“Baba what is this?”
asked Leena as she peered into the glass case. What she saw made her gasp in
delight and an inexplicable itch began in her hand, one of wanting to possess
Leena’s father hushed
his voice and said, “That Leena is what our ancestors used to call a book.
People used to read it to gain knowledge.”
The camp was in a
tense silence as the king lay on his deathbed, bleeding, injured by the cunning
of the enemy. The queen sat next to him, holding his hand and repeating, almost
like a song that she loved him, she would be okay once he left and that he
could let go.
Deciding to drag him away
Beaten to teach him a lesson
Humiliated to teach one to the others
The man had become a public spectacle.
As if that weren’t enough
He was then sentenced to a beheading
Among screams of approval
The people’s bloodlust crying for satiation.
A bustling street with
houses on both sides. People selling wares, people screaming instructions and
gossip over balconies, leaning precariously out, not a care in the world. The
riot of noises, colours and smells would make any human not of this street swoon.
But not the residents. They thrived in the multitudinous miasma that comprised
the Suli street.
Tired of all the animosities, atrocities and the rampant intolerances advocated by the crown, Prachulakta decided to renounce his queen. It was an unprecedented move and nobody knew how to deal with such lunacy. The queen’s advisors tried to charge him with treason but the man was such an eloquent orator, and his advocacy was generating such heat, the queen decided it was in her interest to let the man go. She was sure he wouldn’t find shelter or food and would come back running. After that she didn’t intend to have him beheaded for his crimes but turned into an ambassador for her, and her benevolence. The plan…was perfect.
Once upon a time lived two boys – Ram and Shyam – who
were the best of friends. They had the entire forest as their playground and a
sprawling mansion with a white façade as their home. Days were spent in teasing
out the secrets of the forest, writing songs in praise of a flower, or beast,
or the cackling stream and nights were spent under the blanket of the stars, as
the cool breeze lulled them to sleep.
With bells on her
feet, hair soft like summer rain, the Goddess of Sea was not a goddess today
but a mother as she prepared a feast for her son, one last time.
From the shores he
came, carrying with him a most gorgeous necklace of moonbeams and dew drops
from the land he called home. A fitting offering for a mother who could be
still like only water could be.
feared had finally come to pass – the legend that earth would overturn the
dominance of the human race had come true.
Jadugar, jadugar kya hai aapke pitare mein?
Bhandar hai chamatkaro ka, ao dikhata hoon.
Ek ungli, do ungli, teen ungli,
Dekhte raho ungliyo ko
Kahin gayab na ho jaye
Arey dekho ek gayi jeb mein
Doosri kha gaya sher
Teesri maang li bache ne pakadne ko
Dekha nahin ungliyo ko theek se aapne
Lo saari gayab ho gayi.
The atmosphere was
intense. Even nature outside could sense it because it had abruptly gone dark
with a sudden influx of clouds and strong winds. Dressed in black velvet from
head to toe with a bright pink bowtie and a monocle that made him look at once
like a clown for he had unusually pale skin and a wealthy merchant, Mr.
Inktoop’s face gave nothing away as he sat still, fingers steepled on the
table, looking at his opponent attentively.