Short Story

A Fruit Called Galaxy

Behold!
[Image by Iris,Helen,silvy from Pixabay]

As if anger – throbbing and tight-, burning hatred and cold fear filled this person’s veins and arteries so that there was no need of the warmth of the blood, red wasn’t red anymore, it was all too dark.

Jassi clung to the darkness, crumpled into it, eyes wide-open that almost attacked every direction mercilessly, the glances were like arrows, everything in darkness, not allowing a ray of light or laughter or love to enter. Jassi was blind, it happened in an accident.

True! Colours were colourful before, but not anymore.

Jassi hated to ask for help, hated the space around, bumping into things now and then, and most of all hated the breeze, why did it try to play, sing, sway or say anything, thought Jassi when nothing moved or flowed within? No, not even the thoughts moved, Jassi killed them, the memories – good/bad – in the very first year after the fatal accident.

Some years passed and an opportunity knocked. A new technology, a new expert, a new experiment could bring back Jassi’s eyesight. To everyone’s surprise, Jassi agreed to undergo another surgery, everyone hugged and cried for Jassi was still alive somewhere inside that stern piece of shell that reciprocated nothing all this while.

Pushing every loved on aside, Jassi spoke – I want to see the galaxy and only the galaxy first!

That was Jassi’s condition, it was accepted, and with some difficulties arrangements were made. Days passed by, it rained, the sun too came out and a rainbow beamed, but did Jassi hear all this? Nothing!

Like never before, Jassi refused to go out of the house or even the finite room. Jassi’s steady un-moving eyes tried to pull, it seemed, the movement of time towards Jassi, not to fight a battle, but to bring it to a stand-still. Jassi had changed and no one knew what fruit this change would bear.

Jassi’s steady, un-moving eyes’ pull worked, so felt the others as the day of the surgery came and passed only too quickly. The doctor said it was a success, but Jassi’s firm and unwavering voice made the doctor sweat and slightly doubt himself. All this for a couple of minutes because Jassi refused to remove the bandages and no one touched the new black goggles; everyone knew how much Jassi abhorred them.

And soon, very soon, so soon that no one remembered what day or time it was when they left for the astronomical observatory, and when they reached the place.

After climbing down into the dark abyss, Jassi got up to climb the stairs to reach the galaxy.

Jassi couldn’t hear anything but felt extremely cold, especially on touching the telescope. Jassi reacted like a little curious child, whispered the others.

The guide guided and made adjustments, but only Jassi’s shell listened, Jassi followed not the guide, but an energy and removed the bandages from the cold eyes, that were shut not so tightly this time. Jassi took a breath and touched the telescope again, feeling the round eyepiece shape through which one could swallow the galaxy.

Jassi gently, almost with love looked through the telescope, one eye open, one closed, then opened both. Jassi looked, looked and looked…

…see for yourself… the galaxy’s arms reaching out, holding Jassi now, breaking the shell with love, showing the dance of colours and light, caressing, bursting with joy, filling the one who witnesses with timelessness and bliss…

Jassi fell on the floor unconscious after so gracefully looking through the telescope that too for so long that the others were by then seated on benches to rest. Jassi woke up in the hospital next, with a high-grade fever and a big grin that turned into laughter.

Tears came out of Jassi’s eyes but the laughter didn’t stop. Jassi’s wet eyes glistened, the eyes looked like jewels, the eyes looked beautiful.

But the doctor couldn’t see it, the doctor was worried, he had failed. Jassi couldn’t see anything from one eye and the other eye tried to see through haziness. There was another way out, doctor promised and sighed that Jassi should not have travelled right after surgery.

Jassi left the hospital the same day and went to eat in a restaurant with the loved ones who were confused, also happy, but unsure.


Jassi has stopped explaining anything to anyone now and has started living. A friend’s friend gave Jassi a simple job that promises nothing grand, yet Jassi loves working there. Jassi walks to the workplace using the stick and a new furry friend, Milo.

Every mirror shows that Jassi is doing good. Walking briskly, so lightly, breathing calmly, Jassi looks like a flight-less bird.

Often hurt, Jassi keeps bumping into things at home and office as if every morning chairs, tables, utensils and pens move on their own to trick Jassi.

Jassi gets up every time, not shying from taking any help from the others.

Milo loves Jassi and Jassi finds Milo to be a funny, happy-go-lucky dog.


What do you want for your birthday, Jassi?

Birthday, hmm, nothing much, will be meeting friends, that’s it. And Milo will be there. Well, we may go stargazing.

It has all come true!
[Image by Nicole Rose from Pixabay]

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Bhikshuni

Review
‘The mother of liberation’, green Tara; Sumtsek hall at Alci monastery, Ladakh, ca. 11th century.
[Source – Wikimedia Commons]

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वह दूसरी ओर पीठ किए खड़ी थी। हमारी टैक्सी एकदम उसके पास ही आकर रुकी। वह हड़बड़ाकर मुड़ी और मेरा कलेजा मुँह को आ गया। उसके चारों ओर छोटी-मोटी भगवा पोटलियाँ बिखरी थी, पीठ पर मोटे रस्से में दो-तीन भारी कम्बल लदे थे। अपने खुरदुरे, तिब्बती लबादे को सम्हालती, वह एक कोने में सिमट गई।          

भिक्षुणी – शिवानी

English Translation –

She was standing with her back to the other side. Our taxi stopped right next to her. She turned around in a huff and my heart came to my mouth. Some small bundles were scattered around her, two or three heavy blankets were laden with thick ropes on her back. Holding on to her rough, Tibetan cloak, she huddled in a corner.

Bhikshuni, a short story by Shivani


A known face, however time-wrought, when seen, catches the eyes and attention almost at once that you cannot resist thinking about it. She saw Kiki, her heart smiled and a surge of memories filled the world, stopping time effortlessly.

Kiki, a spirited girl, enamoured with every new idea, had the courage to not to conform, not too easily, blindly. As a maiden, when in love, then a married woman, a mother and again in love, she moulded her life and everyone she knew anew. Some cheered for her, others washed away her colours.

When her livid father cremated her without uncovering the shroud, once just to see Kiki’s face, she instantly got a new lease of life.

A new lease of life where she chose to become a bhikshuni; crestfallen, she took a turn to continue with this journey called life. How difficult it would have been?

To let go of the collection closely locked in the heart – the hurts, laughs, blessings, all of it. To begin afresh when old tidings try to tie one down, to let the old self know its place.

The bhikshuni was carrying a potali… what was in it, we know now.

*

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*Bhikshuni – a Hindu or Buddhist nun.

*Potali – a small packet or cloth bag.


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A Telltale Heart’s Secret

Short Review
Secret keeper’s lantern.
[Source – Pixabay]

True! – NERVOUS – very, very dreadfully nervous I had been – and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses – not destroyed – not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! And observe how healthily – how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

– The opening paragraph of The Tell-Tale Heart, a short story by Edgar Allan Poe

A secret that punctures a heart, a heart that still beats, alive, yet unsure how, in a delirium reveals the secret to all. In Edgar Allan Poe’s short story, The Tell-Tale Heart, such a secret is shared with us.

Such a secret troubles the main character in the story and he begins simply by narrating it, gripping us first by raising our curiosity and later by force.

That is, a psychological force… for we are always free to get up and leave the old man’s dark room, but oh, we don’t. We hear and fear it as scene after scene unfolds.

Tension rises, our noble heart beats, not only because we suspect something horrible, truly tragic, but also because we recognise it…

We recognise the inexplicable rage, the feverish mind, the parched bond and the morbid thought that although residing in the backdrop knows well how to make itself heard.

Edgar Allan Poe’s poetry and prose often create a fantastical mysterious world where distinctly, incessantly the human mind tries to rein in something, something… where failure leads to a twist and success to a debacle.

His characters mock the world and oneself with equal fervour, pretending nothing at all, confessing the truth blatantly and leaving the readers with a secret.


I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture – a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees – very gradually – I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye for ever.

An excerpt from The Tell-Tale Heart, a short story by Edgar Allan Poe.

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