Short Story - The Train That Left the Rails

There was a train, which plied between the districts of Hailakandi and Karimganj. It was the only train on that route.

Every morning it would start its journey from Hailakandi and reach Karimganj on the forty-five mile long meter-gauze track, and in the evening, it would return once more to Hailakandi.

The train was bored by the track and the same journey it made on that meter-gauze track daily.

And one night at the Hailakandi Junction when the station was completely deserted, the train decided to get down from the rails and leave the station forever. But as it got down from the rails, it could move no more. There started a terrific pain in its wheels and it started crying and shouting but nobody heard it. The train became senseless after a while.

In the morning when the officials at the junction arrived, they saw the crippled train and were very angry. However, they ordered a new train for the junction.

And still today after the passing of so many years, the crippled train lies where it was – now a box of rust.

Short story written by Parvez Ahmed on October 4, 2008.

Short Story - Sweets for an Angel

It was a market day in the eastern part of the small town of Hailakandi. On both sides of a small road, adorned with potholes of numerous shapes and sizes, and near the aged but, somehow still functioning meter-gauze railway crossing sat numerous traders with a variety of goods, especially, ripe orange colored betel nut.

Everywhere in the villages of Hailakandi, this year the betel palms were full of betel nuts. The villagers were happy with their ripe betel nuts. This year the price was also good and demand for betel nuts was soaring everywhere.

All of the traders had brought their share of betel nuts from the wary villagers after numerous sessions of painstaking negotiations about the price of the nuts except for a few who had employed a method that was a little different from the former one. They stole the betel nuts from the villagers’ homes in the nighttime.

The sun was still a few strides from its home and business was going on at a brisk pace in the quite rudimentary marketplace on both sides of the road on the railway crossing.

At the same time, a few hundred meters away from the market place, in a small hut a tiny girl was crying. She wanted to eat some sweets but her mother had no money to give her. The girl’s father was a rickshaw puller and her mother worked wherever she could find some work. They were very poor and somehow could only manage a single meal daily.

The mother of the child tried to console her but she failed. The girl now started crying vehemently. She was just a small child and like the other children wanted to sweeten her tongue.

The mother of the child was very sorry for her child. She was very sad that being a mother she could not give her child a few sweets. Suddenly, she remembered that she had some betel nuts in her possession. Those, she had received from the house where she had worked the whole day yesterday.

And the mother patted the child and kissed her and consoled her by saying that she would pay her money to buy sweets. The girl was very happy and she became silent.

The mother of the child counted the betel nuts. There were eighteen pieces. She gave the child four betel nuts and told her to sell them at the marketplace and use the money to buy sweets. She also warned her daughter not to accept less than fifty paisa for each betel nut.

And the child went to the marketplace with a bright smile on her face. However, no trader bought her merchandise of four betel nuts. They scolded her and turned her away.

And the girl with tears rolling down on her face started back on her way, when, suddenly a beggar noticed her. He stopped her and asked her the reason for which she was crying. After hearing it, he gave a laugh, gave her a kiss and purchased her betel nuts with a two-rupee coin.

Short story written by Parvez Ahmed on October 4, 2008.

Short Story - The Tower Touching the Sky

He looked down from his luxurious chamber. It was on the 95th floor of the Heaven Tower. He had strived for the sky and, indeed reached it. Today he was very far from land – a huge 95 stories of distance.

The last thirty years he only craved for wealth – the more he got the more he wanted. Girls, he had aplenty – models and heroines. Indeed, he had built heaven on earth.

However, today, as he looked down from his chamber on the 95th floor, the land beneath seemed too far away for him. He had lost touch with it. He had lost touch with nature. He had lost touch with happiness. He had lost touch with actuality. He had lost touch with the simple joys of life. He had lost everything. Now, he was only a mummy – a living-dead one.

Short story written by Parvez Ahmed on October 3, 2008. 'The Soul Attains' is a painting by Sir Edward Burne-Jones (1833-1894).

Short Story - The Marriage of the Cock and the Hen

Moneylust, the cock was extremely busy today. Because this was the day for which he had waited a long-long time, and which seemed to him like eternity.

Today, he is going to marry Attraction, the daughter of Protection, the hen and Business, the big fat cock.

Protection and Business were also very busy. They were preparing attraction for the wedding.

However, Attraction was feeling all hot and restless inside but she was wise enough to hide those sensations within the deepest dungeons of her self.

For Moneylust, finally, his solitary dreams were over and at last, he could taste the nectar of her breasts and instead of tiring his hands in tasteless masturbation, he now could delight his penis in her soft and tight vagina.

For this day, Moneylust had worked very hard. He had done every type of wicked deed in the midst of his general good business. He had amassed money in great quantity by looting the poor and tricking the helpless ones. For, he saw that this was the only way in which the other great cocks had secured the most rich and the most beautiful breasts and vaginas.

Short story written by Parvez Ahmed on the on October 2, 2008. 'The Tepidarium' is a painting by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1836-1912).

Short Story - The Two Magical Powers

Short Story - The Two Magical Powers

There 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.