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Children's
Story Writing is a good creative outlet and can be used to
inspire others. |
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Once Upon A Time
I
Once
upon a time, drought sucked a village of its precious commodity. The
monsoon’s failure dried up all the ponds. While the men folk lay toiling
gloomily in their fields under the scorching sun, the women folk walked
miles across dusty roads to fill their earthen pots. The crops in the
field began to wilt and die and so did the village cattle. Left free to go
in search of non-existent fodder and quench their thirst in such arid
terrains, the village cows withered away every ounce of their muscles
before dropping down exhausted. Whatever life left of the living skeletons
with ribs jutting out of their skin was taken away by the scavengers
circling in the sky. The sight of their animal’s eye still blinking while
the vultures kept tearing into the flesh, reminded the villagers of their
own dreadful future without water.
With parched throat, eyes and lips, the villagers turned to their last
hopeful resort, the village shaman. Being the most informed and educated
of them all, he called for a meeting among the village elders to find a
solution to the crisis. The whole village was summoned under the banyan
tree that lay in the middle of the village to hear their decision. From
crawling toddlers to walking-stick ridden aged ones, everyone came
scowling and fighting to occupy a space under the banyan’s shade. Amidst
the chaos, the shaman announced- a well that was required to be built to
save the village. He also went on to mark the spot in the outskirts of the
village where they would commence to dig.
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The next morning before
the sun peeked out of its horizon, the men folk set forward with hopeful
aspiration, armed with pickaxes and spades. Even the women and children
turned up to haul the earth out of the ground, and share the burden of
work. Some sang songs of the future prosperity that lay ahead. The chorus
lines were joined in by one and all.
As the sun rose, the songs in the air began to fade, but not their undying
sprits. They continued to dig. When it started to show its full blown
strength, only the sounds of pickaxes hitting the ground was heard. As
shadows grew shorter during midday, sprits dwindled. They men folks took
turns of rests to fight off the exhaustion while the women folks prepared
pots of rice gruel to satisfy the hunger and thirst.
And so it went on. Past noon, the time of the day temperature peaks,
energy started to drain; the weak ones started to give up while strong
willed ones were on the verge of doing the same.
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Slowly one by one, each
hauled themselves out of the hole they had dug to no avail, but one man
kept digging. Neither had his enthusiasm drained, nor had his energy.
Although he looked puny, he possessed the strength of an elephant. The men
on the top finally called out to him to give up on the endeavor as it
served no purpose, but he shut their voices of discouragement and kept on
with his work.
As he dug he felt the ground beneath him become damper and softer. Taking
it as a positive omen, he strove harder. He felt like a man reaching for
the treasure that lay underneath. All the veins in his body felt he was
closer to something that was waiting to be unleashed. The dampness gave
away to wetness and out of it sprang water. As the relentless determined
digger’s voice cried out in joy, out came a huge slithering snake from the
spot that he had struck treasure. Gripping his legs with its tail, it
coiled around his body, taking him by complete surprise.
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It was only when he felt
his ribs cracking did his call of joy turn to cry for help before his face
drowned into the snake’s mouth. What the men from outside saw when they
peeped into the hole after hearing the distress call, was the remains of
his bare foot legs disappearing into the monster. They remained dumbstruck
and helpless even as they saw the frame of a man passing through the
passage of the snake. Only after the predator returned back into the
oblivion it came from with its prey, did the men start refilling the hole.
None of them took any rest for this time around.
II
After a few days, the rains arrived, filling up the ponds and saving the
villagers, but none failed to recollect the well they dug and refilled.
Years later, the rains failed again. As some villagers contemplated on
reopening the well, little children started disappearing from their
cradles. Ah well, that’s another story altogether that begins just like
this one. Once upon a time…
Contributing
Story Teller
HARISH PRAKASH I am an aspiring
writer who has a Biotechnology degree, a six month stint at journalism and
is currently doing research in Bangalore. My passion is to entertain
readers with my writing.
harishprakashhp@gmail.com
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