Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
You wouldn't know how it feels to be seventy-and-two, alone, disowned and blind. But Shanti Devi did. Shanti Devi - which meant the goddess of peace - how ironical could things be. Shanti Devi was considered no more than a blind pack of bones by her sons who had asked her to leave 'their' house. She served no purpose and just took up space in the house. She kept crashing everywhere, made irritating noises with her walking stick most of the the time, and spoke no better than babble. Her sons thought her fit to be homeless.
The destitute lady moved slowly with her walking stick unaware of her surroundings. Her eyes had left her long ago and now everyone she had had too.... or maybe she never had them. She had no purpose, no destination. Knowing not where to go, she kept walking slowly, thinking death was her only home, wishing that it devour her as soon as possible. So she kept walking and walking and walking and waited for death.
The world was full of noise, of people shouting, of sirens, of cars, of chats and cries but what was the purpose. People jostled her here and there, someone pushed her, someone stopped her but she kept going steady, apathetic. Death is the ultimate end. Death is the final outcome. Nothing could penetrate her ears now. She had to just keep walking. An uproar happened and a horn blared loudly but did she care? Did she care that on the busy day hundreds of people were restrained by the policemen who waited to go to their desinations? Did she care that she was in the middle of a road which had been cleared for the President's cavalcade which traveled at almost double the speed of normal traffic? Did she care that the first car of the cavalcade was about to crash into her? Perhaps not. But Bhanu Prasad cared. His valor pushed him forward, out of the crowd to be held by the hand by a policeman. He pushed the policeman and ran forward towards the old lady as fast as he possibly could. He pushed her aside just before the braking limo hit him at speed of light. Bhanu Prasad died there and then.
Shanti Devi's emaciated body got a push so hard, she flew and landed onto the footpath and rolled over to the next street on the downsloped road. The policeman Bhanu Prasad had pushed lost his balance, tripped and fell head first into an open manhole. The car in the procession braked so hard, it toppled over, took a few and crashed into the public which had been stopped by the policemen. The rest of the cars crashed into first car and the whole cavalcade was obliterated by an explosion which resulted from the combustion of the leaking fuel from one of the cars. All of the people, including the president died from the explosion. The people who were left alive to witness the explosion ran with all their might, resulting in a stampede and killing many more. Yasaf ali, a suicide bomber whose mission was to kill the president thought he would now have to save his life for another heaven-worthy task. But he was also killed in the stampede and the burdensome weight of people's legs could not be endured by the bomb.
In a matter of 20 seconds, all that was left was Shanti Devi - bleeding from the head, unaware of what happened, in agony and now in pain. But did she care? Perhaps not. She began to walk again and and started to wait again.
The destitute lady moved slowly with her walking stick unaware of her surroundings. Her eyes had left her long ago and now everyone she had had too.... or maybe she never had them. She had no purpose, no destination. Knowing not where to go, she kept walking slowly, thinking death was her only home, wishing that it devour her as soon as possible. So she kept walking and walking and walking and waited for death.
The world was full of noise, of people shouting, of sirens, of cars, of chats and cries but what was the purpose. People jostled her here and there, someone pushed her, someone stopped her but she kept going steady, apathetic. Death is the ultimate end. Death is the final outcome. Nothing could penetrate her ears now. She had to just keep walking. An uproar happened and a horn blared loudly but did she care? Did she care that on the busy day hundreds of people were restrained by the policemen who waited to go to their desinations? Did she care that she was in the middle of a road which had been cleared for the President's cavalcade which traveled at almost double the speed of normal traffic? Did she care that the first car of the cavalcade was about to crash into her? Perhaps not. But Bhanu Prasad cared. His valor pushed him forward, out of the crowd to be held by the hand by a policeman. He pushed the policeman and ran forward towards the old lady as fast as he possibly could. He pushed her aside just before the braking limo hit him at speed of light. Bhanu Prasad died there and then.
Shanti Devi's emaciated body got a push so hard, she flew and landed onto the footpath and rolled over to the next street on the downsloped road. The policeman Bhanu Prasad had pushed lost his balance, tripped and fell head first into an open manhole. The car in the procession braked so hard, it toppled over, took a few and crashed into the public which had been stopped by the policemen. The rest of the cars crashed into first car and the whole cavalcade was obliterated by an explosion which resulted from the combustion of the leaking fuel from one of the cars. All of the people, including the president died from the explosion. The people who were left alive to witness the explosion ran with all their might, resulting in a stampede and killing many more. Yasaf ali, a suicide bomber whose mission was to kill the president thought he would now have to save his life for another heaven-worthy task. But he was also killed in the stampede and the burdensome weight of people's legs could not be endured by the bomb.
In a matter of 20 seconds, all that was left was Shanti Devi - bleeding from the head, unaware of what happened, in agony and now in pain. But did she care? Perhaps not. She began to walk again and and started to wait again.
The Big Bang transpired, the suns broke down, the earth cooled, algae and bacteria mated and humans happened. But the topic of discussion is much more intense and complex that the simple aforementioned lineage. After humans came to be they discovered that they were the possessors of two spherical great camera-like instruments fit right (and left) on their faces and their using these two very complex contraptions they could "see" what was supposed to be seen and what was not.
Keep the fact well with yourself that in the days that I talk of clothes were not much in fashion and humanity roamed in its birthday suit. What was supposed to be seen is not interesting enough to be discussed, hence has been abandoned, but seeing what was not supposed to be seen entailed major consequences. For example the amount of attachment attached to the utility of the contraption grew in exponential proportions, so much so, it came to be known as the person himself, or the "I". (Later as renamed Eye to avoid ambiguity).
Vision was a spectacular sensation only because it could show the homosapiens race what it was not supposed to see. But exercising the spectacular faculties, most people ended up either being extremely excited or developed a great sense of inferiority complex (depending on "what" they saw) and the eye became the bane of mankind for turned men either into rampant hooligans or dismayed outcasts (again depending on "what" they saw).
To remove the eye was an option but now the greedy man got attached to the portion which was not what was not supposed to be seen, in other words, the boring part would do. To remove the eye demanded an infinite deal of effort, time and pain and therefore what came into existence being borne out of the innovation of man was called The Brief.
The brief was what humanity needed - a mask for the mask-worthy, a cover for the lowers, a ban for the man - and the brief was what it got. In its earliest forms, it was known as "Brief of the Leaf" owing to the material it was made of. The brief since then has achieved infinite popularity owing to its novelty and application. But what is popular is desired. There have been various reports of masked phantom-like structures, who were nothing more than giants of greed and egotism, who raided innocent brief clad men (and women) and took away their brief to glory packing them in their rectangular cases later known as briefcases. Due to the non-existence of police and courts at the archaic time I talk of, the poor people who had spent the lives' earnings on acquiring briefs, could do nothing but mourn the loss of the briefs. This state came to be known as "bereafement".
The brief has been endorsed by millions of celebrities in each and every age. But the generation that now consumes alcohol in dinner party (with a few exceptions such as I), this generation of ours, has forgotten all the wonders of the brief. It is worn not as a symbol of integrity, rectitude, and honor but out of compulsion and disagreement. Radical species have always been present amongst us who will forsake the tightening of their pants to honor the existence of the Brief. The brief has been honored by all superhero-creators who to the concealed embarrassment of superheroes will insist on them wearing their briefs outside and show the age of today what significance the common Brief held amongst their ancestors. Thus it is our moral and cultural duty to regard the Brief and wear it openly and maintain our honor.
Keep the fact well with yourself that in the days that I talk of clothes were not much in fashion and humanity roamed in its birthday suit. What was supposed to be seen is not interesting enough to be discussed, hence has been abandoned, but seeing what was not supposed to be seen entailed major consequences. For example the amount of attachment attached to the utility of the contraption grew in exponential proportions, so much so, it came to be known as the person himself, or the "I". (Later as renamed Eye to avoid ambiguity).
Vision was a spectacular sensation only because it could show the homosapiens race what it was not supposed to see. But exercising the spectacular faculties, most people ended up either being extremely excited or developed a great sense of inferiority complex (depending on "what" they saw) and the eye became the bane of mankind for turned men either into rampant hooligans or dismayed outcasts (again depending on "what" they saw).
To remove the eye was an option but now the greedy man got attached to the portion which was not what was not supposed to be seen, in other words, the boring part would do. To remove the eye demanded an infinite deal of effort, time and pain and therefore what came into existence being borne out of the innovation of man was called The Brief.
The brief was what humanity needed - a mask for the mask-worthy, a cover for the lowers, a ban for the man - and the brief was what it got. In its earliest forms, it was known as "Brief of the Leaf" owing to the material it was made of. The brief since then has achieved infinite popularity owing to its novelty and application. But what is popular is desired. There have been various reports of masked phantom-like structures, who were nothing more than giants of greed and egotism, who raided innocent brief clad men (and women) and took away their brief to glory packing them in their rectangular cases later known as briefcases. Due to the non-existence of police and courts at the archaic time I talk of, the poor people who had spent the lives' earnings on acquiring briefs, could do nothing but mourn the loss of the briefs. This state came to be known as "bereafement".
The brief has been endorsed by millions of celebrities in each and every age. But the generation that now consumes alcohol in dinner party (with a few exceptions such as I), this generation of ours, has forgotten all the wonders of the brief. It is worn not as a symbol of integrity, rectitude, and honor but out of compulsion and disagreement. Radical species have always been present amongst us who will forsake the tightening of their pants to honor the existence of the Brief. The brief has been honored by all superhero-creators who to the concealed embarrassment of superheroes will insist on them wearing their briefs outside and show the age of today what significance the common Brief held amongst their ancestors. Thus it is our moral and cultural duty to regard the Brief and wear it openly and maintain our honor.
I speak of the past. Since when millions of clock-hands have been accomplices in the escape of so great a desperado, time, who engenders and devours, without mercy. Of that past, let me now relate with great ardor, the story of a great Princess: The greatest, bravest and the wisest to keep foot on the sole of leather; reverend, charismatic and dynamic Popli.
I speak of the past. When dwelt giants, elves, sorcerers, spirits, monsters and the like, out in the open, to the common knowledge of the dullest race seen by the sun: mankind. And then ruled Popli with all her might, and all her wisdom, and commanded the lands, and the people, and everything except that, and the trees and the heavens and everything except that, that I can't tell in this hurry. She wielded her sword with such passion and fury, everything came to shudder and even lightning couldn't match her glory. And then she did the justice, she was the police and she was jury. Of Popli's descent, this is the story.
Popli had conquered innumerable lands and enough seas fit for a million giants to bathe for millions of years. She, through her valor and her invincible arm, crushed armies as strong as mountains and bought man and beast to her feet. But the vicissitudes of life show one's eyes what no magical eye has ever descried. It was during the war of Tyreelnioutrs that whilst Popli chopped off the head of several thousand giants, for it were the race of the giants she fought against now; it so happened that she incurred a wound on her arm and that very lesion lost her more blood than she could have well imagined, causing her to flee. As a temporary refuge she considered a small cave nearby the battle-ground and went inside to mend her broken flesh.
By the ill-fortune that the heavens had promised her, that happened to be the abode of the grim, vile and unfriendly Hondoleen. Hondoleen was as special as the visitor in his cave, for he was not just a sorcerer but the king of kings of sorcerers whose powers outstripped any creature within three galaxies of his existence. And power breeds evil so Hondoleen's wicked ways were known in the fourteen worlds. He sat in deep meditation but was stirred by some noise and smell of blood. As he lifted his sinister eyelids, light set forth his eyes the greatest Princess to be seen. Why O lowly creature dos't thou chooses't to perturb me with thy disdainful presence in my solitary dwelling, exclaimed Holdoleen with rage at being disturbed. But might one be the greatest sorcerer or deadliest knight on the face of the earth, one had no business of abusing the honor of so great a princess such as Popli. Her bloody sword swished out of her scabbard and her blood boiled with rage as she cry'd, Thou art a fool to talk such to me O base mortal and brandished her sword in front of his sullen face.
Seeing this offensive act Hondoleen got so slighted that he resolved to use his most powerful and complicated sorcery against Popli. O wretched princess, thou prides't thyself with all your atchievements. Now see what thou shalt suffer, bellowed Hondoleen and with the cast of a wicked spell, Popli broke all abetting clock-hands, left all of them behind, and found herself standing in the middle of Ring Road, with her wounded arm, and her sword as sharp as sharp can be, stained with blood of a thousand giants, and a million eyes set on her, and innumerable small crawling creatures without feet but wheels bellowing unpleasant noises and strangely dressed men screaming out of the creatures' heads. Popli was terrified and froze with fear. See the play of fate, she who had been cross with fear since her childhood was seized by pangs of it now for she was completely ignorant of her surroundings.
Hondoleen had been mighty successful. He had sent her to the 21st century where she knew no one and none knew her heroic endeavours. From the time of the innocent giants, she had been thrown into the age of cruel humanity. Put into an asylum for speaking the truth, Popli learned the new ways of the world around her. It indeed took her time to know and understand what had been done to her, but now everything is normal. But her valor needed space to vent.
She changed her name to Peepo for Popli sounded very weird, and lives quietly a fake life of a normal human. But sets out on errants from time to time, secretly, with the help of her sword (and a Magnum FF5i she has acquired) to save the face of the earth from miscreants, ill-doers, giants and other wretched entities. Though no one knows of her virtuous deeds except some deer friends whom she condescends to tell her real story. Some have mocked her but those who can trust her, believe her and her actual story. For none have seen the actual age of magick from where Peepo comes; the mind is unable to digest what it has not perceived. Peepo lives the life of a normal girl, living in normal circumstances, with normal emotions such as fear, dismay and attachment. She acts as a normal college student, in a normal college and performs normally but deep inside her heart still lies smouldering, the actual Popli who shall one day rule the earth by her invincible arm.
I speak of the past. When dwelt giants, elves, sorcerers, spirits, monsters and the like, out in the open, to the common knowledge of the dullest race seen by the sun: mankind. And then ruled Popli with all her might, and all her wisdom, and commanded the lands, and the people, and everything except that, and the trees and the heavens and everything except that, that I can't tell in this hurry. She wielded her sword with such passion and fury, everything came to shudder and even lightning couldn't match her glory. And then she did the justice, she was the police and she was jury. Of Popli's descent, this is the story.
Popli had conquered innumerable lands and enough seas fit for a million giants to bathe for millions of years. She, through her valor and her invincible arm, crushed armies as strong as mountains and bought man and beast to her feet. But the vicissitudes of life show one's eyes what no magical eye has ever descried. It was during the war of Tyreelnioutrs that whilst Popli chopped off the head of several thousand giants, for it were the race of the giants she fought against now; it so happened that she incurred a wound on her arm and that very lesion lost her more blood than she could have well imagined, causing her to flee. As a temporary refuge she considered a small cave nearby the battle-ground and went inside to mend her broken flesh.
By the ill-fortune that the heavens had promised her, that happened to be the abode of the grim, vile and unfriendly Hondoleen. Hondoleen was as special as the visitor in his cave, for he was not just a sorcerer but the king of kings of sorcerers whose powers outstripped any creature within three galaxies of his existence. And power breeds evil so Hondoleen's wicked ways were known in the fourteen worlds. He sat in deep meditation but was stirred by some noise and smell of blood. As he lifted his sinister eyelids, light set forth his eyes the greatest Princess to be seen. Why O lowly creature dos't thou chooses't to perturb me with thy disdainful presence in my solitary dwelling, exclaimed Holdoleen with rage at being disturbed. But might one be the greatest sorcerer or deadliest knight on the face of the earth, one had no business of abusing the honor of so great a princess such as Popli. Her bloody sword swished out of her scabbard and her blood boiled with rage as she cry'd, Thou art a fool to talk such to me O base mortal and brandished her sword in front of his sullen face.
Seeing this offensive act Hondoleen got so slighted that he resolved to use his most powerful and complicated sorcery against Popli. O wretched princess, thou prides't thyself with all your atchievements. Now see what thou shalt suffer, bellowed Hondoleen and with the cast of a wicked spell, Popli broke all abetting clock-hands, left all of them behind, and found herself standing in the middle of Ring Road, with her wounded arm, and her sword as sharp as sharp can be, stained with blood of a thousand giants, and a million eyes set on her, and innumerable small crawling creatures without feet but wheels bellowing unpleasant noises and strangely dressed men screaming out of the creatures' heads. Popli was terrified and froze with fear. See the play of fate, she who had been cross with fear since her childhood was seized by pangs of it now for she was completely ignorant of her surroundings.
Hondoleen had been mighty successful. He had sent her to the 21st century where she knew no one and none knew her heroic endeavours. From the time of the innocent giants, she had been thrown into the age of cruel humanity. Put into an asylum for speaking the truth, Popli learned the new ways of the world around her. It indeed took her time to know and understand what had been done to her, but now everything is normal. But her valor needed space to vent.
She changed her name to Peepo for Popli sounded very weird, and lives quietly a fake life of a normal human. But sets out on errants from time to time, secretly, with the help of her sword (and a Magnum FF5i she has acquired) to save the face of the earth from miscreants, ill-doers, giants and other wretched entities. Though no one knows of her virtuous deeds except some deer friends whom she condescends to tell her real story. Some have mocked her but those who can trust her, believe her and her actual story. For none have seen the actual age of magick from where Peepo comes; the mind is unable to digest what it has not perceived. Peepo lives the life of a normal girl, living in normal circumstances, with normal emotions such as fear, dismay and attachment. She acts as a normal college student, in a normal college and performs normally but deep inside her heart still lies smouldering, the actual Popli who shall one day rule the earth by her invincible arm.
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