A relentless belief

Subhadra was content with the survey of her gardens, until her keen eyes settled on a droopy, dying Rose plant.

Leela, Subhadra’s maid, stepped back on  seeing the mercurial shift in Madam’s temperament.

‘Leela, call Murali.’ Subhadra hissed.

Murali, the gardener, was the first to have survived beyond probation period.

‘Madam?’, Murali was panting for breath.

‘You do know the meaning of a dying Rose plant?’

Murali looked puzzled.

‘A bad omen!’ Suhadra shouted.

‘Is Master safe in his room? She asked Madan.

‘Yes, Madam’.

‘I’ll go check on the cattle. A dying Rose can’t be a  good thing.’

Word count- 99

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the talented author and  artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields .  Many thanks, dear Rochelle.

PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Let it snow!

A day assigned to love had never appealed to Parik. With Sneha, however, Parik used every opportunity as an excuse to express himself.

For the first time in  life, Parik had planned a ‘Valentine’s day’. Hence, when the message showed ‘flight cancelled’, he was greatly upset.

The very next message was Sneha’s. ‘Breakfast is served’, it read. She had researched his favorite recipes. Parik’s smile was like sunshine to Sneha, melting the heavy snow.

Post-breakfast, she played his favorite movie though it wasn’t a romantic comedy.

Sneha was  already enjoying the celebrations and the day had just begun.

Word count – 98

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the talented author and  artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields .  Many thanks, dear Rochelle.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson. Thank you, Dale.

 

 

The beneficent Lord

Lord Ganesha’s idol adorned a holy corner of Ganga Ram’s humble abode. His wife Geeta would forget to eat sometimes but would never forget to feed her Ganesha, the remover of obstacles.

Ganga Ram’s faith, on the other hand, fluctuated. Sometimes, Geeta’s dependence and  total surrender to the Lord amused him but then again there were times when he would  seek shelter in  ‘can you pray to your Ganesha for Shaloo’s quick recovery?’ Shaloo was none other than their favorite cow.

One day, Geeta   found the Ganesha idol missing. She sat in the empty corner, crying, all day.

There was a huge celebratory cry near her home in the evening. Geeta saw Ganga Ram celebrating with her Ganesha raised shoulder-high.

Just as Geeta was rehearsing  her soon-to-be-delivered speech to her careless husband, Ganga Ram interrupted ‘Your Ganesha is famous and much-in-demand now. He presided over our gathering at Birju’s house and we won the neck and neck India vs. Pakistan  match  today. Can I take Him out on Tuesday again?’

Word count – 168

Written for flash fiction for aspiring writers based on this week’s photo prompt . Thanks to priceless joy for hosting the challenge.

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Lavanya. Thank you Lavanya!

It isn’t about you

I was impatient, to see him. It had been decades.

Though, each day, i would pray for him, hoping for truth in miraculous  telepathy.

His sister was kind enough to finally lend me his address, an inhospitable place.

The mirror showed wrinkles from years that he wasn’t yet familiar with but my heart was nervous like that teenager.

He was absorbed in meditation, enveloped in calm radiance.

‘May you live in peace and joy’, he addressed the congregation in his ethereal voice.

I felt a choking sadness .

‘Will i ever be able to let go?’

Word count – 95

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the talented author and  artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields .  Many thanks, dear Rochelle.

PHOTO PROMPT © JS Brand

 

 

What is the color of your heart?

‘When all is gone, you’d still have you. So take good care’, my friend would say.

I never paid any heed to her. I took care of everyone else, instead. Happily.

The more I spent myself, the more they demanded of me, until my heart and soul were flesh-less, incapable of summoning even an appearance of happiness.

A hollow, brown, dying heart it was, it could give no more.

I buried my charred heart  in their backyard, kissed it  goodbye.

With nothingness, I search, and wait to be born, yet again.

Word count – 91.

Written for flash fiction for aspiring writers based on this week’s photo prompt . Thanks to priceless joy for hosting the challenge.

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Yinglan. Thank you Yinglan for our prompt!

Scattered

‘I am so sorry, I had almost forgotten that you were allergic to perfumes.’

‘And, I  would be sorry for not knowing how much salt you may prefer in your curries or what memories might a setting sun stir in you or how you may like walking barefooted even when its freezing outside and you have no heater on. We are so close yet so far – like the chopped and scattered pieces of a tree.’

‘Such a tragedy that I know and understand my friends better’.

‘We can strive to mend  it, now that we miss the missed years’.

 

 

Word count- 99

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the talented author and  artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields .  Many thanks, dear Rochelle for being such a warm and kind host and for our photo prompt this week.

The prisoner

Sometimes, memory is a liability.  Memories of a house buzzing with people, of  fragrance  of  royal food assembled by skilled cooks, of echoing laughter, of the grateful smiles of tons of day laborers at my gardens and farms and the  pungent memories of my arrogance and heartlessness.

The house is crumbling down and so am i,  heading towards a slow, painful demise. It reverberates solely with my agony.

My faint vision fails to recognize the tall silhouette heading towards my rocking chair, until he is close enough.

It’s still hard to utter a ‘sorry’. If only, I could!

Word count – 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the talented author and  artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields .  Many thanks, dear Rochelle.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook. Thank you, Sandra.