Reaping What We Sow (643 words)

“Ayya (Sir), I haven’t eaten in two days. I’m starving. Can you kindly spare me something?” pleaded the young girl, barely nine years old, her voice trembling with hunger.

“Go, go away! I’m in a hurry. We’ll see later,” snapped Punyakodi, barely glancing at her as he kicked his motorcycle into gear.

“Ayya, please,” she begged, her desperation rising. “I feel like I’m going to die from hunger. Just a little money, even for a bun, would be enough. Please, do not refuse.”

“I told you once already, didn’t I? Are you deaf or what? Get lost!” he barked, his voice cold and impatient as he sped away on his roaring bike.

Later that morning, Punyakodi stood nervously in the plush office of the Joint Managing Director, fidgeting as he waited. The officer, deeply engrossed in paperwork, didn’t bother looking up.

“What do you want?” the Jt. MD asked dismissively.

“Sir, last year’s raise was far too little. If you could kindly consider a better increase this year, it would greatly help. I’m struggling to make ends meet,” Punyakodi said softly, his tone submissive.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me this early? Can’t you see I’m busy? We’ll see later,” the officer retorted, waving him away with irritation.

“Please, sir. This is my only chance to speak with you. My children are studying, and things are tough at home. I’m only asking for a little mercy,” Punyakodi urged his voice tight with anxiety.

“Didn’t I make myself clear? Get out! I said I’m busy!” The officer’s words stung with finality, dismissing him with a wave.

The humiliation weighed on Punyakodi as he returned to his seat, more stung by the harshness than the refusal itself. After 15 years of loyal service, being waved away so callously gnawed at his pride. As he brooded over the morning’s bitter encounter, a sudden image flashed in his eyes—the young girl in tattered clothes, pleading for help to buy a simple bun. He had refused her with the same coldness that he had just faced.

A wave of remorse engulfed him. Was the humiliation at the office, not karma, boomeranging for his cruelty in the morning? He felt a deep sense of shame and regret for how he had treated the girl. It was a lesson, a painful one.

The next morning, as he left his house, Punyakodi noticed the same girl walking by, not even glancing his way. Her face was downcast, worn from hunger.

“Wait,” he called out, his voice gentle.

Startled, the girl stopped and turned, unsure. Punyakodi approached her and handed her a hundred rupee note. “Take this. Buy food for yourself and your family. And come to my house with your parents this Sunday. Let me see how else I can help.”

The girl’s eyes widened in disbelief, and she hesitated momentarily before folding her hands in gratitude. She bent to touch his feet, but he gently stopped her. His heart felt lighter, the weight of guilt finally lifting.

That afternoon, at 3 PM, Punyakodi was unexpectedly summoned to the Jt. MD’s office again. His stomach twisted with unease, expecting further humiliation. But to his surprise, as he entered, the officer extended his hand in apology.

“Punyakodi,” the Jt. MD said, his tone softened, “Yesterday I was under a lot of stress with some personal issues. I realize now that I responded insensitively to your genuine request. To whom else can you plead your case but to me? Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. Be cheerful. No hard feelings, please.”

A wave of relief surged through Punyakodi. His heart felt at peace, not because of the promise of a raise, but because he had learned a valuable lesson about empathy and kindness. He had reaped what he had sown, but now, he had sown something better.

The Divinity Outside the Temple Gate (468 words)

 The temple was not far from my house—large and serene, yet neither as famous nor as rich as Tirupati. Still, it drew many devotees. I made it a habit to visit every Sunday, walking along the short road lined with small shops on both sides. As with many temples, the entrance was flanked by beggars, young and old, blind and maimed, pleading for alms in their shrill voices. The security guards at the temple gate were firm—they kept these destitute souls from entering.

On Sundays, I didn’t rush through my prayers. Instead, I liked to sit and observe the worshippers—the way they prayed, the way they called out the names of their deities, the intensity of their devotion. I found it fascinating how their body language revealed the depth of their faith.

One particular Sunday, I noticed a middle-aged man ahead of me in line for the prasad, dressed neatly in a white kurta and pyjama. He looked well-to-do. The temple, known for its generosity due to large donations, offered prasad in unusually large portions—unlike most places, where a small spoonful was the norm. Here, the prasad was the size of a large orange, rich with ghee. After collecting my portion of the sweet ksheera, I sat in a corner to enjoy it.

That’s when I saw the man again. He emptied his prasad hurriedly into a shining steel vessel and rushed to wash his hands at a nearby tap. I watched, curious, as he returned to the line to collect another portion. He did the same thing—emptying it into the vessel without tasting a bite. Again and again, he repeated this strange process, at least half a dozen times.

My initial reaction was anger. I thought, how could someone be so greedy, hoarding the prasad while others waited in the line? I almost confronted him but decided to hold back and observe him further. What happened next left me speechless.

With the vessel now filled with prasad, the man didn’t leave the temple to enjoy it himself. Instead, he went outside to where the beggars sat, patiently waiting. One by one, he offered each of them a generous portion of the prasad, along with a five-rupee coin. His smile was warm, genuine, and filled with compassion. The beggars’ faces lit up as they received his offering. He cared little if anyone saw or judged him; for him, the act was sacred.

I stood there, deeply ashamed of my hasty judgment. This man wasn’t greedy—he was giving, more than any of us inside the temple. In the joy and gratitude of those beggars, he saw the true essence of divinity, a vision far beyond the temple gate.

It was in their smiles, not the rituals or offerings, that he found the Gods.

The Full Circle of Love ( 826 words)

“Do not tell me you’ve never fallen in love! You’re already 25, and you always dodge my questions,” said Sunita, Bhavna’s close friend and colleague, who had come personally to invite her to her wedding. Sunita, an extrovert, had never kept​ her two-year relationship a secret from Bhavna, and now she was marrying her boyfriend.

Bhavna smiled. “What’s there to dodge? I haven’t fallen in love, at least not in the way you mean.”

“Come on, you went through school and college! Surely someone must’ve caught your eye,” Sunita persisted, determined to dig out the truth.

“Well… I had an infatuation with a guy back in class 11. We’d talk every day. It was more of a crush than anything serious. I moved to Bengaluru when my dad was transferred, and we lost contact.”

Sunita leaned in with a grin. “If you met him now, would you tell him how you feel?”

Bhavna hesitated. “It depends. I don’t even know where he is or what he’s like now. But who knows? Maybe someday.”

“Well, best wishes anyway!” Sunita laughed as she left. “Don’t forget to come to my wedding.”

That night, as Bhavna drifted into sleep, her mind wandered back to those Kolkata days.  Everything felt so real in her dream—the school, the bustling bus stop, and Bhola. Tall, handsome, with curly hair and a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he’d wait for her every morning at the bus stop and walk her to the bus after school. She vividly recalled how she’d let crowded buses pass by to spend a few more minutes with him, sharing snacks and chatting about anything and everything.

The memory of the last day at school stung the most. Her father’s transfer to  Bengaluru meant leaving Bhola behind. They had sat quietly in a park, holding hands, knowing they might never see each other again.

“I’ll miss you,” he had whispered. “I didn’t sleep all night, thinking of ways to make you stay.”

She had smiled through her tears. “Maybe we’ll meet again. Where do you live? Who knows what life has in store for us?”

“Dhakuria Heights, fourth floor, second on the right side, Southern Avenue. Would you visit me before you leave?” he asked eagerly and added, "Bhola is my pet name outside and Somu in my home."

The dream faded, and Bhavna woke with a bittersweet smile, her heart unexpectedly light. Bhola occupied her thoughts all day, making her wonder how he looked now, where he was, and if he still remembered her.

Two days later, at breakfast, her father announced, “I have some work in Kolkata” and asked  her mom,” Would you like to come along?”

Bhavna’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes! I also wish to join very much,” she said, her excitement met with laughter. And so, they went.

Once in Kolkata, she made an excuse to visit Adhiti, her friend. and took a taxi to Southern Avenue, her heart pounding with anticipation. When she arrived at Dhakuria Heights, her nerves got the better of her. Was this the right thing to do? She rode the elevator to the fourth floor and knocked on the door.

A young man, strikingly similar to Bhola, answered, holding a baby girl. She was shocked for a moment. But the moment he spoke in a loud voice, she knew it wasn’t Bhola.

“Sorry,” she stammered, backing away. “Wrong door.”

As she hurried toward the lift in great disappointment, she nearly bumped into someone standing in her way, preventing her from exiting.

“Bhavna?” a familiar voice asked, sending shivers down her spine. “Is it you, Bhola?”

It was him. Bhola. His soft voice, his familiar eyes, everything came rushing back. He smiled and pushed her back into the lift. “ Yes, I am Bhola, Bhavna’s soulmate. Wow, you actually came, just like you promised!”

Bhavna laughed, her heart fluttering. “I went to your place, and I think it is your brother with a baby in hand  who  sent me away!”

Bhola laughed. “Oh, him? Let’s go upstairs—my parents will be thrilled. I’ve told them all about you.”

As they stepped inside, Bhola called out, “Ma! Baba! Come see who’s here!”

His mother hugged Bhavna warmly. “So, this is the girl who has our Somu waiting all these years?” she said, caressing her head. “How lovely you are!”

His father smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Somu refused every proposal after joining the IAS, possibly rightly, I feel after seeing you, hoping to meet you again. We’d love to meet your parents and take things forward if that’s alright with you.”

Bhavna, overwhelmed but beaming, knelt to greet the baby girl who had crawled towards her, tugging at her dress. She picked her up and kissed her soft cheek, her heart filling with joy.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Bhavna smiled at how life had a serendipitous way of bringing things full circle—often when you least expect it

A Reflection for Women’s Day (727 words)

I often see an old beggar woman sitting in the same spot along the busy main road near my home. Her position is constant, though she moves to the other side of the road in the evening to escape the harsh rays of the sun. She must be around seventy, though her frail figure suggests she could be much older. Emaciated and shriveled, with hair that hasn’t seen oil in years, she crouches silently on a torn mat with a tattered bed sheet underneath. Her dimmed vision and leprosy-ravaged fingers make her a pitiable sight, yet she never pleads for alms. Despite her miserable condition, she exudes an innate dignity that transcends her poor circumstances.

It struck me that dignity isn’t associated with wealth or status. Even a beggar can hold her head high, while the rich may act without grace. Coins tossed onto her worn newspaper spread opposite her and were gathered with trembling fingers and dropped into a rusty tin box. There was never a desperate plea for alms —just the silent acceptance of what came her way. Even in her hardship, her quiet strength touched me.

One day, I saw her completely drenched in a sudden downpour, sitting there unmoving, without seeking any shelter. The next morning, I brought her an old unused umbrella to give her shelter from both rain and sun. She accepted it coolly and uttered no words to thank me but only lifted her head with what might have been a smile or acknowledgement. Every time I passed her corner, I made it a habit to leave a coin. Somehow, she always seemed to sense my approach from my steps, raising her head in gratitude. It amazed me how the body compensates when some faculties are lost—her awareness was sharp, her hearing keen.

Moved by her sorry plight, I asked my wife if she could spare a few saris for her. Without the slightest hesitation, my wife gave me several, and I eagerly set off to give them. But, to my disappointment, the beggar woman was not in her usual spot. Days passed, and she remained absent, filling me with concern. I feared she might have fallen ill or met with an accident. When she finally reappeared, there was great relief, and I rushed home to collect the saris.

“I’ve been looking for you,” I told her as I gave her the saris. Her eyes widened, and she said, “Sami (Sir), I don’t need more than two. I have no place to keep them. I sleep on the platform, and this small bag contains all I own. One spare is enough.”

As I hesitated, she added softly, “You will see on my left, a young woman sitting nearby. She’s an orphan; her mother passed away recently, and she’s left with nothing. She is troubled by wicked men when night falls, and she comes to me for protection. Daily, I stay awake to keep her safe and shout them away. Please, give her the other saris, and if you can, I would beg you to find her a secure place. I will be forever indebted to you.”

Her words left me speechless. Here was a woman with nothing, yet her concern was for someone else—an orphan, vulnerable and alone. In that moment, I realized true wealth isn’t measured by what we possess but by the kindness we extend to others. Her generosity and compassion far exceeded my own. This frail beggar woman, with barely enough for herself, stood taller and richer in spirit than I could ever hope to be.

That day was Women’s Day. How fitting, yet ironic, that it was a destitute beggar woman who embodied the strength and compassion we celebrate in women. She reminded me of the famous quote: “A bone to a dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog when you are just as hungry as the dog.”

On Women’s Day, we often honour our women in positions of power and influence, but let us not forget those women who, in their quiet and often unseen ways, show immense strength, resilience, and compassion. This beggar woman, forgotten by society, gave everything she could to protect someone more vulnerable than herself. In her, I saw the true spirit of womanhood—selflessness, dignity, and grace in the face of adversity.

Bride wanted (970 words)

A hilarious decade-old story to regale you as the new month begins

To her mom's surprise, Vanita came home earlier than usual from her office. Although she had asked no question, Vanita said with a smile, “I had not much work to do and felt like having hot bajjis with coffee from you.”

“Why not? I will have it ready in a jiffy,” her mom replied happily as she hurried to the workstation to cut the vegetables.

Vanita sank comfortably on the sofa and lazily skimmed through the day’s paper till her eyes fell on a matrimonial advertisement under the Brides wanted category. It was in bold letters against a coloured background to attract potential brides. Vanita, nearing 30 and a spinster, took delight occasionally in browsing through such matrimonial columns. It was more an amusing diversion than any serious effort to source her partner.

“A marketing executive in a multinational company aged 34,170cm with clean habits and drawing a good salary, frequently on tour, desires a life partner. Has an aged mother with initial signs of Alzheimer's. The potential partner should be a graduate around 30, without any encumbrance, not working but pleasant and smiling always. Caste and language no bar. The expectations are small and very few. She should have an aesthetic sense, love her home, keep it clean and well decorated and be good in culinary arts, experimenting daily with different cuisines of many regions and countries. Should be fond of having children and have cheerful disposition and not given to tantrums even under slight provocation. Would want her to be a home bird and not employed after marriage. All her needs would be amply taken care of. Quick marriage is contemplated

Call xxxxxxxxxx”

Vanita had a strong streak of independence and a dim view of arranged marriages. The few men she met in her workplace and social circles did not inspire her. She found them either egoistic with notions of male superiority or just plain and uninteresting. She was happy with her present state and had no intention to marry, although her mother gently broached the subject not infrequently.

Anger rose in her when she read this ad, but she nevertheless went through it again carefully. This guy needed a woman to take care of his ailing mom without spending on servants and possibly he is a foodie wanting to eat varieties of food at home. He also needed a woman waiting for him when he returned home from office or tour and willing to raise a family of many children. He would not like her to work and, in plain words, wants her to be tied to home but disingenuously clothes his real intention in words like aesthetic sense, love of home and decorating it. To cap it all, he wants her to be cheerful without frustration even under trying circumstances with an aged woman in what is possibly a case of advanced Alzheimer's.

An idea struck her mind. She called the number and asked him to visit her home the next day at 4 pm for discussions.

A well-dressed and smart-looking guy rang the bell sharp at 4 pm. Vanita’s mom was luckily asleep in the bedroom.

“Good evening. I am Abhinav and have come in response to your invitation about my ad,” he said, a bit overawed at the beautiful maiden who answered his bell.

“Come in, Abhinav. I am Vanita, who called you yesterday,” replied Vanita as she led him to the living room overlooking the workstation and kitchen area where a young woman was busy shining the glasses.

As he seated himself comfortably, considering himself fortunate to meet the charming lady, she asked, “What would you have? Apple, guava or mango juice?”

“Mango” he said, contrary to her expectation that he would leave the choice to her.

“Rukku, bring two glasses of mango juice” she said to the woman at the kitchen and turned towards him.

“I am very pleased to meet you. I hope you must have read about my requirements. I am very particular about them. Since you have invited me, I assume you have understood”

“Certainly, I have understood what you want. You are indeed lucky to have come across one who fits to the T your expectations,” said Vanita, smiling in a bewitching manner. “You need a woman who is well qualified but would stay at home tending to your sick mother, cooking different kinds of food to satisfy your palate, raise a family of many children and be always smiling and cheerful. Am I correct? “she asked.

“In a way, yes, but I would not put it so crudely,” he answered.

“Never mind how it is put. But it is a fact. Rukku, come here,” she said, and as Rukku came in, her old cotton sari with an apron tied around her waist and in a disheveled hair and perspiring face, Vanita added,” Mr. Abhinav, my maid Rukku meets all your requirements and would gladly marry you. She has written her graduate examination online, and the results are expected next month. She will stop working after the wedding. She will look very charming after a wash and dressing up. She will take care of your mother. What do you say?”

Abhinav stood up and angrily said, “I am not amused at your silly behaviour, you you …” even as he stomped towards the door

“Get out, I say, and go to an employment agency looking for a maid and not a slave for your wife” said Vanita as she banged the door behind him

She turned and rushed to hug the smiling Rukku even as her sister was in peals of laughter.

”Akka (elder sister), I thoroughly enjoyed this small act as a maid in an old sari. A fitting lesson you gave to that foolish man. Thank God, Amma is sleeping in the bedroom,” said Rukmini

The blunderbuss (676 words)

It was a small apartment with just one room, a small hall and a smaller kitchen. Bhagyam usually lay in the bed opposite a TV in the hall. She was living alone here after her husband died. She was getting a small government pension. She had no children but had siblings who rarely visited her.

She had been having a fever for the last two days and was feeling weak and exhausted. She was past 75 and saw no purpose in her aimless life. She was not able to read because of her poor vision.TV was the only diversion for her but volume had to be kept high these days. Luckily her neighbour, her namesake, did not complain. There was nothing to look forward to and each day was no different from the other. Except for her young lady neighbour Bhagyam who was kind to her and made daily visits asking her whether she needed any groceries, she had no friends. Nevertheless, she often prayed for deliverance from this miserable life.

It was past 10 pm and the TV was blaring. Bhagyam suddenly felt a shadow flitting across the room. To her shock she saw a tall, big, dark man standing near the door with protruding big eyes and with long moustache that policemen generally flaunt. He was bare-bodied with a dhoti tied through the legs. He had a rope on one hand and a big mace on the other. The door was locked and she wondered how he could have entered.

 "Who are you? How did you enter? What is this strange outfit like Yama (God of death)? Are you an actor coming straight from the shooting studio? What brought you here? "She asked with no fear in her voice.

"You are right. I am indeed Yama come to take your life. Your time is up. I can enter through any barrier and travel anywhere on my mount" he replied in a loud and baritone voice

"Hahaha, I was actually praying for your visit and God had at last answered my prayers. Where is your mount anyway?" she said with a big toothless smile. She then heard a grunt from outside.

"People in death bed shudder at my sight and even die before I use my rope. You seem a strange and fearless woman. What is your full name by the way? asked Yama

"What a blunderbuss you are coming all the way to take my life without even knowing my name? I am Bhagyam anyway"

"What is your husband's name?"

“Have you come to take my life or my husband's? For your information, someone of your clan took him away ten years back. His name is Kannabiran."

"Oh my God, is there anyone named Kannayiram in this building?"

"Yes, he lives next door and his wife's name is also Bhagyam. Why do you want to know about them, tell me now.”

"Sorry, grandma. There has been a mistake. I came looking for Bhagyam Kannayiram but had wrongly entered your house"

"What a clumsy fellow you are! The municipal clerk who collected Aadhar details is much smarter than you. Mind you, you cannot touch her after you have blundered and scared me needlessly. She is my only bulwark. Take me instead or leave her alone. This is the minimum I beg of you. People say you are very just.”

The dark figure seemed to smile at her as it vanished.

The next moment Bhagyam heard a loud wail from the adjacent flat. She got up hit by panic and ambled her way hurriedly to the flat to learn that the younger Bhagyam had fallen in the bathroom and possibly broken her leg.

"Is she otherwise, ok?" asked the old woman to Kannayiram.

"I think so and she is sitting on the sofa and talking normally," he said

"Grandma, I am fine. Nothing is wrong with me. It could be just a sprain and not even a fracture," the younger Bhagyam said

The old woman much relieved understood now why the dark figure smiled when he disappeared.

 

Deep into the Woods (478 words)

Devadasan wanting to reach his village early took a shortcut through the wood instead of the regular and long road. He aimed to cover what would have taken two hours by road in half the time. It was only 4 PM, and the day was bright. The forest was alive with the sounds of birds chirping overhead, squirrels darting between the trees, and the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze. With no fear or second thoughts, he ventured deeper into it.

After an hour had passed, an unsettling silence crept in. What he had once felt vibrant and alive now seemed ominous still. The leaves hung motionless, the squirrels had vanished, and the birds' songs had fallen silent. As darkness swiftly enveloped the wood, a wave of anxiety and fear washed over him. Instinctively, Devadasan made the sign of the cross with his hand. He stood at the crossroads of indecision, with several forks in the pathway, unable to go back and too afraid to move forward.

Scanning his surroundings, he spotted a faint glow in the distance. a dim light, filtering through the trees. He was unsure whether to proceed towards the dim light till he saw a faint sign of a cross there. Driven by hope and faith not knowing what else to do, he pushed through the thick underbrush until he reached a small, solitary hut. He called out twice, but only silence greeted him. With caution, he eased the door open and peered inside. To his surprise, the hut was empty. In a corner, there was a tiny oil lamp flickering weakly, casting a long shadow across the mud floor. A pot of water sat beside it. Besides a charpoy, there was no other sign of life or habitation.

He waited, expecting someone to return, but no one came. Exhausted, he lay down on the cold, hard bench and soon drifted into a deep sleep.

As dawn broke, the world seemed to come alive. The birds had started singing again, and the squirrels had returned, running and sprinting playfully across the dewy grass. Devadasan woke up, confused but calm. The eerie night felt like a distant nightmare. He glanced around for the lamp and the pot of water, but both had mysteriously vanished. Startled, he found himself sitting on the floor with no charpoy in sight. He began searching the small hut, looking for any trace of what had happened. He came away from the place only to find to his great horror a tall anthill a few yards away.

Quickly he moved away and saw a branch of a tree hanging horizontally across a small tree, that he mistook as a cross the previous night A slow smile spread across his face. There was now gratitude in his heart, joy in his mood and a spring in his walk towards his village.