It was a beautiful morning on the Himalayan mountains. The sun was on it’s zenith and so there were hardly any chances of hailstorm; that was predicted by the monks of the nearby temple. I had decided to take my flock of sheep to the far side of the local stream. The trip was bound to discover some new dwellings out of this expedition. On my way to the obscure destination, I met Ali, a villager and an acquaintance. He said,” Aren’t you afraid of the monks deterrent?” “I better be a cur. “, I replied. I had failed to understand who provided the monk with that hoax premonition, but a few drifts of the sun supplied me with the answer.
When I approached the grazing area, the trip broke out into the unfortunate woods. I sat under the shed of one of the trees to enjoy the show of those animals merrily destroying the trees accompanied by the view of seven, lush green hills. The camphoraceous smell of the trees was enough to bring me to sleep. However, I was awaken by yet another smell but this time, not of trees but of a cancerous seed that was germinating someplace close. On the top of one of the seven hills, a grey coloured cloud was condensing, gradually. I think the monk was right. The only unusual part about that host of grey smoke was that it’s origin from the earth was visible from my mortal eyes. I escorted the flock home and planned an expedition to that unholy hill after lunch.
It took me about an hour to reach my destination and this time a specified one. With every step of mine, the smoke of negative vibes grew denser. When I had reached the top, I noticed dark, brown coloured, movable dwellings, ones which almost matched the colour of the soil. I felt presence of certain people nearby. As precaution, i hid behind a tree nearby the base camp. Few men wearing khaki clothes appeared in the scene but i wasn’t familiar with that khaki dress. Sooner or later, their actions and language presented me with an excerpt of the situation and now i could tell the whole story to the police. “Hailstones! Hailstones!”, I shouted on the way back to the village. The army men unexpectedly took action with arbitrary of my narration. No sooner did I tell the officer about the same, than the contingent of army men was bound to the hill top. The quondam echoes of gun shots had soon manipulated the ears of villagers and thus began the bloodiest war of the India subcontinent region.
A try to narrate the good and the evil in the hour glass of a rape victim.
With her wrist attaining the warmth from a holy presence, a smile on her face and her beautiful red dress fluttering on the beach side, she said,”Yes.”
Few moments later, they both found themselves sitting on their strandkorbs, surrounded by sun, sand, sea and silence. This silence was different from the one that had occupied this propitious woman seven years. The phase of seven years back was indelible from the story of her life.
She was sitting on a bench, trying to find her fault, regretting about the sin she had committed by getting out of her house at that devilish hour. The new moon was the only witness of her innocence and the midnight wolf the witness of her humid lashes. The devils had been assassinated but their felony had dismantled that maidens hour glass forever. Unexpectedly, an arm started to linger over her right shoulder but something more mysterious about that touch was the presence of positive vibes in it. ” Who is this garbage man who has dared to touch this corpse?”, she thought. When she turned, she smoked out a young man with black coloured spectacles and a pleasant look on his face. She had almost thought of stretching her hand at him but a connection with the wisp of the cold winter breeze brought her back to senses and prevailed her from doing so. The boy invited himself to occupy the either side of the bench and said,” The newspaper has provided with all the miseries of your life but I want to feel them from your words.” These words from an unexpected stranger were enough to provoke her from spilling all that she had preserved for centuries. Resolutions were taken, thoughts were imparted and while he was on the periphery of leaving her with a smile, she provided him with a key to her life, her number.
She blew out of water when she discovered herself on that beach side with morning sunshine pouring on her eyes and all this was accompanied by the rhymes of the sweetest voice saying,” Wake Up! Wake Up!, We have a long way to go now.”
A micro description of the life of a teacher and her dedication.
She sat down at the edge of the stretched corridor, facing the morning sun on that pale winter morning. She had a lot of unchecked answer scripts waiting upon her to be checked. The sun rays fell on every part of that corridor and then left it vacant. This gradual displacement of the sun made her realise that she needs a break. She kept her work aside and started to fumble through her bag and discovered that she hasn’t brought her lunch that day like most other days. She thought of going to a nearby restaurant rather borrowing food from her acquaintance. She chose a restaurant which was at a walking distance. It took her few minutes to reach the destination. She entered the restaurant and was presented with the menu. The sight of menu always disguised her. She ordered the only thing she could afford at that time and forever; a plain sandwich. She had a craving for a cup of coffee as well but her remuneration prevented her from ordering one. Sitting at the other corner of the restaurant, a young man ceaselessly observed her gestures. He continued his observation and finally gathered up courage and went to her table. “How are you mam? Do you remember me?”, he inquired with curiosity and a smile on his face. She blew out of water at the sight of him but recognised him steadily. “How can I forget my naughtiest student?”, she addressed him with yet another smile. Few minutes of conversation made her realise that her lessons had enlightened the students exactly the way she wanted to. How successful and rich have they all become! A mere thought of this was enough to illuminate her face with a smile on the way back to school. This is how a poor lamenting teacher returned back with a coronet on her head.
Struggle for survival described in perception of a twelve year old.
“For me it was the best of times as well as the worst of it. My mother had died a few days back, for a twelve year old child like me, it was no less than fire dripping over me form every edge of the sky. Not long ago, our country had attained freedom. The Muslim community had decided to form a separate nation. Trains filled with dead bodies of the migrants had become a common sight. There was a continuous fight for survival between both the dominant communities. I being an imprudent child, used to spend my evenings wandering around the Muslim dominant areas of my village. One fine evening while i was journeying through that area, a woman wearing black coloured clothes and a black coloured veil that hardly managed to cover her face, called me. She insisted me to come inside her house, I couldn’t reject her. I started to pray in my head while i followed her from one courtyard to another. Before we reached the destination, i had taken an oath that if I managed to survive that seemingly inevitable death, I was not going to visit that section of the village again. After walking several miles inside her house, we reached a place where lay a pile of expensive household items. She introduced me to all the items and at the end of her speech said that she wanted me to find a person who would buy all that by the next day for she had to vacate the country. I assured her that all her items will be sold before the next morning. I assume that she smiled. I silently wriggled from the scene. Keeping to the words of my oath, i never returned back. “, said the eighty four year old man when his inquisitive grandson had exclaimed that life was boring seventy years back.