Thursday, October 30, 2008 | | 0 comments

Short Story - The Two Magical Powers

Short Story - The Two Magical Powers

Short StoryThere lived a man by the name of Aloptin in a small village in a far away land. The village was unlike any we know. It was an enchanted village.

Many years ago when Aloptin was a boy, there was a severe storm in his village. The homes of the villagers were destroyed by the storm. Aloptin’s home was also destroyed. Their crops were destroyed. Their food stock was depleted within a few days and the villagers had nothing to eat.

And an old man with a beard touching the ground appeared in the village. All the villagers flocked to see him.

And they came to know that the old man was a magician – a magician of great power.

And he told the villagers that he would give them a magical power but they had to choose only one among the two options he would grant them.

The first option was that he would give them some seeds and everyday they would have to plant them in the field and in the evening their crops would become ripe. They could eat them but the next morning they would have to plant them again.

The second option was that whatever they would wish would become true. However, he warned them that they would never ask for a girl or a women otherwise their whole village would become dark and they could only open their eyes at midnight and that too for a few moments only. And they would never die but their life itself would become a torment to them.

Hearing this all the villagers asked the great magician to grant them the first wish. However, Aloptin and some other boys and a few girls did not consent to this. They wanted the second option.

And their grew a loud noise. The villagers began to quarrel among themselves.

And the old man raised his voice in a prophetic manner and ordered them to be silent. He commanded them to divide themselves into two groups.

And the people did as he said. Those who wanted the seeds parted themselves from their fellows.

Then the magician gave them what they asked for and he disappeared.

Aloptin and his friends scolded the other villagers and said them that they were foolish to miss such an opportunity.

And Aloptin and his friends got what they wished for – rare wines and nuts, precious cloths and gems, the best ornaments and perfumes and numerous other things. However, as time passed by they became lazy and decadent and they wished for the forbidden thing. And one day Aloptin conjured a damsel of heavenly beauty and slept with her. His friends also did the same.
But as the sun rose the next morning, Aloptin and his friends were unable to open their eyes and the part of the village where they resided turned dark.

The other villagers cried and cried, and they prayed to their God, and they offered incense to their God but nothing changed the situation.

Still today after many generations had passed by, Aloptin and his friends suffered for their lust.

Short story written by Parvez Ahmed on the 29th of October, 2008. The painting in the short story is painted by Henri Fantin-Latour.

Monday, October 27, 2008 | | 0 comments

Short Story - Huts and Skyscrapers

He built towering skyscrapers. A dozen or so belonged to his mighty empire. He had money, a sea of it. He had the most beautiful wife in the world – the haughty crown of a gold statue. He had children, healthy and hearty. He had friends, thousands of them, clad in money, guilt and vanity and the whole world of things good, bad and useless and useful and dirty and nice and magical and simple.

Everyday he went to bed at midnight but his sleep came to him nearly in the morning.

A few miles away from that towering symbol of success, lived a poor rickshaw puller. He could not afford his meals daily. He had no wife. He had no children. He had no friends. He had no money. He had no suits. He had no house. He slept on the footpath but his sleep came to him the moment he closed his eyes daily.

Written by Parvez Ahmed on the 28th of October, 2008. The portrait was painted by Rembrandt Harmensz van Rijn.

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Short Story - The Lion and the Rabbit

Deep inside a dense jungle, a lion sat waiting for food. It was a week since he had anything. Now, today, it is a matter of life and death for him. The churning shrieks of his hungry stomach – he could bear no more.

And in that same jungle, a rabbit was running with the last few bits of energy in his body. The recent drought had gulped the rabbit’s food in the jungle and everyday he had to travel for miles to feed himself. Death lurked in the shadows of the trees and in each step he took but still, he could not stop. There is only one choice for him – either to face death or to die.

From morning till noon, and from noon to afternoon, and from afternoon to the time when the sky in the west became red, the lion kept on waiting for his food – for a prey – for a glimpse to the jewel of life – blood, and the hungry pangs of his stomach were unbearable – the pain of hunger – the pain of life – the pain of death; and the rabbit, his strides now were very slow due to the injury in his foot he got in the noon. His body felt like a mountain to him and the way in front – an open door into an empty interior.

And fate – the cruel, crooked, wicked witch flourished its merciless fingers. The rabbit was now in front of the lion.

Written by Parvez Ahmed on the 27th of October, 2008. 'The Lion with the Rabbit' is a painting by Eugene Delacroix.

Saturday, October 25, 2008 | | 0 comments

The Birth of the Boy and the Death of the Rose


A child is born.
A rosebud comes out.

The child becomes a boy.
The rose now is rich in color.

The boy goes to school.
The rose becomes scented.

The boy sees a rosebud in his class.
The rose now is rotted.

Written by Parvez Ahmed on the 25th of October, 2008. The Girl with a Pearl Earring (1665) is a Portrait by Johannes Vermeer.

Friday, October 24, 2008 | | 0 comments

Short Story - The Boy and the Apple

A poor boy who lived in Hailakandi worked at the house of a minister.

One day while sweeping the floors of the minister’s house, the poor boy saw the son of the minister eating an apple. Now, the rich color of the apple brought water in his mouth and he craved for a piece of it.

Instead of asking the minister’s son for the apple, the poor boy closed his eyes and imagined himself in an apple orchard. Then he plucked one of the best apples from the orchard and ate it. After that, he opened his eyes. He was contented and happy.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008 | | 2 comments

Short Story – Aren’t We All Collecting Dry Twigs and Leaves?

An old man who used to live in a small village of India had a fanatic obsession for collecting dry twigs and leaves. The whole day he would wander about the village and collect the dry twigs and leaves that had fallen from the trees. By evening when his jute bag, which he carried on his shoulders, would become full and he would proceed towards the river that flowed through the village. Then he would empty his jute bag in the river.

This procedure he carried on daily without fail. The people of the village tagged him as inane and they neither advised him nor obstructed him in his activity.

However, one day when the old man was emptying his bag in the river a young boy saw him. He became curious about it and could not understand why the old man emptied his bag full of dry twigs and leaves into the river. For him it was a useless thing.

The boy decided to follow the old man.

The young boy quietly followed the old man and he saw the same thing daily – the old man would collect the dry twigs and leaves and in the evening would all throw them into the river.

On the seventh evening of his pursuit of the old man the boy could no longer hold himself and as the old man was just about to empty his sack in the river, the boy asked him in a somewhat irritating voice, ‘What is this madness, that you pursue daily? Why? Can’t you do any fruitful work?’

And the old man looked towards the boy, gave a small smile and returned to his work of emptying the sack.

The boy repeated his question.

The old man, now, had finished his work but he sat still looking at the water carrying away his twigs and leaves without replying to the boy.

And again the boy repeated his question, this time his voice being more louder.

The old man stood up, stared at the boy and began to laugh so loudly that the boy became afraid. But, after a moment he regained his usual composure and laying his hands on the boy’s shoulders said to him, ‘Son, what other than this are the people of the world doing? Aren’t they all collecting dry twigs and dry leaves?’

Written by Parvez Ahmed on the 18th of October, 2008.

Thursday, October 16, 2008 | | 0 comments

Short Story - The Mad Man and His Shadow

And he jumped to the right, stopped and looked downwards. No, it was still with him. This was maddening. He had been trying for hours now, to get rid of the strange anomaly that was following him but it was adamant, it followed him wherever he went.

He was exhausted and he decided to surrender to it.

‘Vile wretch – you will not let me live in peace – you will follow me wherever I go and vex me with your presence,’ this he declared to his adversary and then he sat there, the mad man in a corner outside his small hut and he fell asleep.

And when night arrived, he woke up. Suddenly he was exalted, the persistence nagger – it was there no more in the darkness and he was now free.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008 | | 0 comments

The Branch That Parted the Tree

In a garden of a certain king was a huge mango tree. People from far and wide who came to visit the king was awestruck by the size of the tree. They praised it for the giant shade it provided for them.

The tree however remained humble and it never boasted of it in front of her smaller counterparts in the garden.

And it came to happen that one of the branches of that tree seeing the enormous fame of her mother decided to separate itself from her.

The mother and the sisters of the branch tried to stop it from going away but in vain.

And the branch separated itself from her mother and rooted herself at a distance in front of her mother thinking that visitors would praise her and forget about the tree in the back.

A few months later, a horrible drought took place in that kingdom. Plants and animals were hit hard by it.

And the branch that parted itself from her mother could no longer sustain herself and the scorching sun and the lack of even the tiniest drop of water ended her life.

Her mother and her sisters survived the drought but it was very painful for them to see the demise of the branch.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008 | | 0 comments

In The Faint Rays Of A Cold Moon

She was in the kitchen stirring the custard in a pan. It was for her 14-year-old womb’s fruit.

He adored his mother. Now, he comes near her.

She fondled his hair with her free hand.

He embraces her. He is his mother’s only child. The lone child of a divorced wife.

The cold night of a cold moon arrived. Mother and child both contented and happy, went to their bed. Quickly, they fall asleep.

After about an hour and a half of sleep, the boy had a dream.

And the dream was such -

He was sitting by the side of an ethereal stream. It was running down from a hill with vivacious and joyful sounds. Behind his back was a garden – a garden of rich colors. It was unlike any on earth.

And from the stream emerged a beauteous lady. She had a golden crown on her head. She was a queen. But her face was veiled with a thin silken screen with sharp symbols drawn on it.

And she walked to the garden. She plucked a heap of flowers. Then she came near him and kissed him on his lips.

He was warmed by the kiss. A kind of joy unknown to him ran through his veins.

And the queen made a bed with the flowers. They lay down on it – she on top of him.

Her eyes, as they met his, made him more joyous. They were so beautiful. But her face, he could not see nor did she removed her veil.

And when he tried to remove her veil, she stopped him. Then she gave him another kiss which filled him with more warmth.

Then she laid bare her breasts. The were small, supple and erect. She took them near to his mouth. He sucked her nipples. She made some ecstatic sounds which filled him with all the more warmth.

And when it was morning, she left him weak and starved. But as she was leaving him, her silken veil fell and the Queen was his…

At this moment, the boy’s sleep was broken. His body was very cold. The blanket that he and his mother wore had fallen down from their bodies. As he was putting on the blanket over her body, his eyes fell on her naked bosom. The strings of her nightgown had opened in her sleep. She was beautiful in the faint rays of the cold moon.

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An Epic Quarrel Between Two Varieties of Rice

December 30, 2008 | 9.15 AM IST | Version 1.0

Short Story - An Epic Quarrel Between Two Varieties of Rice

There, in an obscured corner of India called Nitainagar, lay a small paddy field. Two varieties of rice – softly shook their golden stalks to the sway of a gentle wind.

Everything was peaceful until one afternoon, a few weeks before harvest-time, when the thin-scented variety of rice began to shake their stalks with a proud and lofty sway. Now, this caught the attention of the other group of rice – the sticky variety of rice.

The sticky ones could no longer withstand the pride displayed by the thin-scented ones and they shouted to their counterparts, ‘Hey – you weak and of the smelling kind – what is that makes you so restless?’

Highly annoyed by the vulgar remark, the thin-scented rice plants replied, ‘Ha – you – ha – offspring of filth – of the nose-less kind! What do you know of smell – the heavenly aromatic smell?’

The war of words started. It continued for quite a while when a group of returning sparrows overheard the ongoing skirmish and their leader halted the flock. He whispered something into their ears.

And the leader of the sparrows with all his folks advanced towards the paddy field.

Seeing the sparrows arriving, the rice plants stopped their quarrel.

‘Friends – mates – why – what’s the matter?’ The leader of the sparrows asked the rice plants with a childlike simplicity and friendliness.

‘Matter – what’s the matter – ask them – the nose-less kind!’ The thin-scented rice plants replied to the leader of the sparrows.

‘Weaklings - they are – they are weaklings. See their husks – they have got no shine on them,’ the sticky ones shouted loudly.

‘Friends – mates – wait a little. Everything shall be decided now and here. Why not let my fellows decide who among you is more better? By tasting a little of your-’ at this point the leader of the sparrow’s mouth watered but he continued, ‘yes, by tasting a few grains, we can decide it all. So, are you ready?’

The thin-scented rice plants looked towards their sticky counterparts with a disdainful stare and gave the nod of affirmation to the leader of the sparrows. The sticky ones followed suit.

And the leader of the sparrows could no longer resist the open-invitation. He jumped at once with his kind and ate some of the grains from a few thin-scented rice plants with a greedy relish. Then he did the same from a few of the sticky variety of rice-plants.

And after a long breath he declared, ‘Our friends, the thin-scented ones prove to be of worthier ancestry and are better than our sticky friends.’

The other sparrows assented to his declaration.

At this declaration, there arose clamorous cries and abuses and the war once again started after the momentary peace.

Once more, the leader of the sparrows was heard speaking with his thin, shrill and high-pitched voice, “Wait – my friends – wait – don’t quarrel. We have only tasted a few grains. Maybe the other ones prove to be entirely different.’

The rice plants once more assented to his plan.

In this way the sparrows continued, sometimes declaring the thin-scented rice plants the winner and sometimes the sticky ones when a fresh spate of quarrelling would start once more and they would again taste a few more grains in the pretense of solving the problem.

And when it was dark, there was not a single grain of paddy left on the field except the empty stalks. The sparrows were nowhere near the field now, only the cries and shrieks of the rice plants prevailed over the melancholy atmosphere, and pain with darkness made it more painful.

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Version 0.1

Short Story - An Epic Quarrel Between Two Varieties of Rice

There, in an obscured corner of India, called Nitainagar, lay a small paddy field. Two varieties of rice – softly shook their golden stalks to the sway of a gentle wind.

Everything was peaceful, until one afternoon, a few weeks before harvest-time, when the thin-scented variety of rice began to shake their stalks with a proud and lofty sway. Now, this caught the attention of the other group of rice – the sticky variety of rice.

The sticky ones could no longer withstand the pride displayed by the thin-scented ones and they shouted to their counterparts, ‘Hey – you weak and of the smelling kind – what is that makes you so restless?’

Highly annoyed by the vulgar remark, the thin-scented rice plants replied, ‘Ha – you – ha – offspring of filth – of the nose-less kind! What do you know of smell – the heavenly aromatic smell?’

The war of words started. It continued for quite a while when a group of returning sparrows overheard the ongoing skirmish and their leader halted the group. he whispered something into their ears.

And the leader of the sparrows with all his folks advanced towards the paddy field.

Seeing the sparrows arriving, the rice plants stopped their quarrel.

‘Friends – mates – why – what’s the matter?’ The leader of the sparrows asked the rice plants with a childlike simplicity and friendliness.

‘Matter – what’s the matter – ask them – the nose-less kind!’ The thin-scented rice plants replied to the leader of the sparrow.

‘Weaklings - they are – they are weaklings. See their husks – they have got no shine on them,’ the sticky ones shouted loudly.

‘Friends – mates – wait a little. Everything shall be decided now and here. Why not let my fellows decide who among you is more better? By tasting a little of your-’ at this point the leader of the sparrow’s mouth watered but he continued, ‘yes, by tasting a few grains, we can decide it all. So, are you ready?’

The thin-scented rice plants looked towards their sticky counterparts with a disdainful stare and gave the nod of affirmation to the leader of the sparrows. The sticky ones followed suit.

And the leader of the sparrows could no longer resist the open-invitation. He jumped at once with his kind and ate some of the grains from a few thin-scented rice plants with a greedy relish. Then he did the same from a few of the sticky variety of rice-plants.

And after a long breath he declared, ‘Our friends, the thin-scented ones prove to be of worthier ancestry and are better than our sticky friends.’

The other sparrows assented to his declaration.

There was an outbreak of clamorous cries and abuses and the war once again started after the momentary peace.

Once more, the leader of the sparrows was heard speaking with his thin, shrill and high-pitched voice, “Wait – my friends – wait – don’t quarrel. We have only tasted a few grains. Maybe the other ones prove to be entirely different.’

The rice plants once more assented to his plan.

In this way the sparrows continued, sometimes declaring the thin-scented rice plants the winner and sometimes the sticky ones, when a fresh spate of quarreling would start once more and they would again taste a few more grains in the pretense of solving the problem.

And when it was dark, there was not a single grain of paddy left on the field except the empty stalks. The sparrows were nowhere near the field now, only the cries and shrieks of the rice plants prevailed over the melancholy atmosphere, and pain with darkness made it more painful.

Sunday, October 12, 2008 | | 0 comments

The String Broken

And so he started on his way. The soles of his feet were paining. Life seemed miserable. His whole body was throbbing. There was now no point in existence. Everything was bleak. The sun-rays totally blinded him. The air felt obnoxious. The trees felt like demons stretching out to devour.

However, he continued on his way, now, speeding up more. The boys playing cricket seemed like a horde of hellish beasts squabbling over something.

At last, he came to his destination. He was one step from his goal. He stepped forward but immediately retracted his feet. He looked towards the sky. With a feeling of disgust he looked down. Then again he stepped forward but again he pulled it back. He looked back. No, there was nobody. He became mad. Why was he not able to take the plunge to oblivion? Was somebody pulling him? No. Then what was it. He was puzzled. Again he stepped forward but no this time nobody pulled him back. He was falling at free-fall speed.

Oh! the pain - the heart rending urge - the urge for life. But no, there's no chance now. The bullet that leaves the gun cannot be back. The words that leave the mouth cannot be back. The bubbles that burst cannot become bubbles again. Life once lost can never return.

He crashed down at a spot below three-hundred feet from where he took the plunge. He was a heap of malformed mass - a distorted design of drippy sentiments.

Sunday, October 5, 2008 | | 0 comments

The Bird and the Bough

It was a dark and rainy night. Near the grand mansion of a very rich man was a mango tree. The tree was not inside his mansion but it lay opposite the road. An ailing and aged bird just somehow managed itself between a bough of the tree.

However, as the night grew more darker and lonelier, and the storm more ferocious and hostile, the bough seemed to offer little protection to the ailing bird. Raindrops attacked her from all sides at a blistering pace. Still, she bore the pain and once more hid her shivering body in her all-the-more shivering wings.

She would not leave the bough's shelter. For in the small depression of it, she spent her childhood with her brothers. They may have died but their paining-sweet memories remained. She raised her children in the same depression when their wings were but small and fragile, and they could not fly. How could she forget those moments when in the evening she fed them looking at their twinkling eyes though she herself sometimes remained hungry? Alas - those dreams she nourished had flowered... Though they left her and now maybe lying in the wings of their sweethearts with no memory or thought of her but still she cherished those moments - she is a mother!

But nature, its code unlikely to be deciphered or understood, with one violent sweep of the storm broke that bough, and now that mother - she lay in a puddle beneath the tree. For a brief moment she fluttered her wings but her counted seconds now were few, and a thunder that roared and shook the seven firmaments closed her tragical book for ever!