. She would get up with the familiar insipidness of another restless night and head mechanically to the wash room. She genuinely could not afford to spend some time leisurely in there. Routine ablutions had to be finished as quickly as possible for she would never find time in the course of the day to come back to the washroom for a bath. The world seemed to be nonexistent beyond this wash room and the house for Gauri. Though she was well aware that there was a world lively and cheerful wrapped in colours of happiness beyond the draped window, that world was not meant for her.
Her life revolved in this two bedroom flat around her daughter Kyra who turned fifteen only yesterday. After her own bath it was now time to clean Kyra. She would writhe in pain as Gauri slowly tilted the bed to clean her mouth and face. Then gently she would massage her body parts as delicately as possible and give her a sponge bath. How she wished she could take Kyra to the washroom and put her under the running tap water! That may give her a new leash of life, she would often think to herself.
Well she had always been talking and thinking to herself for thirteen long years, even though Dinesh had been in the house, but from the day before, his physical presence was also gone. He had broken himself free from the rigmarole of this monotonous life, leaving his wife and bed ridden daughter, to start life afresh at 44 with another lady.
Suddenly Kyra’s rasping groans drew Gauri’s attentions, she needed to defecate. It was a more difficult task. Kyra groaned with pain as Gauri gently lifted her buttocks to push the bed pan. The groans continued till the full exercise was over and intensified while Gauri removed the bed pan after thoroughly washing her.
While most girls of her age enjoyed every moment of their blooming life, poor Kyra lay here like a dead corpse. Dinesh‘s judgement, though mute, declared Gauri as the perpetrator for this situation of their daughter.
How did all this happen? Kyra didn’t come to the world like this. She came in as a most beautiful angel, born to Gauri and Dinesh three years after their marriage. She looked very pretty. The couple had decided to name their first child as Kyra if it would be a daughter or Krish if it was a son. That is how they christened their baby girl, Kyra.
Life went on smoothly. Gauri, a loving housewife would get ready with her husband’s breakfast by eight everyday and also his lunch box, before he waved her bye at quater to nine. Evenings were spent with ecstasy, either with outings or with a cozy cuddle in front of the television watching some movie or game. Then one day destiny played a cruel game on this household.
It was a cool Thursday afternoon in the month of November. Kyra had been a bit cranky from morning due to a blocked nose and slight temperature and wouldn’t let Gauri move from her side. Gauri had just put two year old Kyra to sleep on a mat in the drawing room.
Snatching this moment, Gauri slowly let go the tiny fingers of Kyra that were holding to her sari pallu and hurried into the kitchen. The vessels needed to be washed, some porridge prepared for Kyra. Gauri had found no time to prepare lunch, but it is ok she was the only person now at home to have lunch. ‘Can manage with some salad and some leftover of yesterday’s dinner,’ she sighed. Her husband Dinesh had left in the morning after having breakfast. Since Kyra had been sick, he decided against carrying lunch today, as he usually did. Gauri was too engrossed in handling the child; he saw that and out of consideration decided to have lunch in the office.
After having done with the utensils and cooking porridge for Kyra, Gauri was busy rinsing Kyra’s milk bottle to be sterilized in the hot water that was kept for boiling in the gas. Suddenly she heard a kind of uneasy thud. Turning back, she was horrified not to find her baby on the mat and then on an instinct her eyes moved towards the verandah and she froze. Gauri was not sure at what point Kyra decided to get up and instead of coming towards the kitchen looking out for her mother, walk straight to the balcony. The wall in the balcony of their house had a rectangle hole somewhere in the middle of the wall. The child may have play fully placed one of her foot on it to clamber and have a look at the world outside below their first floor balcony.
What followed was more like a dream. Gauri had almost fainted realizing that her baby girl had fallen off the balcony. She was woken up to be confronted by a visibly upset Dinesh, who had been informed by the neighbours. It was a hospital room and pat next to her cot was Kyra with as many as five doctors frantically trying to wrap her up with various bandages.
Gauri’s head throbbed as she tried to get up from her bed. Nandita, her immediate neighbor, assisted her to sit up. Gauri wanted to ask so many things to Dinesh, but he had walked out of the room. Not only out of the room, as she discovered later, out of every passion that held them close all these days.
Three people began to stay under one roof as complete strangers. Kyra was rendered immobile. She had multiple bone injuries that were somehow put together in the best way the doctors could do it. They gave life to her, but did not realize that Kyra was now a breathing corpse.
No verbal verdict holding grudge against Gauri or calling it her callousness ever came from Dinesh, but the sort of bitterness in him, the kind of resentment he bore were clearly evident and Gauri knew this would only grow fiercer with time. Gauri realized it would be futile giving him any elucidation. No mother would have made a deliberate attempt to neglect her child. Nothing was going to sound rational at this juncture to Dinesh’s ears.
She resigned to fate, but he was in no way ready to comply. Thus life went on. They lived in the same house, She prepared food as usual, he had it and took his lunch box, would be back home and watch television. On the first of every month he would put an envelope with enough money for Gauri to buy whatever she needed for the house and for Kyra. Sometimes when Kyra had to be given medical assistance, Dinesh would pay more. Not a word was uttered between them. The house had a killing silence for no one spoke.
Kyra’s every need had to be taken care of by Gauri and she single handedly did everything for her daughter. Brushing her teeth, bathing her, carefully handling her each time she had to urinate. Her beddings needed a regular change and sometimes even twice or thrice in a day for despite of Gauri being very particular to help her daughter answer natures call at regular intervals, some time the girl would pass out without realizing it. It was ages since gauri had slept peacefully. She would get up every now and then at night to confirm that Kyra’s bed was dry and then sometimes she got up all of a sudden staring into the dark wondering who would take care of her child when she was no more.
Thoughts clouding her head would never allow her to take a peaceful nap. She saw her daughter growing right in front of her eyes but sans any activity. She had been under the impression all this while that Dinesh still loved Kyra for though Dinesh had somewhat snapped all communications with Gauri, he still walked to Kyra some days and lovingly touch her forehead. He was after all her father, but of late his petulance had been at the zenith. Gauri had been too naïve to catch a signal from his behavioral pattern long before. Gauri caught him very often humming an old Hindi film song and also she noticed that he had started liberally using expensive cologne.
Gauri was his wife and hence this news that Nandita brought to her about this extra marital affair that Dinesh was having with his secretary, should have shattered her, but strangely this news failed to ignite her emotions. Only those emotions can be ignited that has some fuel in it, her emotions had died along with the fall of her baby.
Well it wasn’t long after Nandita had conveyed this news that one fine day, that was the day before, Dinesh broke a decade and three years silence to tell her that he was walking out of the house and gave her some papers assuring that enough money had been deposited in her name to support herself and Kyra and if need arose he would send more. At 44, her husband seemed to be harboring no guilt for having walked out of an eighteen year old marriage, leaving an invalid daughter and a wife behind. It never seemed to occur to him that the catastrophe that had befallen their kid was not a result of deliberate negligence on the part of his wife. That she was going through hell after that day and needed emotional and moral support.
However Gauri did not shed a single tear in self pity, she loathed that. The heart shattering news that her spouse had left her for good in fact seemed very miniscule compared to what the doctor had to say about her reports day before yesterday. She had kept Nandita home with Kyra and gone to visit a gynaecologist to consult about her excessive bleeding. A series of test later, the doctor confirmed that she has developed ovarian cancer and needed to be operated upon at the earliest possible date, failing which might result in fatal conditions.
Gauri could only smile sadly at this. Even in her weirdest of dream she couldn’t think of any treatment to her body that would keep her confined to the bed even if it was for a while. ‘Who would care for her child?’
Back home from the hospital, Gauri had refrained from telling Nandita bout what the doctor had diagnosed. “Some pills that is all, I should be fine. Thanks for being so helpful” she had given an insipid sermon.
When it rains it pours!!! That is how Gauri looked at it when the following day she heard about Dinesh‘s decision to walk out of her life permanently.
Gauri was not the kind of person to shrink in self pity, but anyone with an iron resolution would also melt under this circumstance. A teenage lifeless bedridden girl, an ovarian cancer and a life of a destitute!!! For the first time in thirteen years, with a fury that could not be defined, gauri screamed and let her tears flow, till she could cry no more. Sensing the frightened look on Kyra’s face, Gauri composed herself and stretched out her hands to check if Kyra had wetted the bed. ‘Oops she had.’ Slowly Gauri turned her to the side even as a she screamed in pain. Her body had become immune to painkillers.
Then in a flash of a moment Gauri was horrified to see a pool of blood under her daughter. Impulsively her hands reached out to the phone to dial the doctor’s number but her motherly instinct got the better of everything and she suddenly realized that her girl who had turned fifteen yesterday had come to age. These blood strains were the outcome of her having attained puberty. Gauri’s head began spinning in circles. Something that she had never mentally prepared herself for had happened without any intuition whatsoever.
With tears in her eyes she went on with the cleansing activity, dressed up her daughter with the necessary padding and sat beside her exhausted to the core. She did not know for how long she sat there, or had she gone into a trance? She was suddenly woken up by the groans of her daughter. Experience had taught Gauri to differentiate the needs that her daughter’s grunting conveyed. Kyra was hungry now. Gauri slowly got up with determination.
Bitterness ran through her face as she looked up at the place in her house where the deities were kept. It seemed to her that they were all mocking at her misfortune. ‘For years together you all have been a mute witness to my fate,’ she thought. In a flash of a moment she embraced her instincts and removed all the pills from her daughter’s medicine box. Then she added the ones doctor had given her the day before. In a jiffy she grounded them into a nice powder in the mixer, while the milk cooker hissed proclaiming it having reached the boiling point.
Gauri was aware that a couple of eyes followed her through this exercise, but she did not let herself turn back to look at those eyes. Her resolution might dilute if she happened to face them. She mixed the powder to the milk and stirred it well to make it a neat homogeneous mixture.
For the last time she gave a loving hug to her daughter and surprisingly Kyra showed no signs of pain. She sat through the time her mother poured the milk into her mouth. She drank it as if this was the first time milk tasted so well. Gauri slowly helped her to lie down. Then sitting beside her as she held her mother’s sari, Gauri consumed every drop of the remaining white fluid.
Putting her head on the pillow next to Kyra, Gauri laid herself down side ways resting her hands on her daughter. ‘God,’ she prayed, ‘you may have brought me to this world. You may have made my life a mixed bag of happiness and adversity, with the later weighing more. So heavy had the burden become that I really did not think it worthwhile to beg you for solace. Defying you God, I have written the time of mine and my daughter’s death myself. Pardon me for this audacity.’
The mother and daughter then closed their eyes never to open it again!!!
The Sun rose as usual the following day and fell on the glass panes of the draped window, making an abortive effort in waking up Gauri and Kyra. They lay their unstirred, invulnerable to its warmth. Their souls had left long before in search of a place beyond this window, somewhere far away to a place with much brightness!
The clock struck four times. Even as the world slept through this darkness, it was dawn for Gauri. Each day followed a clockwise routine. She would get up with the familiar insipidness of another restless night and head mechanically to the wash room. She genuinely could not afford to spend some time leisurely in there. Routine ablutions had to be finished as quickly as possible for she would never find time in the course of the day to come back to the washroom for a bath. The world seemed to be nonexistent beyond this wash room and the house for Gauri. Though she was well aware that there was a world lively and cheerful wrapped in colours of happiness beyond the draped window, that world was not meant for her.
Her life revolved in this two bedroom flat around her daughter Kyra who turned fifteen only yesterday. After her own bath it was now time to clean Kyra. She would writhe in pain as Gauri slowly tilted the bed to clean her mouth and face. Then gently she would massage her body parts as delicately as possible and give her a sponge bath. How she wished she could take Kyra to the washroom and put her under the running tap water! That may give her a new leash of life, she would often think to herself.
Well she had always been talking and thinking to herself for thirteen long years, even though Dinesh had been in the house, but from the day before, his physical presence was also gone. He had broken himself free from the rigmarole of this monotonous life, leaving his wife and bed ridden daughter, to start life afresh at 44 with another lady.
Suddenly Kyra’s rasping groans drew Gauri’s attentions, she needed to defecate. It was a more difficult task. Kyra groaned with pain as Gauri gently lifted her buttocks to push the bed pan. The groans continued till the full exercise was over and intensified while Gauri removed the bed pan after thoroughly washing her.
While most girls of her age enjoyed every moment of their blooming life, poor Kyra lay here like a dead corpse. Dinesh‘s judgement, though mute, declared Gauri as the perpetrator for this situation of their daughter.
How did all this happen? Kyra didn’t come to the world like this. She came in as a most beautiful angel, born to Gauri and Dinesh three years after their marriage. She looked very pretty. The couple had decided to name their first child as Kyra if it would be a daughter or Krish if it was a son. That is how they christened their baby girl, Kyra.
Life went on smoothly. Gauri, a loving housewife would get ready with her husband’s breakfast by eight everyday and also his lunch box, before he waved her bye at quater to nine. Evenings were spent with ecstasy, either with outings or with a cozy cuddle in front of the television watching some movie or game. Then one day destiny played a cruel game on this household.
It was a cool Thursday afternoon in the month of November. Kyra had been a bit cranky from morning due to a blocked nose and slight temperature and wouldn’t let Gauri move from her side. Gauri had just put two year old Kyra to sleep on a mat in the drawing room.
Snatching this moment, Gauri slowly let go the tiny fingers of Kyra that were holding to her sari pallu and hurried into the kitchen. The vessels needed to be washed, some porridge prepared for Kyra. Gauri had found no time to prepare lunch, but it is ok she was the only person now at home to have lunch. ‘Can manage with some salad and some leftover of yesterday’s dinner,’ she sighed. Her husband Dinesh had left in the morning after having breakfast. Since Kyra had been sick, he decided against carrying lunch today, as he usually did. Gauri was too engrossed in handling the child; he saw that and out of consideration decided to have lunch in the office.
After having done with the utensils and cooking porridge for Kyra, Gauri was busy rinsing Kyra’s milk bottle to be sterilized in the hot water that was kept for boiling in the gas. Suddenly she heard a kind of uneasy thud. Turning back, she was horrified not to find her baby on the mat and then on an instinct her eyes moved towards the verandah and she froze. Gauri was not sure at what point Kyra decided to get up and instead of coming towards the kitchen looking out for her mother, walk straight to the balcony. The wall in the balcony of their house had a rectangle hole somewhere in the middle of the wall. The child may have play fully placed one of her foot on it to clamber and have a look at the world outside below their first floor balcony.
What followed was more like a dream. Gauri had almost fainted realizing that her baby girl had fallen off the balcony. She was woken up to be confronted by a visibly upset Dinesh, who had been informed by the neighbours. It was a hospital room and pat next to her cot was Kyra with as many as five doctors frantically trying to wrap her up with various bandages.
Gauri’s head throbbed as she tried to get up from her bed. Nandita, her immediate neighbor, assisted her to sit up. Gauri wanted to ask so many things to Dinesh, but he had walked out of the room. Not only out of the room, as she discovered later, out of every passion that held them close all these days.
Three people began to stay under one roof as complete strangers. Kyra was rendered immobile. She had multiple bone injuries that were somehow put together in the best way the doctors could do it. They gave life to her, but did not realize that Kyra was now a breathing corpse.
No verbal verdict holding grudge against Gauri or calling it her callousness ever came from Dinesh, but the sort of bitterness in him, the kind of resentment he bore were clearly evident and Gauri knew this would only grow fiercer with time. Gauri realized it would be futile giving him any elucidation. No mother would have made a deliberate attempt to neglect her child. Nothing was going to sound rational at this juncture to Dinesh’s ears.
She resigned to fate, but he was in no way ready to comply. Thus life went on. They lived in the same house, She prepared food as usual, he had it and took his lunch box, would be back home and watch television. On the first of every month he would put an envelope with enough money for Gauri to buy whatever she needed for the house and for Kyra. Sometimes when Kyra had to be given medical assistance, Dinesh would pay more. Not a word was uttered between them. The house had a killing silence for no one spoke.
Kyra’s every need had to be taken care of by Gauri and she single handedly did everything for her daughter. Brushing her teeth, bathing her, carefully handling her each time she had to urinate. Her beddings needed a regular change and sometimes even twice or thrice in a day for despite of Gauri being very particular to help her daughter answer natures call at regular intervals, some time the girl would pass out without realizing it. It was ages since gauri had slept peacefully. She would get up every now and then at night to confirm that Kyra’s bed was dry and then sometimes she got up all of a sudden staring into the dark wondering who would take care of her child when she was no more.
Thoughts clouding her head would never allow her to take a peaceful nap. She saw her daughter growing right in front of her eyes but sans any activity. She had been under the impression all this while that Dinesh still loved Kyra for though Dinesh had somewhat snapped all communications with Gauri, he still walked to Kyra some days and lovingly touch her forehead. He was after all her father, but of late his petulance had been at the zenith. Gauri had been too naïve to catch a signal from his behavioral pattern long before. Gauri caught him very often humming an old Hindi film song and also she noticed that he had started liberally using expensive cologne.
Gauri was his wife and hence this news that Nandita brought to her about this extra marital affair that Dinesh was having with his secretary, should have shattered her, but strangely this news failed to ignite her emotions. Only those emotions can be ignited that has some fuel in it, her emotions had died along with the fall of her baby.
Well it wasn’t long after Nandita had conveyed this news that one fine day, that was the day before, Dinesh broke a decade and three years silence to tell her that he was walking out of the house and gave her some papers assuring that enough money had been deposited in her name to support herself and Kyra and if need arose he would send more. At 44, her husband seemed to be harboring no guilt for having walked out of an eighteen year old marriage, leaving an invalid daughter and a wife behind. It never seemed to occur to him that the catastrophe that had befallen their kid was not a result of deliberate negligence on the part of his wife. That she was going through hell after that day and needed emotional and moral support.
However Gauri did not shed a single tear in self pity, she loathed that. The heart shattering news that her spouse had left her for good in fact seemed very miniscule compared to what the doctor had to say about her reports day before yesterday. She had kept Nandita home with Kyra and gone to visit a gynaecologist to consult about her excessive bleeding. A series of test later, the doctor confirmed that she has developed ovarian cancer and needed to be operated upon at the earliest possible date, failing which might result in fatal conditions.
Gauri could only smile sadly at this. Even in her weirdest of dream she couldn’t think of any treatment to her body that would keep her confined to the bed even if it was for a while. ‘Who would care for her child?’
Back home from the hospital, Gauri had refrained from telling Nandita bout what the doctor had diagnosed. “Some pills that is all, I should be fine. Thanks for being so helpful” she had given an insipid sermon.
When it rains it pours!!! That is how Gauri looked at it when the following day she heard about Dinesh‘s decision to walk out of her life permanently.
Gauri was not the kind of person to shrink in self pity, but anyone with an iron resolution would also melt under this circumstance. A teenage lifeless bedridden girl, an ovarian cancer and a life of a destitute!!! For the first time in thirteen years, with a fury that could not be defined, gauri screamed and let her tears flow, till she could cry no more. Sensing the frightened look on Kyra’s face, Gauri composed herself and stretched out her hands to check if Kyra had wetted the bed. ‘Oops she had.’ Slowly Gauri turned her to the side even as a she screamed in pain. Her body had become immune to painkillers.
Then in a flash of a moment Gauri was horrified to see a pool of blood under her daughter. Impulsively her hands reached out to the phone to dial the doctor’s number but her motherly instinct got the better of everything and she suddenly realized that her girl who had turned fifteen yesterday had come to age. These blood strains were the outcome of her having attained puberty. Gauri’s head began spinning in circles. Something that she had never mentally prepared herself for had happened without any intuition whatsoever.
With tears in her eyes she went on with the cleansing activity, dressed up her daughter with the necessary padding and sat beside her exhausted to the core. She did not know for how long she sat there, or had she gone into a trance? She was suddenly woken up by the groans of her daughter. Experience had taught Gauri to differentiate the needs that her daughter’s grunting conveyed. Kyra was hungry now. Gauri slowly got up with determination.
Bitterness ran through her face as she looked up at the place in her house where the deities were kept. It seemed to her that they were all mocking at her misfortune. ‘For years together you all have been a mute witness to my fate,’ she thought. In a flash of a moment she embraced her instincts and removed all the pills from her daughter’s medicine box. Then she added the ones doctor had given her the day before. In a jiffy she grounded them into a nice powder in the mixer, while the milk cooker hissed proclaiming it having reached the boiling point.
Gauri was aware that a couple of eyes followed her through this exercise, but she did not let herself turn back to look at those eyes. Her resolution might dilute if she happened to face them. She mixed the powder to the milk and stirred it well to make it a neat homogeneous mixture.
For the last time she gave a loving hug to her daughter and surprisingly Kyra showed no signs of pain. She sat through the time her mother poured the milk into her mouth. She drank it as if this was the first time milk tasted so well. Gauri slowly helped her to lie down. Then sitting beside her as she held her mother’s sari, Gauri consumed every drop of the remaining white fluid.
Putting her head on the pillow next to Kyra, Gauri laid herself down side ways resting her hands on her daughter. ‘God,’ she prayed, ‘you may have brought me to this world. You may have made my life a mixed bag of happiness and adversity, with the later weighing more. So heavy had the burden become that I really did not think it worthwhile to beg you for solace. Defying you God, I have written the time of mine and my daughter’s death myself. Pardon me for this audacity.’
The mother and daughter then closed their eyes never to open it again!!!
The Sun rose as usual the following day and fell on the glass panes of the draped window, making an abortive effort in waking up Gauri and Kyra. They lay their unstirred, invulnerable to its warmth. Their souls had left long before in search of a place beyond this window, somewhere far away to a place with much brightness!
Short Story 2017 Shortlist Sudeepto Mishra
A Walk of Two Miles
At night, the streets in a metro city claim to have a colourful and lively fragrance. This picture painted in my mind made me to take a walk at night. I was passing those days with a fear of failure and diseased life. I was not living to the fullest but my pulses were normal. I was a bit fragmented and fickle at the same time.
While cutting off the busiest lanes of the city, I found a road with a totally weird and different smell. I changed my track and started walking in that direction. First I had a look over a bunch of fellows inhaling smokes, making fun of current politics and bluffing to their utmost limits. I suppose they were at their middle ages working 9 to 5 in reputed conglomerates, trying to exhale their frustrations. The corporate world from the outside looks much glittered but deep inside the fact is quiet pale, full of dark and dirty politics. I had nothing to do with these contemporary job environments, but still few of my friends are over enthusiastic to pass such information down all the way to this self-employed me. Surpassing the cancer prone hub, I was feeling lucky to be me.
Few steps ahead, was a person lying abandoned at the left flank of the road. A yellow shade street light was flickering over the spot making it kind of spooky. I came near to see his lids closed and few flies fizzing over his face as if the person is dead. To check I looked below to the stomach and thankfully it showed wavy movements. What a city it was, where people fall asleep on the road, may be due to drugs or might be for eternity. God knows what the case was but the better option was to move on.
Ignoring the frame I kept heading to find an end to this. But after few foot I got hold of folks swigging bottles of golden liquid. A stack of liquor counters situated there engulfing packs of personalities to give them the so called peace. Peace itself is a very dilemmatic word. People thriving to have it never get a glimpse but the people with no idea of the correct definition of it are keeping it in their pockets. Such world of wonders it is! I felt a bit luckier to not get tangled to the so called peace.
Holding few glimpses, I walked along; the boundaries were getting closer and few girls sitting like a flock of sheep obeying their fat surrogate mother were ready to please and satisfy the bullish youth. Their seductive charm made the roads indeed very colourful but ultimately they also had left many cries behind them to gain these stances. Men going to weaken their testosterone bursts and coming out lazy with tousled hair clarified what all was happening inside the house. Still feeling luckier, I moved on to find something normal to my streets.
However, I found the elongated barks of the stray dogs trying to protect their realm from unwanted visitors. It was a bit normal and was also scary as I had to cross those untamed garbage eaters. I slowly crossed them without making any eye contact like a guilty child leaving the class of his over annoyed teacher.
Finally the smell ended to a high way. The walk of two miles was over. I was feeling well to see myself in a good condition compared to all of them. My fear of having a bad fate was gone. I was relieved and headed home to rest my ankles.
Some of you might be thinking that I am just a boring and unfunny virgin moving around the streets of a metro but literally I am not. I was stuck to the negative hooks of failure and dissatisfaction. But this gave me a better perspective to see life. Life is what we make it and that’s what I am doing right now. A short walk making me realize about my satisfied life now feels as it was of miles, which taught me life.
At night, the streets in a metro city claim to have a colourful and lively fragrance. This picture painted in my mind made me to take a walk at night. I was passing those days with a fear of failure and diseased life. I was not living to the fullest but my pulses were normal. I was a bit fragmented and fickle at the same time.
While cutting off the busiest lanes of the city, I found a road with a totally weird and different smell. I changed my track and started walking in that direction. First I had a look over a bunch of fellows inhaling smokes, making fun of current politics and bluffing to their utmost limits. I suppose they were at their middle ages working 9 to 5 in reputed conglomerates, trying to exhale their frustrations. The corporate world from the outside looks much glittered but deep inside the fact is quiet pale, full of dark and dirty politics. I had nothing to do with these contemporary job environments, but still few of my friends are over enthusiastic to pass such information down all the way to this self-employed me. Surpassing the cancer prone hub, I was feeling lucky to be me.
Few steps ahead, was a person lying abandoned at the left flank of the road. A yellow shade street light was flickering over the spot making it kind of spooky. I came near to see his lids closed and few flies fizzing over his face as if the person is dead. To check I looked below to the stomach and thankfully it showed wavy movements. What a city it was, where people fall asleep on the road, may be due to drugs or might be for eternity. God knows what the case was but the better option was to move on.
Ignoring the frame I kept heading to find an end to this. But after few foot I got hold of folks swigging bottles of golden liquid. A stack of liquor counters situated there engulfing packs of personalities to give them the so called peace. Peace itself is a very dilemmatic word. People thriving to have it never get a glimpse but the people with no idea of the correct definition of it are keeping it in their pockets. Such world of wonders it is! I felt a bit luckier to not get tangled to the so called peace.
Holding few glimpses, I walked along; the boundaries were getting closer and few girls sitting like a flock of sheep obeying their fat surrogate mother were ready to please and satisfy the bullish youth. Their seductive charm made the roads indeed very colourful but ultimately they also had left many cries behind them to gain these stances. Men going to weaken their testosterone bursts and coming out lazy with tousled hair clarified what all was happening inside the house. Still feeling luckier, I moved on to find something normal to my streets.
However, I found the elongated barks of the stray dogs trying to protect their realm from unwanted visitors. It was a bit normal and was also scary as I had to cross those untamed garbage eaters. I slowly crossed them without making any eye contact like a guilty child leaving the class of his over annoyed teacher.
Finally the smell ended to a high way. The walk of two miles was over. I was feeling well to see myself in a good condition compared to all of them. My fear of having a bad fate was gone. I was relieved and headed home to rest my ankles.
Some of you might be thinking that I am just a boring and unfunny virgin moving around the streets of a metro but literally I am not. I was stuck to the negative hooks of failure and dissatisfaction. But this gave me a better perspective to see life. Life is what we make it and that’s what I am doing right now. A short walk making me realize about my satisfied life now feels as it was of miles, which taught me life.
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