The Surprise Visitor (670 words)

It was unusually dark that night. The heavy rain had stopped, but a persistent drizzle continued, deepening the gloom in Suguna’s already heavy heart. She sat alone in her apartment, resting on the sofa, doing nothing in particular. She felt neither hungry nor sleepy.

Suddenly, the apartment was plunged into darkness. The wretched electricity department had cut the power due to waterlogging somewhere nearby. She wanted to light some candles but couldn’t recall where she had kept them.

In the dim light filtering through the window, she noticed a figure sitting on the opposite sofa. She froze. From behind, it looked unmistakably like her father (appa). He hadn’t been there before the power outage—he must have entered after the lights went out. The broad shoulders, the smooth, bald crown of his head, and the familiar way he reclined all pointed to one thing: it was him.

But how could it be? It had to be a stranger.

The figure rose suddenly and walked to the window, pulling the curtains aside to let in a sliver of moonlight. His gait, the way he moved, it was identical to her father’s. Yet fear kept her rooted. She couldn’t bring herself to move closer. It couldn’t really be him… could it?

Her mind went back to the accident on the highway, a few months earlier. She and her father(appa) had been returning from the mall. He was driving steadily at 70 miles per hour in the fast lane when a vehicle in the second lane suddenly veered into their path. Her father had swerved to avoid it and crashed into the divider. Just before she lost consciousness, she had seen a gaping wound in his upper chest, blood gushing out. She saw him slump in his seat, motionless.

He hadn’t survived. She was certain of it.

So, who was this man?

Filled with dread, Suguna tiptoed toward her bedroom. The apartment, so familiar in daylight, now felt alien in the dark. She moved slowly, carefully.

Then she heard it.

“Suguna!”

The cry rang out like an anguished wail, echoing through the apartment. It didn’t sound like someone calling her name; it sounded like a heart being torn open. Again it came, louder, more desperate:

“Suguna!”

She froze. The voice filled her with terror. She couldn’t bring herself to respond or even move toward the door. She was alone. She couldn’t risk drawing his attention. And she couldn’t flee either, as he was still in the drawing room.

Then, suddenly, the power returned. Light flooded the room.

She heard footsteps approaching. He was coming into her bedroom.

Suguna quickly hid behind the curtains.

The man’s figure was stooped, his posture heavy with sorrow. He moved slowly, silently, as if crushed by grief. He looked around the room, touched the edge of her bed, and gently ran his fingers over the pillow. Then he walked to the dresser, where her photo stood in a frame. He stared at it for a long time, eyes filled with tears. Carefully, with trembling hands, he picked it up, wiped the glass with his shirt, and brought the picture to his lips.

Groaning through his sobs, he whispered,

“Suguna… why did you leave me? I should have died in that accident. You were so young, with your whole life ahead of you. My years were spent. How cruel God has been…”

He wept openly now, and Suguna’s heart broke at the sight. This was no stranger. It had to be her father… revisiting her, in grief.

She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around him, and whispered,

“Appa, please don’t cry. I’m right here. I’ll join you when my days are done.”

But he didn’t seem to hear her voice. He didn’t feel her touch. After a few minutes, he gently placed the photo back, walked out of the room, switched off the lights, locked the door behind him, and left.

Suguna followed him to the front door and watched in silence as he drove away into the night.

 

The Irony (529 words)

 Krish crossed this traffic signal every day on his way to work, and almost without fail, he got stuck there.

He had grown up watching beggars and hawkers swarm the junction, but over the years, the scene had become increasingly overwhelming. The chaos was no longer just a part of the city’s character; it had become a public nuisance.

Swarms of children and young women, some with infants clinging to their hips, all in tattered clothes barely offering modesty, moved swiftly between the vehicles. Grimy children with running noses and matted hair, frail mothers cradling emaciated babies, the lame, the leprous, and even able-bodied boys and girls pretending to sell trinkets like combs, car swipes, magazines, and goggles, knocked on car windows and wiped windshields without being asked.

They couldn’t be ignored. They were persistent, sometimes even aggressive, and they darted dangerously through traffic as the lights changed, undeterred by the risks.

Krish felt a deep ache watching them. Offering a few coins or a sympathetic smile felt futile, a meaningless drop in an ocean of suffering.

He thought of the children who should have been in school, not wandering barefoot on sun-scorched roads or begging in the pouring rain.

It pained him that even after several decades of independence, poverty remained a harsh reality, stubbornly untouched by countless development plans and government schemes.

He felt a radical shift was needed, something bigger, something that would go beyond charity, and touch the root of the problem.

A sudden chorus of honking horns jolted him from his thoughts. The signal had turned green, and the beggars, too, had rushed off to the other side, where a fresh batch of vehicles waited.

The image of those faces stayed with him all day. His mood remained heavy, and when he met his colleagues at the office, he spoke only of what he had seen, of poverty, and what must be done to end it.

One colleague suggested banning begging outright.

Another said beggars should be jailed to “clean up” the cities.

None of it sat right with Krish. He longed for a day when no child would need to beg at a traffic light, when every child would have a home, an education, and a future.

That evening, Krish left the office early. He had promised to take his wife and son shopping for school supplies.

After picking up some stationery from Staples, they stopped at Bata to buy the boy a new pair of shoes, as his current ones were slightly tight. The old shoes, still in usable condition, were packed up and handed back to them.

“Let’s give these to some poor child at the signal,” his wife said kindly.

By then, it was already 8 PM. As always, their car halted at the signal. Krish lowered the window and looked out, scanning for the familiar sight of begging children.

But tonight, the crossing was empty.

Not a single child. Not even an adult beggar.

His wife’s face showed quiet disappointment.

And in a strange, bitter twist of irony, Krish found himself hoping, just for a moment, that at least one child would appear, if only to accept the shoes.

 

Pandian’s second wish (900 words)

Pandian, an IT engineer, had come along with his three friends to explore the dense green forest on a Sunday afternoon and to spend time with nature to savour its raw beauty. He had heard there was a beautiful lake, clean and circular, surrounded by wild and colourful flower plants. He wished to find it out and spend a few minutes. But his friends demurred, saying it was getting dark. His enthusiasm overtook his caution, and he went deeper inside alone after requesting that they wait for a short time. Unfortunately, once inside, every side looked alike, and he lost his way and his friends. He tried to reach them through his mobile, but the charge had drained.

 It was only 4 pm, but it was pitch dark. He heard unusual and strange noises, and he was terrified of slithering reptiles. He was scared and started praying even as he continued moving through the maze, searching for a clearing or the brightness of sunlight. Something soft and cool, slightly rubbed on his cheek, and he jumped, startled that it could be a python from the overhead branch. He could see nothing and moved away quickly.

After several harrowing minutes when he lost all hope of escape, he was happy to see an opening that was a little brighter. When he went near, he found to his great relief, an old man of indeterminable age sitting bare bodied under a tree. He was sitting with his legs crossed in Padmasana, had a flowing white beard, and his eyes were closed, obviously in meditation. He sat quietly before him, waiting for him to open his eyes. Pandian was afraid to disturb him lest he get angry and refuse to help him find his way out. Minutes clicked past, and it was almost an hour, and he was still sitting before him when the weird noises around him grew shriller and louder. But nothing seemed to wake the old man from his musing. When a fly sat on the edge of Pandian’s nostril, he could not stop the loud sneeze despite his attempt to smother it. It was then that the old man opened his eyes and, surprisingly, smiled at Pandian.

In a soft voice that was almost a whisper, he asked, “Son, what are you doing here in this dense forest? It is a risky place to be here with crawling reptiles and roaming wild animals.”

Pandian prostrated before him and prayed, “Swami, I lost my way here and could not find my friends with whom I had come. I fear I have strayed deep inside the jungle. Can you kindly help me get out of the forest?”

“I have not seen a human for several years, this far into the forest, ever since I came here as a young boy in search of the meaning of life. I am not normally visible to others' eyes. Lucky you could see me. I am pleased with you. Ask me three wishes and they would be fulfilled immediately.’

“My first wish is to be out of this jungle at my home,” he said

” It will be done immediately. Express your other two wishes,” said the sage-like person

“Swami, I love Swarna, my colleague, very much, but she is not reciprocating. Can you please make her fall in love with me?” asked Pandian

“What is your third wish? Tell me now, this moment before I become invisible to your eyes”

“Swami, I am so tired after the walk all day that I can scarcely think, and I wish I had a sound sleep before telling my third wish, Pandian said unwittingly.

Everything went blank till Pandian heard his mother’s shrill voice, “Pandia, why are you sleeping like Kumbakarnan. You said you have a meeting today. Get up fast, as it is already late.”

Pandian felt happy that his first wish to return home from the dreadful forest and desire for sound sleep were readily granted.

Pandian was not sure whether his second wish about Swarna would materialise as the old man did not specifically respond.

The next day, he was busy with the scheduled meeting in the morning. It was around 3 PM he was surprised to see Swarna entering his cubicle unusually with a broad smile. Extending his hand, he said,” What a pleasant surprise? Am I dreaming?” he said mockingly, pinching his hand.

“I came to this part of the office on work after a long time, and just came to greet and spend a few moments. You look a bit jaded. Anything bothering you? she asked. He denied.

After exchanging pleasantries, she took leave of him with a giggle and parting remark,” I feel your happy days are starting soon,” leaving Pandian confused.

It was at dinner time when the family, including his parents, sisters and one younger brother, her mom asked with a mischievous smile,” Is there any Swana, an IT engineer like you working in your office?”

“Why, why, I know her a little,” he exclaimed hastily.

“Her parents were here seeking your hand for her. She looks charming in the photo. We have agreed to visit them with you tomorrow formally for finalising with your approval,” said his mom.

With the cat out of the bag for Swarna’s visit with her smile and parting remark, he thought of the venerable old man for fulfilling all his three wishes.

 

 

 

The bully (1419 words)

(This story relates to pre-mobile days)

The final examination for class 12 was just a few weeks away. It was lunchtime. I was sitting alone in the prayer hall where the students assembled daily in the morning

I saw Durai standing outside the prayer hall with his friends, looking at me once in a while and conversing with them. I knew why he was there, but I just ignored him. I must give a short introduction about him, as he plays a significant role in this story

He is a school bully, tall, muscular, with unruly hair and a copper bracelet on the wrist. Except for his cronies, the boys and girls gave him a wide berth. Short-tempered, he was given to picking quarrels for flimsy reasons and turning violent. A backbencher, he fared poorly in studies. The teachers, who knew that his dad was a local politician, generally left him alone. He was proficient in Karate and had a colour belt.

A week earlier, I had warned him to stay away from Sumitra, our classmate. Every time she walked past him, he made some indecent comments or hummed film songs with double meaning, much to the amusement of his buddies and the embarrassment of Sumitra. Sometimes he will try to indulge in silly talk with her. When she could tolerate it no more, she confided in me.

Durai did not like my admonition and angrily shook my collar and. threatened me to mind my own business if I wished to avoid getting maimed for life. He punched me hard and pushed me away as he left with his pals

A brief account of my friendship with Sumitra would be apt here. I have been studying with Sumitra for the last four years, and there was nothing special between us except as classmates till we came to class 12. It was the beginning of the academic year, and as usual, I sought refuge during lunchtime in my favourite corner of the prayer hall. The large hall was practically empty in the afternoons except for some students passing through the hall at the other end. I was sort of dozing one day with my eyes half closed when a whiff of jasmine fragrance wafted across me. I opened my eyes to see Sumitra standing before me with some books in her hand. I smiled at her and arched my brows as if to ask what brought her to me.

“I have some doubts in geometry and am unable to solve a few problems. I was initially hesitant, but decided to come to you as you are a topper in the class,” she said softly

“Sit down and show me the questions” I replied.

She sat on the bench a little away and spread the notebook on her lap. She opened the page in the geometry book and showed me the problems.

They were simple, and I took the notebook from her and drew the diagrams. She came closer to me, craning her neck to see what I wrote. Her hair with jasmine concealed in it almost brushed my face. The intoxicating smell, the proximity of a feminine figure was something new to me, triggering unexplained feelings in me. As I was explaining the diagram and the construction needed to solve the problem, her hand brushed against mine. I stopped explaining momentarily, and she looked at me quizzically.

“I hope you do not mind my troubling you now and then like this, Raju. Things are clearer to me now,” she said with a shy smile

“Not at all. It is a pleasure to help you. You can always approach me”

“Did you say a pleasure?” she said as she flashed a smile and scurried away.

There was a song in my heart as I got up, looking at the receding beautiful girl.

The next day, she came and thrust a notebook, saying, “I have to rush. I have unsolved problems in calculus. I will collect it tomorrow. I hope you won’t mind”

I opened the notebook after she was gone, and a peacock feather fell. I smiled to myself. I inwardly knew that her getting her doubts cleared was only a pretext to be with me.

The exchange of notebooks with rose petals, flowers and small notes with names written graphically became a routine, though we had not mentioned that we were in love with each other. One day, she mentioned she said she would be joining SSM Engineering College and wished that I also do the same. “We can be together for four more years. Choose ECE.”

I asked her mischievously, “What about after four years? Won’t you like to be together?”

She said “Chee, chee “and ran away.

It was on one such day recently, Sumira complained about Durai’s constant harassment, followed by my warning him.

I was woken up from my reverie when I found Durai lifting me by my collar and dragging me outside the prayer hall to the gate. There were his buddies and many students standing in a circle.

“You skinny cheapster, who the hell are you to warn me to stay away from Sumitra? What is she to you? Your sweetheart or lover?” he shook my body violently.

When I did not reply, partly shaken by fear, he flexed his muscles and punched me on my face. There was laughter from his buddies and horror in the looks of other students.

“Are you dumb? Open your mouth if you wish to save your life,” thundered Durai in rage.

I smelt blood and looked around. Another blow landed on me like a sledgehammer. I fell. Someone came running towards me.

” Don’t anyone dare to come near us. It is a private quarrel, or shall I say duel? I have decided to end the issue once and for all,” he roared

Turning towards me he asked, “Is she your lover? How close are you to her, you rascal? Keep away from her. Do you understand?”

I knew I could not fight with him, and he only wanted me to resist him so he could hit me more. My silence infuriated him so much that he kept raining blows on me even as I lay on the ground, cowering in fear. Things turned black, and I felt myself going unconscious.

It was then I heard faintly Sumitra’s shrieking voice, “Stop it, Durai. I had only asked him to tell you. I have nothing for him. Leave him alone”

“Why are you so concerned about him? Are you in love with him?” Durai shouted

“I told you I have no love for him. I feel bad because he gets beaten for what I asked him to do. In fact, I have no fancy for him. He is a puny bookworm and nothing more. I beg you to leave him alone”

Durai gave one final kick and went away laughing with his buddies in the knowledge that Sumitra did not love me. I lay there, shattered not by the blows of Durai but by the hurt and disbelief caused by Sumitra’s words. Are all the exchanges and interactions since the beginning of the year a deception, I wondered?

Both avoided each other studiously, and I could see a spring in Durai’s Walk after that violent incident.

The day after the final examinations were over, Anusha, a common friend, came home and gave me an envelope.” Please read this and I will come in the evening to collect your reply. Sumi is such a nice girl. You will understand,” said Anusha before leaving.

“My dear Raju,

You must be having a very low opinion of me, and I understand that. But I could not bear, that brute hitting you like a murderer, overcome by jealousy that I love you. He has seen us together many times and always talked derogatorily of you. The only way, I felt I could save you that day from being killed, was by proclaiming that I hated you and satisfying his ego.

Please understand and forgive me. These days of silence between us have been torture. I am looking forward to spending four years at the college with you, and who knows, thereafter? Send me a reply through Anusha that you have forgiven me, and that I can always come to you with problems in mathematics.

Love, S”

As I jumped in joy and made a jig, my mom entered the room and asked me, “Why are you dancing, Raju? Any good news?”

I hugged my mom and said nothing except for a smile.

 

 

The serial killer at large (759 words)

The city was abuzz with the spine-chilling stories of gory killings in different parts, mostly at night. Some daytime murders in secluded spots were reported. There was a uniform pattern behind the killings, and the instrument used was the same. The victims were mostly young men. The killer spared old men, women and children. The description of this serial killer was all hearsay as no one had seen him, and the victims were too dead to shed light on.

Rumours were afloat that he killed with a blunt instrument to the head. But no evidence was found in the vicinity. The newspapers were screaming with headlines reporting the ghastly slaughters and asking for immediate action by the police. The police were not found wanting in response, and many patrol teams were doing the rounds in different parts of the city at nights. It had been nearly a month, and more than 15 killings had taken place, with the killer still eluding the police. There was a reward of rupees one lakh to anyone helping in nabbing the culprit.

Ravi was broke. He had no job. The last rupee was spent long back, and he needed money badly. This was a godsend opportunity. He was a hefty and strong fellow and could tackle anyone on one to one basis. He ventured out, looking carefully on all sides for any suspicious character. It was dark and drizzling, with the atmosphere somewhat creepy. The night seemed perfect for the killer to come out of his den to get his prey.

 Ravi leisurely walked, alert, as the deserted road lined with big trees was empty, with not a single soul in sight. It had been three days since an incident was reported, and the whole city was waiting with bated breath for the next murder and hoped the police would catch the killer. Police were also on tenterhooks, setting up barricades at all intersections for the cars to stop. They even checked individuals who looked suspicious, sparing the well-dressed office goers.

Ravi saw a few police patrol cars whizzing past. This road was still desolate and dim with lights few and far between. Ravi had made sure that he was well armed when he went out since the day murders started happening. Still there was a slight tinge of fear as the killer managed to kill 15 unwary and unsuspecting victims. But he was well prepared for a skirmish if necessary and confident that he could not be taken by surprise. Nevertheless, he ran his hand on his side to feel the security of the weapon he had hidden to be used if necessary.

It was then he saw in the darkness a well-built, tall man enter from a side road. There were none within sight. He felt his heart was pounding hard and that he was perspiring. There was a strange feeling of tingling in his hands and legs. He did not panic, though and kept his hand on the weapon. When the man came close, he found him in a Khaki uniform of the police. He was sporting a long and bushy moustache as policemen are wont to.

Ravi heaved a sigh of relief when the khaki-clad man asked in a stentorian voice,” Hey, what are you doing on this road at this hour? Don’t you know that a mad killer is on the prowl and that people do not stir out after dusk, and if they do, they go in groups?”

Ravi laughed loudly and said, “I am fully aware. In fact, I am on the prowl to catch him to help you, inept police people.”

“You seem a reckless guy. I would call you a foolish to come like this alone, without even a walking stick in your hand to confront a known serial killer. The moment he sees you, he will make a mincemeat of you,” the khaki-clad man said with loud laughter.

“Don’t assume things. I have a weapon to protect myself. Why should I fear now when you are there by my side?” Ravi said

“That is true. Not a single patrol car is seen for nearly 30 minutes. I hear one jeep is coming behind us. Don’t you hear?” asked the khaki man.

Ravi turned around to see the jeep when he felt a sledgehammer blow fall on his head. A thousand stars exploded before he felt he was floating in darkness, and all was quiet thereafter.

The headlines in the paper the next morning screamed,” Killer active again. Sixteenth victim. Is the police sleeping?”

 

The cost of a free consultation (1164 words)

 

You can call me a counsellor, a shrink, a psychiatrist or even an agony aunt. It is up to you, and it will not affect me. I am not one of those who have big consulting rooms with flashy boards and upholstered furniture. I don’t flaunt my degrees to impress my clients and attract them. Instead, I seek them where they are and who are mostly abandoned by family and society. They live their own lives in a cocooned corner of drugs, alcohol or red-light areas. It is easy to spot them and you don’t need any special skill.

I leave my home at 9 am to go on my daily rounds to the park, mall, bars, drug hideouts, red light areas and isolated places, even funeral homes. In what I consider social work. I don’t need well-cut suits and expensive leather bags. I am content with my rather old blue serge jacket and slightly faded jeans. I don't pay much attention to my appearance, and I'm aware that my long hair needs a cut. My work is more important to me than my appearance. I cast my look across the places I visit. I can invariably find the individual(s) who need my professional help.

I was in a supermarket where I found this middle-aged man with bloodshot eyes filling the basket with half a dozen bottles each of whiskey and beer, vodka besides, I think rum and tequila. There was also a lone bottle of wine. You don’t need any further proof of this man’s addiction to liquor; one buys so much unless he is an alcoholic. I gently approached him and smiled at him. He returned the smile but continued to look for some other variety. I coughed slightly, and when he turned, I said, “Liquor is harmful, and it is difficult to break the habit. Not so much at one go.”

He ignored me. I considered it my societal responsibility to wean him away from this weakness.

“If you can spend 30 minutes with me, I can cure you of this dependence without any obligation, for I consider this as my duty to society”, I said softly.

He looked at me contemptuously and bawled out “What shit are you taking? Get lost before I lose my temper”

Even as I was saying, “Do not get upset. I am aware it takes a long time to break the habit”, he punched my nose hard, with blood oozing out. In a short while, the security led me out with a warning not to harass customers. I do not get disheartened by such violent rages or failures in my attempts. I keep looking for the next client.

With a band-aid on my bloody nose, I happened to see a zombie sitting on a bench and smoking what I was certain was hash. I went closer and as I feared, his eyes had a vacant look and his cheeks were shrunk. He was oblivious of my presence close by his side or my salutation. It was evident he was hooked on drugs. I could sense a sweaty smell of one who had no shower for a week or more. He moved away from me. I do not give up easily and followed him.

“Leave me alone. Why are you stalking me? I have no money with me,” he said with some irritability

“Cool down, I have gone through this hell, but could shake it off though with difficulty,” I said gently.

“What do you want? What are you talking about?”

“Let us sit down for a while. But tell me what are you into, Ice, LSD, cannabis, opium or ecstasy or any such stuff? I have done all these. I know you get high, into a world of heaven if you have a female partner to boot. I have come to save you from the hell you are sliding into.”

“You wish to save me, yes, by all means. I have been jobless for four months and need one immediately. Can you fix it? My wife and child are starving,” he said

“I have heard this refrain countless times. Come on, let us go and sit on the bench over there,” I said persuasively.

The man pushed me down and started hitting me with such ferocity for a weakling like him. Soon, a crowd gathered to save me, with a policeman also joining. After hearing him and despite my protestations that I was trying to help him, the police took me to the station and, look at the irony, searched me to see whether I carried any drugs. After confining me for the whole day, they sent me away with a warning not to harass people with my help.

I was disillusioned and remained at my place for two days. Then on the evening of the third day, I went round the bazaar area around 8 pm. It is not far from the red-light area and was busy with people. I saw a good-looking well well-built young woman standing under a lamp post. She wore jasmine on her head, and the large bindi suited her round face. She looked decent. I wondered why she was standing there like ‘other’ women. I wished to check whether she needed my help despite the warning from the police.

“Why are you standing here alone at this hour? “I asked

She did not answer. When I repeated the question, she said, “I am waiting for my man”

I assumed she stuck to one person, unlike others and said, “Glad that you are sticking to one man, unlike others of your type. Even then, it is a vice. Better get married to him instead of standing here daily.

She let out a shriek, saying ‘ayyo’ when a two-wheeler with a man and a girl of 6 years with a bottle of Coke screeched to a halt before us.

“What happened?” he asked

“This idiot thinks I am a woman of shady character waiting for some customer.”

Soon, there was a crowd and some manhandling, and I was taken to the police station. They did not let me go home this time.

Someone came the next day and talked to me about the incidents. When I told him in detail that I am a counsellor doing social work voluntarily in saving people caught in vices, he laughed aloud. He asked me lots of questions and had my blood sample taken.

I overheard that man telling the inspector, “That smelly guy needs a shrink as he is slightly deranged and suffers from hallucinations that he is a doctor. Maybe he also requires de-addiction and some medication for an acquired ailment.”

Now I am in a mental hospital, and the fun of it is that doctors are treating me. I laugh at them but revel at the opportunity to help the large number of inmates here. The moral I learnt is never do anything for free, as you are mistaken for a fake.

 

Kind hearts abound in every profession (640 words)

 

The solitary hut was in the outskirts of the village.

“Open the door,” shouted Constable Manickam. He had come walking across the rugged fields.

The door of the hut remained closed, and there was no response, but a dim glow from the chimney lamp inside could be seen.

“Is Kannabiran inside? I have come from the police station. Be quick to open the door”

This was met with silence. Manickam kept his head on the door to hear some whispers inside.

“I can hear your voices. I will give you three minutes. If you do not open the door, I will break it” he said and waited patiently.

Local political functionary coerced the Sub Inspector to arrest the poor chap even without a written complaint. Manickam did not know why the politician was angry with the man. The verbal complaint was that  Kannbiran hurled a stone at the politician without any provocation, and that the politician had half a dozen witnesses to corroborate it. The SI was a meek man and never rubbed the politician the wrong way. Manickam loathed the wicked leader.

“Your time is up. If you do not open the door instantly, I am kicking it open,” shouted Manickam.

The door slightly opened and the face of a young woman appeared through the opening. “He is not at home. He has not come home for two days,” she said.

“Let me in” he said, and when she did not yield, he pushed open the door and entered.

The room was dimly lit. She had a six-month-old baby in her arms, a two-year-old boy was seen clutching at her leg, and a three-year-old girl sitting near the chimney lamp. A small 10x10 space, it was practically empty except for a trunk box at the corner and some bundles wrapped in old clothes, partly hidden by a bed sheet hung on a rope. Poverty was writ large, and the boy was crying evidently from hunger.

“Why is the boy crying? Has he not eaten? Brighten the lamp by raising the wick”

“They are both very hungry. There is nothing to give except some old gruel. They refuse to drink as it has become stale. I haven’t eaten either,” she started crying.

“I am sorry. When he comes home, will you ask him to see me immediately?”

 “Surely. Why are you searching for my husband?”

“I was told he threw a stone at a local leader, and he has lodged a complaint.SI is very angry. Let him come and apologise.”

“You are like my elder brother. Please save us from him. He wanted my husband to take away a child and hide it here for a few days. Is it not wrong? How will I feed the child when we are hungry ourselves? My husband, being a father himself, refused, and the leader is making false accusation,” she said

Manickam then saw some movement of the bed sheet, and when he saw intently, he could see a pair of feet underneath. He pretended not to have noticed.

“Anna (brother), please help us. Upon God and my children, I swear he has not done anything wrong. His refusal to do an illegal thing has angered the leader”

“I do not know all that. I will come again tomorrow. Your husband is not safe here, as the leader is angry with him. Do you understand?”

“Can we run away to my mom’s village?”

“Do not tell me anything. Have these 200 rupees. Get some food for all of you. Beware, I will come looking for him again tomorrow morning, maybe with SI.”

“Thank you, Anna, God bless you”

“It is ok. Remember, you people are not safe here. Do you understand?” he repeated.

When she nodded her head slightly, he wrote in his notebook, “Accused not at home”, and briskly walked away

 

The Monk at the Casino – A Lesson in Letting Go” (451 words)

 Several years back, someone had shared this story without the author’s name. It is nice that I wish to share with you. I have edited here and there.

One day, a saffron-clad monk with just a dhoti, a half-sleeved kurta and a small bowl elliptical in shape walked up to the entrance of a famous casino in Las Vegas. The guards were stunned to see the half-clad man strange  in their view and stopped him.

Guard: “Swami, you need money to play here. Do you have any dollars?”

Monk: “How much do I need?”

Guard: “At least one dollar.”

The monk looked around and spotted a dollar bill on the ground. He picked it up and handed it to the guard. The guard, surprised but with no reason to stop him now, let him in.

At the counter, a lady told him, “Sir, with this one-dollar chip, you can only play the slot machines.”

Amidst the plethora of varied machines, the monk calmly walked to a slot machine, inserted the chip, and pulled the lever.

Jackpot! $100,000!

The crowd erupted. People gathered, clapped, and congratulated him.

The manager approached and said, “Sir, you’re welcome to play any game now.”

The monk moved from table to table. His luck soared. By lunchtime, he had won $20 million. He was the centre of attention—applause and admiration followed him everywhere.

The manager rushed to the owner in panic. “Sir, we should shut down. This monk is going to bankrupt us!”

The owner replied with a smile, “I’ve been watching him since morning. I love how he plays. Even if I lose everything, I want him to play all day. Invite him to have lunch with me.”

When invited, the monk politely declined the grand lunch. “Fruits will do,” he said with a gentle smile.

He resumed playing in the afternoon. Slowly, luck turned. His winnings dropped from $20 million to $18 million… and were dwindling. People advised him, “Swami, this is enough for three lifetimes. Take it and leave.”

But the monk just smiled and played on.

By evening, he had lost everything.

People criticised him. The manager approached again. “Swami, no one has ever won $20 million here. You did. But you also lost it all. And yet, you’re still smiling. How?”

The monk replied with the same calm smile,

“I didn’t lose $20 million. I only lost a dollar, the one I found on the ground. Why would I grieve over that?”

With that, he walked away, spinning his bowl in his hand.

The moral:

If we treat life’s ups and downs like a game at a casino—detached and light-hearted—we can sleep peacefully, no matter what comes and goes.