I have tried to narrate and show in this short story that somethimes face a strange situation. We are unable to decided whether an incidence occuring before our eyes is FACT or a FICTION. Here by the word ‘we’ I do not mean only the writers and poets. If any one has encountered such an incidence in his or her life, please help me to know about it. —-Naval Langa

THE CITY WAS under fire.

From my third floor window, it looked like a woman who had committed suicide, by setting fire on herself. People burnt their own homes, looted their shops, and sent dozens of their own neighbours either in kabristan or on pyre. The disturbance had no reason. If it was there; it was utterly baseless. If truth were to be told, it had originated from a minor scuffle. Where to place an idol of a God: that was the cause of all the turbulences. Two different communities claimed ownership of the place, the proposed site for placement of the idol.

There was no possibility of going out of home, as blind curfew was imposed on the roads, on the streets, on every leaf of the trees in city. So I decided to bury myself in a book. I read literature with the participating passions; sometimes I walked with the characters, too. Though it was difficult to walk along with a man like Jerry Cruncher of A Tale of Two Cities

Suddenly there was ringing of the door bell and thumping of the door. I hurriedly opened to find a woman, frightened and perspiring.

On seeing her, I thought I had never seen her.

‘Ma’am, they have set my house on fire. Some of them wanted to rape me, too. But I… I am here anyhow. Except you, I don’t know anybody in the city. Would you help me?’

I got her inside. We sat on a sofa, side by side. “Don’t worry, you are safe here.” I assured her about the shelter and my desire. On my insistence she went for a bath, but denied to wear my clothes. After the bath, a cup of warm coffee, and a series of long breaths, she looked to be at ease. Then I asked her how she knew my address and me.  CONTINUE READING>>>>>


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