The Festive Spirit

Wherever he looked, Ramesh saw hoardings and advertisements of electronics, clothing, food and everything under the sun. The beginning of the festive season was when the whole world eagerly awaited the chance to splash and splurge, while he dreaded it. Shops overflowed with goods and people. 

Whatever he earned was never enough, not with six mouths to feed, shelter, clothe, educate, and treat for ailments. The festive bonus he’d received was sent to the village to help his sister’s family who were having a harder time than him, with a second consecutive year of drought. There was no question of having that extra money to buy new clothes and treats.

As he entered home he could hear his 8 year old son complaining to his wife when she reprimanded him for constantly pestering her for a pair of denim pants. “But aai, it's just not that special time of the year without new clothes! You know all my friends get new clothes for the festival!”

Ramesh called out, “Come here, Kunal. Tell your friends, it's not THAT time of the year by just wearing new clothes. It is THAT time of the year to be kind and generous. Do you know because of our little help, Anu athya’s family will have enough to eat for this whole month? If we had bought new clothes, they would all be sleeping on empty stomachs. Won't they be glad to have enough to eat and bless us? 
We will be going to the village for the festival. You will have plenty of fun with Varsha and Ajay lighting hundreds of diyas that kumbhari kaka makes.”

The child was thrilled to hear this. Ramesh continued, “And you know what? No one in the village has seen your clothes, anything you wear there will look new to them! Now that you both have grown so tall, you can collect some of your old clothes and toys and give it to the village children, they’ll be so happy to receive it. Now run along.” Kunal excitedly dragged in his younger sibling who was playing outside.

Ramesh exchanged a look of relief with his wife as they watched their two boys rummaging in the old trunk holding their belongings, searching for things to gift their lesser fortunate village friends.

Featured Image

Glossary
aai - mother
athya - aunt - father's sister
diyas - earthern lamps
kumbhari kaka - potter uncle

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Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.

- Buddha

I am participating in the #WordsMatter Bloghop. The prompt this time was "It's not that time of the year without..."

I received this tag from Mahati Ramya at Fantastic Feathers. It’s my pleasure to pass on this tag to Suchita Agarwal at Tales of Suchita. There are 38 of us on this Blog Hop and it will be spread over 3 days – 4, 5, 6 October  2019. Do follow the #WordsMatter Blog Hop and prepare to be surprised!

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Copyright © 2019 KALA RAVI

The Two Sons

I love old folk tales. Simple tales. Tales from childhood, that warm your heart. 
There is this one tale, I've never forgotten, one my mother used to narrate.
I don't know if this is the original tale or there is another version, there well may be. Maybe you've heard it before, still hear it again. I'll share it just the way my mum did years ago.

The Two Sons

Once upon a time, there lived a farmer in a small village. He had worked hard all his life to build up a good fortune with a large farmhouse, lots of cattle and acres of land.
His wife had passed away a few years ago and now he was sure his old frail body wouldn't be around much longer.
The farmer had two sons, Ajay and Vijay. He loved them both dearly and they in turn revered him. The father wanted to ensure all his property was equally divided between the two sons. 
The farmer came up with a plan. Early one morning he called Ajay and Vijay. Looking at their curious faces he explained, "Ajay and Vijay, you know I am getting very old, I don't think I'll be around much longer. Before I leave to join your mother, I have divided the cattle, the land and the money. Only this house remains. I'll be giving you two a little test. Based on the result, the winner will get the house, it it alright with you two?" 
The obedient sons nodded respectfully with downcast faces. They really loved their father.

The father continued, "You know we have the two identical, tiny, empty rooms on the upper floor? Here, take this," he said, giving them each a hundred rupees and continued, "Now I want you both to listen carefully to what I say. With the money I've given, I want you each to buy whatever you can with this money that you think will fill up the room the best. That is all. I will decide the winner based on what I see. Now go on both of you, you have till today evening." The sons were puzzled with this strange test, but nevertheless set out to fulfill the task.

Ajay was sure he would win the task. He knew exactly what to buy, his father would be proud of him for having filled the tiny room the best.
Vijay was thoughtful on his way to the market. He thought hard. A hundred rupees to fill a room...yes he needed to think harder.
It was evening. Both the sons and the father went up to the first floor. The two rooms were on opposite sides of the staircase with a long corridor in between. Ajay and Vijay were both eager to show their rooms to their father. 
"Ajay since you are the elder, we'll see your room first," said the farmer.
Ajay was beaming with pride as he led them to the room. He was sure his father would applaud his efforts.
With some difficulty, Ajay opened the door to the room. It was dark and filthy. A cascade of dry hay fell on them. Ajay had spent his money on buying bundles of cheap hay and stuffed every inch of the room, from top to bottom with it.
The father looked stunned. No doubt, his elder offspring had passed the criteria of filling the room, it was certainly filled to the brim.
Next the three headed to the door on the opposite side of the corridor, Vijay's room.
Vijay unlocked the door and invited his father and Ajay to come in.
The room was neatly swept and was filled with the divine fragrance of incense and jasmine flowers. Placed against the wall opposite the door, there was a beautiful framed image of the smiling Lord Krishna adorned with a jasmine garland. The room had a warm glow from a small lamp lit in front of the frame and incense sticks were wafting a soothing fragrance. Vijay handed his father a bill of all the things he had purchased with the hundred rupees.
The old farmer's eyes filled with happiness. He hugged Vijay. 
The winner of the test was obvious, wasn't it? 

The elder son's untidy, unthinking, hasty choice of hay to fill up the room reflect his inherent nature. 
The younger son's thoughtful, neat, pleasing to the senses and careful choice of the God's picture frame along with the lamp, incense and fragrant flowers to fill up the room reflect his inherent nature. 

I am taking my blog to the next level with #MyFriendAlexa

Copyright © 2019 KALA RAVI

The Seat by the Window

It was her lucky day; she’d got a seat by the window after ages and was gazing idly at the rather unsightly view outside. The train had stopped at Kurla station, notorious for overwhelming crowds, where a thousand got off each compartment while a thousand more got in, all in a matter of a few seconds. The station was a rampage with each person jostling to find their way towards or away from the train. With a lurch the train started again and she caught sight of man staring intently at her from the now rapidly disappearing platform. She brushed it off as a figment of her imagination and concentrated on the open book on her lap. 

The next day she got a side seat, after having stood for a good 40 mins. At Kurla station she noticed the man from the previous day desperately scanning the ladies compartment. She continued to observe him as she was sure he couldn't see her seated all the way inside. The train moved and the man looked angry and frustrated. 

Image source: Jagranjosh

The following weeks, the train was so crowded that she had the misfortune of being stranded at the entrance of the compartment, unable to plough her way inside. She could feel the intense scrutiny of the same man's eyes on her from the platform, standing at the same spot. She pretended to be unaware of his gaze but managed to sneak peeks from lowered lashes. He was probably in his 30's, of an average height and built, fair complexioned, always dressed in kurta and jeans, sporting a stubble and disheveled hair, a rather ordinary looking man except for his furtive eyes and thick brows. It made her very uncomfortable, this stalking. God knew, since when it had been going on. She was aware that she wasn’t a classic beauty but something about her made heads turn wherever she went. Maybe it was the trendy clothes she wore or the way she carried herself. She started wearing dull conservative clothes, no make-up, but still nothing changed; the man persisted with his ogling.

This could not continue, she thought worriedly and decided to change tack. She took the ladies compartment located in the front. As the train entered the crowded Kurla station, she spotted the stalker. He looked at his watch and started scanning the train, waiting for the ladies compartment in the rear. She was wary yet a thrill passed through her; she'd managed to give the stalker a slip.

The next day, she was innocuously seated in a middle seat in the front ladies compartment. Her heart jumped to her mouth when she perceived disapproving eyes boring into hers. The lecher had somehow figured out her plan and taken the adjoining men's compartment and was now staring at her through the metal mesh partition.

Thoroughly rattled, she stopped taking the train altogether and resorted to cumbersome bus routes instead. 

A couple of months passed in sheer agony of travelling in overcrowded buses stuck in traffic jams and she desperately hoped that the creep at Kurla station would have given up the idea of stalking her by now.

Today, she got into the train at Tilak Nagar, a station before Kurla station. All the daily commuters were pleasantly surprised to see a brand new train and empty at that, rumble into the platform. It was fresh and clean from the railway yard.

She was pushed into the ladies compartment in a swirling mass of arms and bodies and wonder of wonders; she bagged an empty seat near the window. The new train, its spanking upholstery and trimmings, made for an excited buzz of conversation in the ladies compartment.

The train rolled next into Kurla station and to her horror, she saw the wretched man there. Restlessly striding and watching with furtive eyes. When he caught sight of her sitting by the window, his expression changed to one of fury. He looked every inch crazed and psychopathic!

It terrified her when she saw him approach her at a run, wildly pushing through the crowd. She cowered and sat away from the window, her spine and head plastered to the back of her seat.

With a cry of rage he pulled out a bottle from his pant pocket and flung its contents towards her just as the train pushed forward.

Acrid, vile liquid oozed down the closed clear glass shutters of the now fast accelerating new train. A collective loud shout passed through the compartment as her co-passengers noticed what had just happened.

She’d just escaped an acid-attack, by freak luck, courtesy Indian Railways.

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I am participating in the #WordsMatter Blog Hop. The prompt for this month was "Outside My Window".
I received this tag from Amrita Basu at Healthwealthbridge. It's my pleasure to pass on this tag to Jyothi Nair at Shortened Tales.
There are 47 of us on this Blog Hop and it will be spread over 3 days - 2,3, 4 August. Do follow the #WordsMatter Blog Hop and prepare to be surprised!

Copyright © 2019 KALA RAVI

The Fallen Oak

After having worked for years in the tea-estates, all the plantation workers lost their jobs when the tea-estate made way to a large holiday resort. Under their very eyes, they saw the plantation they had tended to being razed and cleared for construction. 
Aroo's Baba had been in shock for several months but finally realized that he would have to make a living in some other way. Being good with wood-work, he took up carpentry at a furniture shop while Ma went to work at a nursing home, both a few miles away from their village. 

Even as the family was coming to terms with their new life, fate struck a big blow in little Aroo’s life. Ma and Baba were both killed one late evening on their way back from work when their bus toppled into the ravine.
 
Aroo was taken away to Kolkata to live with distant relatives. They took good care of her and ensured she went to the municipal school and passed her SSC. One of her school teachers ran a computer training institute and Aroo had her first brush with the internet and computers while working at the center doing odd jobs. She picked up the basics in no time and soon moved on to learning softwares with help from the instructors at the institute.
By the time she was twenty-two, she had a good job at one of the better software training institutes in Kolkata.

All this time, the hills and the crisp air of Darjeeling beckoned her but it was only now that she had enough security about her to venture back to her roots.
Her native village at Lamahatta was not the same place she had left. The large resort had finally been been built and the village had lost all its serenity. Many more hotels and lodges had cropped up in the ten years she had been away. Tourist buses and vans buzzed to and fro, while shops had sprouted faster than mushrooms all over the place.

Aroo made her way up the steep slope leading to the little cluster of homes. She recognized many old faces but they just thought her to be an off-trail tourist. She stopped to chat with Lina kaki and Bahadur kaka and they were thrilled to see her. They exclaimed and fussed over her and soon the entire hamlet was around her. They had been a close-knit community and remembered her family very fondly. Lina kaki made sure she was sufficiently fed before handing her the key to her house, one that had been locked for the last ten years. No one had claimed stake to it or tried to usurp it and Aroo was humbled by this fact.

Picking up her light airbag she made her way along the road leading to her home. People had always teased Das dada that he was crazy to build a home that was open to the cold winds from all sides but he went right ahead and built his house, just the way he wanted - With a view that was priceless and out of this world.
She was shivering now as she stood in front of her house, the cold breeze rattling the broken panes and roof tiles.

Gingerly, she stepped up the three steps to put the key into the rusty old lock. Surprisingly the key wound smoothly; she slid the latch and the door was open. 
The place looked exactly as she remembered it from ten years back. There lay the tacky mat on the floor where Ma took her catnaps and the old trunk which served as a wardrobe for all three of them. The old frames of Gods now cracked and covered in cobwebs. The tiny kitchen where Ma cooked hot daal and thick rotis smeared with homemade butter. Tears blurred her view as she went further in. The single cot her Baba slept on bereft of the mattress, on which she often sat beside him listening for countless number of times to the story of a great treasure his great-grandfather had found and then hidden somewhere in the plantation. And there in the farthest corner was the wooden dresser.

 Image source

She paused by the dresser, a beautiful one that her father had made for her mother. Old memories came gushing. She vividly remembered the great oak tree in the plantation that had crashed during a particularly bad storm that had hit the area. All the estranged estate workers had been called in to help clear away the giant tree. Though the main trunk had been lugged away at a good price, a few remnant branches and boughs had been left behind. Aroo's father managed to get a decent sized piece of the lumbar from the lot. He had been in a state of frenzy ever since he’d laid his hands on it. He painstakingly spent days and hours working on it until the wee hours. Scraping, sawing, carving, sanding and polishing the block of wood into a work of art for his wife, just like the one he had seen in the 'memsaab's' room - A Dressing table. All it needed was a mirror to be placed on top, one he planned to get at the earliest. In the meanwhile all their neighbors came to see Das dada's handiwork. Her mother's face had been suffused with pride and joy as she welcomed everyone home and showed off the object d'art that her man had made for her. 

Aroo too loved the dresser with its many drawers, beautiful carvings and smooth finish. She remembered the day her Baba had called her over excitedly. He showed her a clever little hideaway chamber within a drawer. He told her it would be the place where he would keep a wonderful secret for her, safe from everything. Aroo was thrilled to be privy to such a priceless secret. Only she, Ma and Baba in the entire, whole wide world, knew about it. 
The dresser never got its mirror; the fatal accident took away the master carpenter before he got around to it.

Shaky fingers now ran along the thick coat of dust covering the dresser’s surface. She marveled at the chiseled perfection of the intricate, decorative carvings. It was almost like that day, years ago, she could feel the same excitement building within her as on the day Baba revealed the dresser’s secret to his little girl.

Her hand reached out automatically to the last row, corner-most drawer. It slid open smoothly. She felt about the false backing at its end and traced out the slight gap in its panel. Pushing it gently sideways, her hand moved deeper into the secret compartment behind the drawer. Her fingers moved around and wrapped onto a palm-sized object covered in cloth. Heart beating, she withdrew her hand, bringing out the stashed hoard. It was a cloth bag; she recognized the cloth - Ma's old cotton saree. She tugged at the drawstring and peered inside the bag pulling out a perfectly polished wooden orb. What on earth was this? It felt heavy. She shook it; something shook within. But the orb was completely smooth, how did one open it? And how did this come into her poor Baba's secret drawer? Should she smash it open or should she let it be?

Nervously she switched the ball from one hand to another. The sun was almost down and the room was getting darker by the minute. She peered intently at the object, now shining her mobile-torch on it. She could discern scores of tiny alphabets in Bangla script on it. At the bottom she could decipher some words that made sense; it was her father’s writing!

It read:

The mighty fall but rise again.

Now what on earth did Baba mean by this cryptic message? And how was she to tell her Baba even if she knew? Aroo racked her brain hard...mighty-fall...did, did, did Baba mean the mighty Oak tree that had fallen and risen again in the form of his labor of love - The wooden dresser? She shone the light on the orb and looked over the random alphabets engraved all over it. Searching desperately, she found what she was looking for.

ত্ত – ক্ (Oak in Bangla) 

The two alphabets were next to each other! She ran her little finger over the alphabets, pressing them gently and with a soft click, the orb popped open.

Tucked inside a small piece of muslin was a fistful of the brightest red rubies she had ever laid her eyes upon. The treasure of her ancestors that had been lost, long-long ago!  tale her Baba never tired of telling her. A tale of lost fortunes and hidden treasures. Her Baba must have found it while clearing the fallen oak tree. A treasure that had been hunted for generations, now lay in her palm.

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Disclaimer: The above story is a work of fiction. All characters and places are a figment of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any character living or dead is purely coincidental and unintentional. 
The image used in the story is for representational purpose only.

 The above story was shortlisted in the top three in the #StoriesInArt contest held by Tell-A-Tale.

­­Copyright © 2017 KALA RAVI