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.
What a beautiful evening an exhilarated Suresh thought as he left the office. Just the kind Meera went gaga over.
He couldn’t wait to go home and share the good news. He would hold her in his arms and apologize for his cruel words. He couldn’t take them back but he would make it up to her.
A romantic dinner at the swanky houseboat restaurant.
And a movie.
Oh how her eyes would sparkle!
He willed the traffic to move faster.
“Meera!” He entered the darkened bedroom.
Meera’s feet dangled at eye level.
Written for the Friday Fictioneers – a story in 100 words or less. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting the challenge and Roger Bultot for the photo prompt. To read the other stories inspired by this photo 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.
“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?