Top floor! She panicked. Never in a thousand years would she manage to reach her goal.
She spied a signage and sighed in relief. Ah the lift!
She hurried to join the tail end of a long winding queue.
The queue behind grew longer and yet she didn’t move an inch.
Restless and impatient, she chaffed at the wait.
“Want to jump queue?” A voice whispered temptingly.
“How? I am new with no resources.”
“Fresh and resource full.” He leered lasciviously.
No time and miles to go.
Decision made she stepped out of the queue and headed for the stairs.
***
Written for the Friday Fictioneers – a story in 100 words or less. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting the challenge and Marie Gall Stratford for the photo prompt. To read the other stories or participate click here.
Lush green and sprightly, she swayed with the winds, laughing at the elements as they cared for her like their own.
Only she wasn’t.
She was meant for another garden.
It was her prarabhda* to nurture and provide for strangers, to steer them through strife, storm and drought.
Her roots held them together.
Bound and unable to leave she withstood the onslaught of the changing seasons -waiting and hoping for eternal spring.
Years and they passed her by: demanding using cutting slicing.
Until she stopped waiting.
There was beauty in fall too.
***
A/N: Prarabdha is a Sanskrit word meaning commenced or begun. Prarabdha is one of three types of karma (originating from the root kri, meaning to act).
The others are sanchita karma – sum of all karma that has been collected; kriyamana karma, or agami – karma that is currently being created and will yield results in the future.
In Vedantic literature, there is a beautiful analogy. The bowman has already sent an arrow and it has left his hands. He cannot recall it. He is about to shoot another arrow. The bundle of arrows in the quiver on his back is the sanchita; the arrow he has shot is prarabhda; and the arrow, which he is about to shoot from his bow, is agami. Of these, he has perfect control over the sanchita and the agami, but he must surely work out his prarabdha.
Prarabdha karma is only exhausted after its consequences have been experienced or its debts paid. There are three types of this karma:
Ichha, that which is personally desired
Anichha, or karma without desire
Pareccha, or karma that is the result of another’s desire
The yogi who has achieved union with the Higher Self does not experience ichha prarabdha karma but is still subject to anichha and pareccha.
This is my second offering to this week’s Friday Fictioneer’s – sorry I couldn’t resist 🙂 The first one is here but they aren’t interlinked.
Written for Friday Fictioneers – a story in 100 words or less. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting the challenge and Sandra Crook for the beautiful photo. To read the other stories inspired by this prompt click here.
“It is customary to bring prospective grooms here to pay obeisance.” She said.
He folded his hands and bowed.
“The tree has supernatural powers.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She turns evil grooms turn into stones.”
“Really?” He snorted.
“That stone on the far right? That’s my last suitor.”
“Nonsense.”
“Ask Granny about that stone in the middle. He had his eyes on her property.”
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“When Radha’s husband demanded dowry, she brought him here.” She pointed.
He shivered.
“Why are you worried?” she snuggled up to him.
He vanished.
Another fool after her millions she snickered.
***
I have two submissions this to week’s Friday Fictioneer’s – sorry I couldn’t resist 🙂 The other one is here but they aren’t interlinked.
Written for Friday Fictioneers – a story in 100 words or less. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting the challenge and Sandra Crook for the beautiful photo. To read the other stories inspired by this prompt click here.
“Mother!” Shvetaketu was aghast. “What are you doing with him?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Her face was still flushed with passion.
“Mother, whose son am I?”
“Mine.” She straightened and smiled at him affectionately.
“I demand you tell me.” He roared.
“Hush! It’s a free world. I can do what I like, with whom I like.”
“I shall rewrite the marriage laws.” Shvetaketu declared. “From now on you can go to other men only with your husband’s permission.”
“You will still not know whose son you are.” She twinkled.
“But of course your husband’s. He owns you like his fields and any crop that comes out of you is his.”
“I am not a field!”
“So be it. From now on you will be allowed only four husbands, the Moon, Gandharva Vishvavasu, Agnideva and finally your husband.”
Is that why when husbands no longer want their wives she is passed on to fire?
***
A/N: In Hindu mythology, Gandharva Vishvavasu is a celestial being skilled in the art of music and Agnideva is the god of Fire. This piece is inspired by Devdutt Patnaik’s book 7 Secrets of the Goddess, which describes the origin of this Vedic wedding ritual. Until now I wasn’t aware that I have four husbands. Did any of you (wedded according to Vedic customs) know it?
Written for What Pegman Saw – a story in 150 words or less. Thanks to J Hardy Carroll for hosting the challenge and Google Maps for the photo prompt. To read the other stories inspired by this prompt click here.
Thank you for reading. I dithered quite a bit over the title – could you help me? Do you think it would have been better if I had titled it TheEvolution of Civilization?
“Why do you ritualistically put in some extra rice grains and then put back some in the container?”
“Traditionally we cook a little extra for an unexpected guest and make sure to keep some for tomorrow.”
“As if that tiny bit will help!” I scoffed. “Superstitious nonsense.”
“No harm done…”
“My cook’s son lost his job. There’s an opening for a driver but she refused.”
“Why?”
“The astrologer advised against it.”
I scrolled down for the Friday Fictioneer photo.
Damn. Where could I spot a flying crow at night?
***
Words 101
Photo (c) Douglas M. Macllroy
Note: For the uninitiated, myna birds are very powerful and accurate fore-tellers.
One for sorrow (which can be dispelled if you spot a flying crow)
Flying one for success
Two for joy
Three for letter
Four for boy
Five for gift
I have no idea where this originated from but it is 100 % true especially the one for sorrow. Although I’m not sure if photos count 😉 Psst just in case you can’t find a flying crow, make a circle with your forefinger and thumb and cut (open it) with something (thrice!). 😀
Well I confessed mine 😛 What’s yours?
Written for the Friday Fictioneers – a story in 100 words or less. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting it and Douglas M Macllroy for the photo prompt. To read the other stories inspired by this prompt, click here.
“You got no choice.” Sara packed their lunch. “Hurry up Palak!”
Palak jogged her arm. “Mom can I stay over at Rima’s?”
“No!”
“You’re mean!”
“And you’re late. Hurry!”
“Where’s my sweater?” A querulous voice called.
Damn. “Hurry!” Sara hustled them. “The bus is here!”
“Sara,” the husband popped up, “The boss is coming to dinner tonight.”
Ugh! Better soak chickpeas.
“Ma your sweater…”
“That isn’t mine.”
“Take it please.”
“I want mine.”
“Please Ma! I have a meeting.” Giving the crinkling tea a regretful look, Sara slipped the sandwich into her purse. “Bye!”
Rohit dropped into her cabin. “Need help with your presentation?”
“Almost done.” Sara gave thumbs up.
“Coffee!”
“Thanks Tullika,” Sara smiled, “Just make sure nobody disturbs me until the meeting.”
“Sure!”
Sara slid into her chair, kicked off her heels and bit into her sandwich.
Thank God for office.
***
A/N Sorry I am terribly late (Sara’s story could be mine!) but the linky was open so I jumped in 😀 Thanks for reading!
Written for What Pegman Saw – a story in 150 words or less. Thanks to K. Rawson for hosting the challenge and Google Maps for the photo prompt. To read the other stories inspired by this prompt click here.
“Relax Dhruv,” Smita spoke wearily, “Radha has domestic issues.”
“I wish you wouldn’t gossip with these low class…”
“Aren’t you late for office?”
“Yes. But you rest.” Dhruv ordered. “Don’t bother about housework or office work.”
Smita sniffled.
“Don’t cry darling.” He hugged her. “Next time.” He promised.
What if next time also…?
“Sorry Madamji.” Radha attacked the dishes. “My husband bribed the sonography doctor… “
“You’re expecting a girl.” Smita predicted dully. “He forced you to undergo an abortion.”
“Yes. But I thrashed him and kicked him out.”
Next time
Why wait?
She dialed 100.
***
A/N Somehow I really struggled with this story and still not sure if I managed to convey what I set out to. Perhaps the note below will clarify matters. Do let me know if you needed the help of the note or not. Thank you for reading.
Written for the Friday Fictoneers – a story in 100 words or less. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting the challenge and J Hardy Carroll for the photo prompt. To read the other stories inspired by this prompt click here.
As per Indian census data, female feticide is higher among those with the better socioeconomic status and literacy. Incomprehensible, inexplicable, reprehensible but there it is.
“Hmm, okay. Long ago, a learned sadhu lived in the jungle. People came from near and far away villages to hear him speak of religion and spirituality.”
“Granny…” Lily whined but Molly shushed her.
“One day, Nag, the snake heard the Sadhu’s talk on brotherly love and nonviolence. Moved, Nag vowed to renounce his deadly habit.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Lilly.
“Slowly the villagers got to know of Nag’s saintly nature. They teased and provoked him with sticks and stones.”
“How mean.”
“The half-dead Nag accused the Sadhu of teaching wrong things.”
“What did the Sadhu say?”
“I told you to shun violence but did I tell you not to raise your hood?”
“Then?” Molly prodded.
“Nag began to hiss. Scared, the villagers avoided him. Sadhu and Nag became friends and they lived happily ever after.”
Granny twinkled and pointed to the photo on the wall.
***
A/N: This is one of my favorite childhood tales – I just embellished it to fit the photo which was irresistible and mesmerizing. If you look carefully, the right one is Nag and the left one is the monk with his staff 😉
Written for What Pegman Saw – a story in 150 words or less. Thanks to K. Rawson for hosting the challenge and Google Maps for the photo prompt. To read the other stories inspired by this prompt click here.
Stories and more 