Thursday 28 August 2014

BRAVE HEARTS

This is the second story from my book: SHORT STORIES FOR YOUNG READERS - BOOK 1

Brave Hearts

It was getting dark and I was getting worried.

Bhavana, my sister and I studied in the same school and she was in the sixth and I was in the tenth class. Ever since I bought a used bicycle from my senior, for a scrap price, we went to the school together in my cycle. The government buses plied less frequently in our route and we were used to have long waits for a transport. On occasions, they would never turn up and we would have to walk three kilometers each way. So, the arrival of a cycle was a boon to us.

Twice a week, Bhavana went to a teacher who stayed close to our school, for music lessons. Charu teacher who taught music was very dedicated and strict. She took students only selectively. My father, who worked as a fitter in a factory in the nearby town, would pick up Bhavana, while returning home from work. Every alternate Monday, he had to work overtime and bringing Bhavana from her music classes was my responsibility during those days.

That day, Charu teacher was in more than her usual enthusiastic moods and spent more time with Bhavana, who equally matched her teacher’s enthusiasm. The class went on for a long time and I waited for her. When finally the classes got over, both Charu teacher and Bhavana spent some more time appreciating each other and that day’s lesson. It was really late and getting dark.

When she finished, Bhavana got on the carrier of my cycle. I took the small bypass road that connected my village to our school and that reduced our commuting considerably. A cycle ride through this bypass was very exciting and enjoyable. A cool breeze blew over, across a wide ridge between two nearby mountain hills, all through the year.

The bypass was lined with thick banyan trees on both sides.
Mango groves and coconut gardens interspaced between lush green fields added beauty.
A  winding canal  and its cool gurgling water were exquisite sights on the way. One got a panoramic view of the fields, with the hills in the background and the picturesque view thrilled Bhavna. She, as a nature lover in our house, enjoyed the bike ride every time.

As I pedaled back home, I cautioned Bhavana that we must rush, as the lighting was poor and it was becoming dark. Besides, that day was a New Moon day. She said, ‘So what! Even better…. I could watch birds and bats returning back home.” She was the fearless one and I was her opposite. I feared the darkness. A host of other things too, scared me.

Midway, it became pitch dark and my stomach churned. Only some street lights were shimmering here and there and I pedaled faster. Lots of fireflies were illuminating the dark sky.

“Arun, stop for a minute,” Bhavna shouted from behind, suddenly. I hesitated, but she had already jumped down.

“I hear a child crying,” said she.

“What? A child crying in this wilderness! Why do you worry? Some villager should be taking care of it. Let us not waste any more time. Come on.”

“No……… I know for sure, the child is crying. Let us find out whether there is any problem,” insisted Bhavana. She had already started running in the direction from where I too heard the cry of a child. I ran behind her.

Behold! There under a tree, in a cloth cradle, from where the cry came, was a small child, hardly a year old. Bhavana looked around to find out whether there was anyone, but there were none. She rushed back to the cradle and lifted the screaming child. My attempts to stop her were in vain. The baby was already in her arm and she was cuddling the child. The girl baby had nothing on her as cover and she was completely wet. She had a running nose and her hair was sticky. Her body was painted with black dirty mud and she appeared ugly to me, but nothing bothered Bhavana. I detested the very sight.

Bhavana, this is too much. We have to go back home. Our mother will be anxious and worrying about us. We are very late. Leave the child where she was. I am sure her mother or father will come back soon and take her away. Be assured.” I told her.

“What Arun? Leave this hapless child here? How can you be so cruel and inhuman?”

I was becoming restless and angry with Bhavana. But I could also understand her compassion and felt she had a point. The place was dark and scary and I was afraid. Poor Baby! I was ambivalent. More time passed. Still, no one was in sight.

“Let us take her home. Our mother will advise us on what we can do with her.”

Bhavna already started walking back to our cycle, carrying the child on her shoulders. The baby was quiet by now, though still crying on and off, and Bhavana was comforting her.

I pedaled faster and Bhavana held the baby tightly, even as she adeptly tried to balance herself on the cycle. Our mother was anxiously waiting and on seeing us bringing a baby with us, she was shocked and alarmed. Panting heavily, we explained how we found the child.

“We can’t keep the child with us. We need to report to the police. We would run into a problem.” She said, worried. Some neighbors too, had assembled by that time and raised sharp questions. Our father too, reached home.

Sundar uncle in our neighborhood brought his scooter. We all squeezed ourselves in the back seat, our mother holding the baby in her arms. He drove to the nearby police station and our father followed us in his cycle. There, we met with a policeman, who looked bulky and threatening. He questioned us in a menacing tone, but soon became very understanding. Bhavana answered most of the questions boldly and I was half hiding behind her. The Sub-inspector of Police (SIP) too arrived soon. We tried to explain once again as best as we could, how and where we found the child. He was very appreciative of our gesture, even while he expressed concern that being a rural place, it was possible that the baby’s mother or father must have been working in the nearby field and possibly, would now be searching for the baby. Realizing that he could not keep the baby in the police station, he was in a fix. Sundar uncle came to his rescue and saved him from the embarrassment, by suggesting that the baby could be left with our parents overnight, if that was okay with the SIP. He also suggested that the SIP could identify some suitable place for the care of the baby, later during the next day. Bhavana was quite happy about the turn of the events.

Not immediately finding any other solution, SIP agreed and ordered another policeman to keep a watch over our house, for our safety. However, he also wanted to visit the spot and make sure that the baby’s parents were not looking for the child. So, he took me with him on his motorbike, while others returned back home. However, the place where we found the baby, looked dark and deserted and no one was sighted there. I didn’t seem to fear the policemen now, as much as I used to be.

Our parents were very appreciative of our compassion for the child. It was almost midnight by the time the baby was given a bath, wrapped up in a towel, fed with milk and put to sleep. Bhavana was taking keen interest in everything about the baby. I slept away. I heard the baby crying from time to time during the night. Bhavana tried to be awake, but she was also overtaken by sleep. Our mother had been awake for the whole night. The policeman sent by SIP was with us for sometime in the night and he too retired back to his house, with a promise to come back in the early morning.

*****
Next morning, the SIP arrived in a jeep borrowed from a nearby police station and arranged for sending the child to a Children Home run by a Sai devotee we have heard of, not very far from our place. Overnight, he had also arranged for publishing the news in the local newspapers. He also took Bhavana and me to the spot, where we found the empty cloth cradle still hanging loosely from the branch of the tree. He made inquiries in the nearby localities and there was no clue.

The news spread quickly and it reached our school headmaster too. He, too, arrived at the spot. We became instant heroes in our school.

Bhavana was not to allow the matter to rest. She suggested that we go back to the place again that evening and make more inquiries. I was apprehensive, but conceded. Her enthusiasm was contagious and spreading to me too. We met a number of local villagers. We also went back to the children home to inquire about the baby. Bhavana had already christened the baby as ‘Muthu’ and she was very happy in the company of Muthu, who was all smiles now, not even knowing that her mother was not there to look after her.
*****

The routine continued for a week. In between, we also visited the police station and couldn’t get any further information about the baby’s parents.

One day, Bhavana looked so sad and miserable. Someone in the class had told her that probably, the baby’s parents could have deserted the child and ran away, like they had seen in some movies.

“How can a mother do it?” Bhavana questioned me angrily. I had no answer.

*****

Thanks to Bhavana’s inquisitiveness, on the eighth day, there was some break. One of the villagers reported having seen a nomadic gypsy group roaming and camping near the area where we had found the child and that there were a few babies too, in that group, though he could not be sure how many. We dashed to the police station and luckily, the SIP was available that time. We reported what we learnt. He lauded our efforts and enthusiasm and promised to look around all the gypsy camps nearby.

The very next day, there was some unconnected news. A woman’s dead body was found floating in the nearby pond. However, no connection could be made with the child. The body was sent to the mortuary in the government hospital in the nearby town.

In another town, the police arrested someone on suspicion and during his detention, he had blurted the truth. Two gypsy groups had had a quarrel about money while camping. He was part of one of the groups. When the group parted ways after a bitter quarrel, he picked up another private, nasty duel with one of the women in the group, while she was putting her baby to sleep in a cloth cradle. In a fit of fury, he had severely beaten that woman who swooned and fell to the ground and he left the scene to join other people in the group. She must have regained consciousness and managed to reach the pond, looking out for some water. She, probably, lost her balance and consciousness while she reached the pond and that answered for her body found floating in the nearby pond.

Alas! The poor baby lost her mother, but gained a place where she would grow securely and would have some education, decent food, clothes and lots of love. Bhavana and I visited the children home once in a week to meet “Muthu”. Even our parents visited the child. Gradually they took more interest in the homeless children and decided to spend the weekends in their company. It was a nice feeling we all had.
*****

Should you like the story, you may read the entire book: SHORT STORIES FOR YOUNG READERS - BOOK 1 by downloading the book from www.amazon.com

OR

You may order for the print copy of the same from me, by e-mail to: neelkant16@yahoo.com

Price for Print copy: Rs.100 plus postages (by V.P.P)

Discounts will be available for bulk orders.

Thursday 3 April 2014

Stories from my book: Short Stories for Young Readers - Book 1

CONTENTS
1.      Every Life has a great meaning

2.      Brave Hearts

3.      It is all a matter of one’s attitude and perception

4.      Journey to a Vortex

5.      KPL 20/20: Killiyoor Premier League: A Cricket Match

6.      Rajashekar and Rajapandian

7.      Shankar: The Young Detective

8.      Super Nova

9.      The Opposites



Every Life has a great meaning!
A new day of Packirisami and Santosh

Packirisami had no clairvoyant powers and he didn’t anticipate that today was going to be another new leaf in his life. The day hadn’t started well for him, not that any other day was novel and different. He had a quarrel with Velamma, his ever-complaining wife.

‘You incessant pest!’ shouted Packirisami and impulsively, slapped her. He was stout and bulky and his blow fell mightily. Velamma was hysterical and she screamed. She followed it by heaping her customary curses on him. He regretted immediately, but could never control his conditioned behavior. He felt sorry and turned to apologize to her, but she had already run out of the house.

The peepal tree around the corner of their street was her usual refuge, and her Bodhi Tree. The little Ganesha sitting over there, was her personal Guardian Angel. There, she would receive her enlightenment, after a few minutes of lamenting. She would blow her watery nose onto the palloo of her saree; she would call forth all divine forces to end her life that very moment; she would make a final appeal to the ever-unmoving Lord Ganesha to protect her; and she would meet with a sudden realization that after all, she was at fault, to have begun the quarrel, for nothing. Then resentment would set in, and she would enter her world of self-pity. After some moments of contemplation, she would receive her enlightenment that it was how life was, how it would be for her and how there was no point in complaining about it. She would remember her only daughter, who died three years ago when she was only two. She would then begin her prayers: “Oh, Ganesha! Help me with another child! That would solve all my problems with my husband.” With that prayer, she would return to normalcy; she would then wipe her nose and tears, step down from the elevated, dilapidated structure around the peepal tree and walk back home, taking quick strides, as though nothing ever had happened. She would quietly enter the kitchen and shout, “I am going to make tamarind rice and fish fry for the day. Would you like it?”

This used to be the pattern and it wasn’t different today too.

Packirisamy smiled wryly. He silently ate his usual breakfast of five idlis with plenty of milagai chutney, put on his khaki uniform, and got into the vintage mini-truck, that was parked outside his house, on the roadside. He had christened the truck Mayilu and he believed, it could fly once it started. He worked as a driver and a delivery man for a beedi manufacturer. As he slammed his front side-door closed, he tried to ignite the engine and it gave a cold response. ‘Ah, today I must give my final warning to my Sait: ‘either you change the vehicle or I quit.’ He reminded himself, for the nth time, of the dialogue he intended to deliver to the owner Sait, but never delivered. He had no other extraordinary skills; jobs were difficult to come, he earned modestly from driving for the Sait, and that kept his family running without starving.

Only, his health was a matter of concern. Ever since he lost his daughter, he started getting seizures, for no apparent cause. Initially, he concealed his problem for fear of losing his job, but soon he got exposed when, one day, he was gripped by seizure just in front of the Sait, while unloading some material in the warehouse. When he regained his consciousness, the first thing he did was to ask his Sait, “Are you going to dispense with me?”

Packirisami was a loyal, obedient and trustworthy driver for the Sait, working for him for almost a decade now. The Sait was more than accommodating; he sent him to a hospital run by a charitable trust and using his influence, got Packirisami a first class medical treatment. There was a marked improvement in his health and during the next six months, seizures never returned. He was advised to continue his medication without any break and not to work during the night. Every now and then, Packirisami was haunted by his fear, ‘What if I get my seizure while I drive?’ and his fear was compounded by his awareness that the Sait had no comprehensive insurance for the truck. Velamma had been pressurizing him to set up a small provision store with the financial help from some Self Help Group, but he continued to vacillate about a decision.

The truck engine coughed several times before it finally gave in, after his trials and prayers and it kicked off. Velamma waved her hands, from the entrance. The vehicle picked up speed and disappeared around the corner.

Today, he had to pick up, rolled beedies from a number of households from a far off village. A number of household ladies in that village took up the job of rolling beedies, to provide additional income for their families and once in a week, they were paid for their labor. He had to drive for a while on the main road, then enter a smaller village road, drive past a railroad crossing and keep going for about half an hour, before he could reach that particular village. As he entered the village road, the engine choked again and the vehicle jerked violently several times, before it came to a stop.

Packirisami had spent almost seven years with Mayilu and during those years, he had become quite friendly with it. The thought that Mayilu would be condemned sooner or later distressed him. Mayilu was his lonely companion and he shared his moments of joy and sorrow, and his excitement and depression, with it. Mayilu too, reciprocated, by never letting him down.

He got down from the truck, walked to its front, and started his dialogue with Mayilu, as if he was talking to his lover. Waving his hands and gesticulating, he showed off his exasperation. As a final act of friendliness, he put his hands on her bonnet and beseeched, ‘O, please come on, come alive, today only! I will see to it that you are rested from tomorrow onwards.’ With that, he got back into the truck, hit the engine and accelerator and it suddenly roared into motion. He thanked Mayilu, by gently patting the dashboard and drove ahead.

Packirisami was, in fact, actually very tired today; he had to work late during the previous night and he had to lose some sleep. He also didn’t remember to take his pills last night. Though occasionally it didn’t matter, the doctor had warned him strictly, not to skip his medicines. And, this morning the fight with his wife dampened his spirits and he felt sucked off energy. He was trying to remember why they fought that morning. It was nothing serious, as far as he was concerned. Velamma wanted to consult a specialist gynaecologist and he was procrastinating. Of course, today was not the first day she had reminded him; on occasions, she would flare up and become hysterical. Packirisami, low on niceties, was tactless many times. He feared that their child might inherit his nervous debility and he failed to explain this to Velamma properly. He didn’t mind adopting a child, but Velamma was opposed to such an idea.

He was approaching the railroad crossing and as he just entered, the engine gave another big jerk and stopped. It was an unmanned rural railroad crossing and there was no one around. He tried to start the engine several times, but Mayilu was unrelenting this time. He knew, it was not the time for any train to pass-by at this hour. So he remained cool and kept trying to ignite the engine. But, no way! Mayilu stood like a rock, across the railway line and wouldn’t move.

Packirisami got down, was angry with Mayilu, and kicked her tyres; and his pressure mounted when he could spot no one to help him. It was the end of summer, but the heat hadn’t receded. Humidity in the air worsened the situation. He was sweating profusely. He got into his seat again, prayed and pleaded with Mayilu, but she was very stubborn.

When he was almost exhausted, he saw at the far end, the silhouette of a figure slowly walking up on the rail track. Some hope returned to him, he got down, removed his shirt and waved. He couldn’t guess whether the figure really took notice or not, but he continued to wave even more vigorously.
*****
For Santosh, his life was anything other than what his name signified. He was Mr.Hopeless and Mr.Good-for-Nothing, in his year in the college. Every day, they pinned him with something or other and completely ran him down. This, even when he did all the errands and chores for everyone - but in the end, all that he got was volumes of abuse, criticism, chiding, ridicule and ragging. He didn’t know why they behaved the way they did.

He blamed his father, for leaving him an orphan at the mercy of his uncle. His mother was innocent and she had died when he was much younger. His father was in his robust adulthood, until he took to drinking liquor. He became an addict and his liver tore apart one day. He was hospitalized and didn’t return from there. His uncle took over as his guardian, keeping an eye on the properties that his father left behind. Santosh was fed like an animal and treated like a despicable creature in his uncle’s place. He was very timid and docile and never rebelled. What was his fault, he wondered!

Today, he was thoroughly disgusted and dejected. He was expelled from his classes for the rest of the day, for none of his fault. Someone else did some prank in the lab with a very costly apparatus, but the blame landed on him. He was hauled by his HOD and sent out. In utter frustration, he started walking the long distance back home, along the railway track. He didn’t care, even if a speeding train was to run over on the track, for, that would end his pain. Life didn’t matter to him anymore. He walked slowly and deliberately.

With the hot air rising, as he walked, all he could see was only some mirage along his path. But he knew, if he walked ahead for some time, he would meet a railroad crossing from where he could catch the main road, by a short walk. As he walked further, he saw a silhouette of a vehicle trying to cross the railway track. Walking still further up, he saw another hazy image of someone, standing over the track, waving some white cloth, high up in the air. The vehicle that he saw earlier had stopped across the railway track. Suddenly energy returned to him. He felt something was wrong. He started taking quick steps, but his crippled legs affected by polio, didn’t offer much speed.

Before long, he reached the crossing and quickly understood the gravity of the situation. The vehicle got stuck on the track and the driver was alone. Looking at him and his crippled legs, Packirisami’s spirits died. Santosh looked around and there was no one in sight. He offered to push the vehicle as much as he could. They both tried from behind the truck. The vehicle rumbled, but didn’t move much. They pushed harder and the truck edged slowly. They tried repeatedly and finally the truck moved further, but not completely off the track. The other side was sloping down. Santosh suggested that if Packirisami could get into his seat and try to jump-start the vehicle while Santosh pushed it from behind, they might probably succeed in moving the vehicle out of the track.

Santosh used all his might - his legs slipped repeatedly - but he didn’t give up. He groaned. With his foot firmly on the ground and his shoulders rubbing with the body of the truck, he pushed the truck with all his power, while Packirisami tried to bring life to the engine, by maneuvering with the clutch and the accelerator.

Oh, my God! Santosh heard the distinct whistle from a distance. A train ought to be approaching. But it couldn’t be at this hour. No train was due to be passing by at this time, not even one carrying goods. He was alarmed. He stopped pushing and went near the driver’s window. Packirisami turned around towards Santosh, but then it struck him. Packirisami’s face convoluted, his jaw hardened, eyes pointlessly stared, his whole body went rigid and then suddenly, he shook violently all over. Santosh looked panic stricken. In the next few moments, he understood that Packirisami was having his seizures. He looked for something, some metallic pieces to prevent his mouth from teetering and his teeth from cutting away his tongue. He found nothing that he could lay his hand quickly. He tried to push open the door by the side of the driver seat, but it appeared to be jammed.

Santosh was thoroughly paralyzed and confused. He ran back behind the vehicle and gave it a push, hoping the vehicle would give in miraculously. There was no use. He ran back to Packirisami and again, tried to open the door. But, now he heard it clearly. A train was definitely fast approaching. He could hear the whistle, blowing loudly from the engine.

He ran back to the track, tore off his shirts quickly, shouted and waved it around in the air desperately, to signal to the train to stop. But the train continued to approach him, unabated.

He rushed back to Packirisami. Keeping his one foot on the tyres, he used both his hands and pulled the side door with all the power he could muster. This time, the side door came off its hinges, throwing him back on the ground. The body of Packirisami slumped, his seizures had stopped and he was unconscious. Santosh got up, hurried to Packirisami, slapped his face mildly, in an attempt to bring him to consciousness, but in vain. He looked for some water, but it wasn’t available. He tried to pull him out, but Santosh was no match for Packirisami’s stout figure.

The engine was nearer now, Santosh was sure.

‘But why has it not stopped now? The engine driver must have surely noticed the truck, in the middle of the railway track.’ He cursed the engine driver.

‘Should I go back to the track and try to stop the train?’ he was confused. He started crying loudly. His whole body seemed to be edging toward numbness.

‘O God! Give me strength this time at least!’ he cried aloud again. He slid his two arms under the heavy weight of Packirisami and tried to pull him out of the vehicle once again. His body slightly moved. Santosh tried still harder, even while he felt a sudden weakness in his crippled leg.

‘Either now or never,’ he concluded.

He never knew where from he got that strength, but he managed to pull Packirisami out, who fell heavily on him. Santosh fell to the ground and Packirisami crashed on him.

As they fell, Santosh heard the heavy sound of the truck twirling around, splintering into several pieces and thrown all over. Santosh knew nothing thereafter, he lost his consciousness completely.
*****
When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a hospital, completely wrapped around in plasters. His professor and a couple of other students were anxiously waiting for him to open his eyes. He was in critical care and the doctors thought he had almost gone. His body was crushed all over and several bones had broken apart requiring multiple surgeries. His jaw got twisted, his lips split, nasal bones powdered, at least three or four teeth smashed deep into mouth cavity and his body damaged in endless other places. What hit the truck was not any full train, but only an engine passing by and he survived. The engine driver, who was taking it to the nearby station for an emergency, was a bit careless. Though he applied the brakes to the engine, but alas, the engine came to a halt only after hitting the truck, whose rear side was still projecting across the railway track. The truck whirled around its axis several times before it was torn apart. It was a miracle that Santosh and Packirisami, who were lying just a few inches away from the truck tyres, escaped alive. They were thrown over a few feet, by the force of the collision. Packirisami got severe head injuries requiring multiple sutures, otherwise, he was safe.

“You proved that your life too, had a great meaning and purpose. We are extremely sorry for the treatment you got in the college. We learnt what actually happened, from the surgeon who had heard you muttering when you were being operated on. We must be grateful to the engine driver, despite his fault. He had a cell phone and he organized the immediate relief for you both. Velamma is waiting outside, to see you. She already believes you are her Ganesha, who saved her Packirisami.”

Santosh felt proud for the first time in his life. He, too, had an accomplishment to speak about and hopefully, people might look at him differently, at least for now.

Velamma, his newly adopted mother, walked into the room with folded hands, tears rolling down her cheeks heavily.
*****
………………………………………………………….
Saree – a typical Indian dress for ladies
Palloo – the edge portion of a saree
Idlis – a typical South Indian food preparation
Milagai - chilli
Beedi – an Indian equivalent of a cigarette; rolled tobacco leaves
Mayilu – a Tamil language word to denote a peacock bird



Did you find the story interesting? Do you want to buy my book from Amazon? If so, please look at:

http://www.amazon.com/Short-Stories-Young-Readers-Book-ebook/dp/B009OU56LK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1396618596&sr=8-1&keywords=short+stories+for+young+readers

Friday 28 March 2014

Introductory pages of my book: SHORT STORIES FOR YOUNG READERS - BOOK 1


Short stories

For

Young Readers

(Book 1)

 

 


 

 


 

 

 

T.N.Neelakantan, M.Sc


Title:                     Short Stories for Young Readers – Book 1

Author:                T.N.Neelakantan, M.Sc

First Edition:       Feb, 2011

Second Edition:  Feb, 2012

Third Edition:      Jan, 2014

Price:                    Indian Rupees 100

Printed at:           Sundaram Press

                              Swamy Sannathi

                              Tenkasi 627811

(Tamil Nadu) India

                              Phone: +91

 

ISBN: 978-81-928365-0-8

 

This book of short stories is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the Author Publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dedicated

To

My Parents

Who departed from me long back

But

Are with me all the time


 

04633 283644                                                                                                                                                         Fax: 04633 283636   

                                                                                                                        E=mail: sriparasakthi@yahoo.co.in

 

SRI PARASAKTHI COLLEGE FOR WOMEN

Courtallam, Tirunelveli District Pin:627802

(An Autonomous College of the Manonmaniam Sundaranar University)

Dr. (Tmt) C.RAJESWARI, M.A., Ph.D., M.A., (Soc) Dip in Jour

PRINCIPAL

 

                                                                                                                                                                                    Date: 27.12.2010

 

To

T.N.NEELAKANTAN,

70, Agraharam Street,

Melagaram 627802

Tenkasi

 

Dear Sir,

 

                    Regards. I enjoyed reading your text and I am sending my ‘Foreword’ written without any exaggeration. I thank you very much for giving me this honour.                                                        

                                                                                                                                            Yours sincerely,

                                                                                                                                            (sd)

                                                                                                                                            C. RAJESWARI

                                                                                                                                            Principal

                                                                                                                        Sri Parasakthi College for Women

                                                                                                                        Courtallam – 627802


 

FOREWORD

This anthology of ‘Nine Short Stories’ deserves all literary merits and can serve the purpose of text for school children and the purpose of enjoyment for short story lovers.

The narratives are marked by clear, picturesque and direct style with profuse fragrance of ‘Indianness’ throughout. The ambience will certainly enthuse the young readers to complete reading the anthology. The narration in most of the stories adopts the literary technique – ‘stream of consciousness’ – yet not complicated. The collection has definite moral purpose or message.

A few lines on each story may not be superfluous here.

‘It’s all a matter of one’s attitude and perception’ brings into one fold two characters of antithetical nature, explaining the values of friendship and facing challenges with the contemporaneous concept of ‘Saving the Flora’ as setting.

‘KPL 20/20 – Killior Premier League: A Cricket Match’ is marked by the picturesque presentation of life style of Agraharam, South Indian food and down to earth episodes that would take every elderly reader back to his boyhood and would serve as ‘ambrosia’ for young minds.

There is an assured articulation of moral purpose in ‘Rajasekar and Rajapandian. Two positive traits get high-lighted through the narration. “Sow the seed of your aptitude within you to grow as the tree of achievement.’ And ‘Be positively resourceful even to those who hurt you.’ Similar theme is explicated through ‘Shankar – the Young Detective’ – the God given talent within must be detected and nurtured.

‘Brave Hearts’ is an illustration for concern for the persons around with love, compassion and service mindedness explicated through the central characters, Bhavana and the narrator.

The much needed contemporaneous theme of ‘Haves’ and ‘Have nots’ of foreign life is meticulously described in The Opposites with emotional intensity. The settlers in alien soil are ‘Haves’ of affluence but ‘Have nots’ of basic enjoyments of familial relationships and day to day living in the mother soil.

The next two stories, specially ‘Journey to Vortex’ take a form of ‘Fact garbed in fiction.’ The details in ‘Super Nova’ deserve commendation.

The capacity for accomplishing deeds – great or small but timely can make an insignificant person, a worthy one. The message is conveyed in ‘Every life has a great meaning.’

Short story is a literary genre which pressurizes the writer to compress the matters in a suitable manner to get his expected outcome. This anthology has fulfilled its purpose.

My hearty commendations to Shri T.N.Neelakantan for his literary endeavor done with utmost perfection and definite purpose. His literary fervor combined with his creative imaginative ability and his love for the native soil, has supplemented the Indian literature in English with this anthology.

I pray to Goddess Saraswathi to bless him with everything that will facilitate him to continuously contribute to the literary world.


 

INTRODUCTION

It was just some Divine Grace that when I decided to write, the flow came on its own naturally. For a novice, I believed I wrote well and published some of my writings in my blog: www.neel48.blogspot.com. Many of my well-wishers, friends and relatives commented favorably on my writings and offered a number of suggestions. That encouraged me to write more. Initially, readers of my blog were my only fans. I gained confidence, over a period of time and one day, the idea struck me: Why not I publish my short story collections? The more I thought about the idea and paid attention to it, the more it gained strength and fructified in the form of a book. I believe, that is how most accomplishments happen. Everything remains an idea in someone’s mind until it gains sufficient power to generate actions. When actions become purposeful, constructive, and sustained, keeping a clear image of the outcome in one’s mind, the results always show off. I was immensely happy to see my writings in the form of a book, early 2011.

While writing these short stories, I had kept young readers - especially those from rural and semi-urban areas - in my mind. I had tried to keep the narrative and language simple. I have used Indian characters and settings, to help readers easily identify themselves with the story and the flow. To further help readers feel at home, I have sprinkled here and there, words in the local language as such, without struggling to find their English language equivalent. Pictures speak more than words. I have also used specially made drawings and some publicly available photographs as part of my book, to add color. Imagery is an essential element of reading. When I read books, I have a habit of picturizing in my mind what I read. The same habit continued when I wrote too. I am sure, readers too might do the same when they read this book.

I am one who believes that when someone grows spiritually, their life meets with more lasting happiness. Every moment of our life offers significant spiritual messages. We have to only notice them. I have used these stories not only as an entertainer for time-passing, but also to convey, subtly, a few powerful messages. I believe this book would meet the needs of young readers for their pleasure reading, language development and also help gain some important messages for personal development.

When my short stories were first published in the form of a book in 2011, I had the immense satisfaction that one of my lifetime ambitions came true. This would not have been possible but for the significant encouragement I received from my small reader-club, that included my wife and children. They were my first critics and they never hesitated to offer constructive criticisms on my writing. I owe my gratitude to all of them.

I also offer my sincere gratitude to Professor R.Ramakrishnan at Bangalore, who had encouraged me in several ways and particularly, in writing this book. I thank him not only for his encouragement, but also for all his suggestions and help in bringing out this book.

I had shown my short stories to a few academicians and I thank them all for their commendations, opinions and suggestions. I am in particular grateful to Dr.Smt.C.Rajeswari, the then Principal, Sri Parasakthi college for Women, Courtallam, Tirunelveli District, Tamilnadu for going over the story collections with great interest and providing the Foreword to this book.

I also thank Shri Mariappan, artist of P.M.Arts, for providing the drawings for some of my stories.

Above all, I thank Almighty profusely, for providing me with the right motivation, encouragement, commitment and determination, in all that I do.

I dedicate this book to my parents who departed me long back, but are always with me in every moment of my life. I pray that they continue to accept my shortcomings and bless me from wherever they are, for all my efforts.

I have made a number of changes to my book and I am very happy to present the third edition of the book.

February, 2014                                                                                                                          T N Neelakantan