Short-story
Just Another Sunday Night

Iman Shakeel
It was midnight, and the streetlights were dim. The sky was painted lead and pink. A dusty storm accompanied by tiny droplets of rain gave Shalini a sense of foreboding. Shalini was walking alone, slowly down the lane in a part of town where no lone woman should be walking, especially at that time of the night. The place was utterly dark, shadowed by tall buildings on either side. A few industrial-sized bins contributed to the inner-city stench—a simmering mix of grime and garbage, with a tinge of acrid summer ozone. Strips of light escaped the high-up windows but were not enough to illuminate Shalini.
A car turned off the busy main road into the quiet lane. It was moving stealthily, hunting her, the almost hidden figure walking ahead. The headlight’s arc found her. Her cheap green dress was too small to be worn, and her skin was too thick to determine her age. She looked uncomfortable in her shimmering heels and caked-on make-up. The car stopped at a distance after moving slowly over the lane. She rested her hand on the door while she exchanged a few words with the young man seated in the driver seat. He seemed witty and smart enough to manipulate people and escape from getting tangled. Whatever he uttered in a low tone, it was enough to convince her and get inside the car.
The vehicle headed to the end of the lane paused briefly and surged into the flow of traffic. It fled down the road, past the clubs, the bored bouncers and Sunday night revellers until it finally took a turn into an underground car park. The driver found a dim corner and applied the brakes. There was no one else around. The car jerked, and Shalini started to drown in fear and anxiety. She unbuckled her seat belt and tried to get out of the vehicle by pressing the door handle hard.
He looked at her silently and stared at her as if he could read her mind.
“Let’s get into the back seat,” he muttered. “It will be more comfortable.”
Shalini was getting nervous. Her puzzled mind couldn’t figure out a means of escape.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “What are you trying to say?”
He heaved with a deep sigh and pulled out a badge; she recoiled from it as though she saw a ghost.
“What the hell?”
She tried to open the door one again. It was locked.
“Soliciting is a crime. But you have two choices … either I persuade you in or …”
“Or what?”
“Or you agree without a fuss.”
It took her a few seconds to comprehend what he was saying. She could not believe her ears as she heard him mumble.
“Like, is that what you want? I don’t f**kin’ believe this. All this for a freebie? No way.”
To not create any more fuss, Shalini got into the back seat. He followed her. Everything he wanted to do was over in a matter of minutes. He returned to the driver’s seat, straightened himself up while watching her in the rearview mirror. Dressed again, she got out hastily and walked away. He jumped out of the car and quickly caught hold of her, grabbing hold of her hair tightly.
“Where do you think you are going?” he asked her cunningly.
She looked perplexed.
“We had a deal.” he smiled.
And even before Shalini could think of anything, in a quick movement, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and clipped them around her wrists.
“Oh shit. How will I reach home now? What on earth am I going to tell my mother?” Shalini was disturbed by the chain of thoughts that were haunting her.
An eerie silence had taken over, interrupted by her occasional sobs.
After driving for a distance, he opened the door and pushed her out on the street. Shalini landed with a thud and was bruised in the head. Blood was oozing out of her arms, and her knees were injured severely.
She immediately stuffed her hands into her pocket and ran for her life without paying heed to anyone.
Dark heavy clouds gathered in the sky, and green leaves on the trees seemed to be nudging each other, waiting to welcome the rain yet to arrive from the grey clouds.
Shalini broke out in a sweat despite the chill by the time she reached the stairs to her 2nd-floor apartment. The unease was growing into anxiety as she became increasingly aware that she needed to fix the wounds as soon as possible. As she fumbled with the keys and stepped into her apartment, her dress was soaked in blood. The rain had started gushing down. With tears silently streaming down her pale face, she made her way to the bathroom leaving behind her a bloody trail of an incident she never wanted to disclose.
Shalini did not know for how long she sat there amid a small pool of her foolishness mixed with guilt. The clouds now turned white, relieved after having lost their water. Shalini wanted that relief for herself, but what she felt was only sorrow. Deep, dark, swallowing her from inside. Why? Why? Why? Her silent mind screamed. Something seemed to reach and clutch her heart, squeezing tightly. What she did not know was the impending pain that would come. Unbearable. It was her first time, and the injuries added more to the pain.
Hours later, after she managed to collect pieces of herself, she looked for her phone. Ten missed calls—her mother. With trembling fingers, she called back. How do I tell her on earth? Numb with despair, She felt something shove down her throat.
Mom?
She wasn’t sure if she spoke that word or if it was only in her head.
“Shalini!! Where are you? I have been trying to call you for the past five hours! Don’t tell me that you were out with Shreya and forgot to check your phone. Since you moved to Delhi, you have just become so much more ignorant! I sit here trying to reach out to you, while you…..” and on and on and on, she shouted into Shalini’s unhearing ear.
Tears slowly started welling down her eyes. She was afraid her wounds would hurt more as her mother’s words pricked her: a rain of tiny glass fragments that cut sharply through the fresh wound.
She let the phone slide onto the table and walked over to the landline in the kitchen. After an hour or two, she pulled the cord tight, and she sat on the floor, allowing the rhythmic ringing on the other end soothe her nerves.
The slightly out of breath voice said: Hello?
Mom? Barely above a whisper….
“Shalini?…” her mother’s voice didn’t attempt to mask the surprise in it.
“Is something the matter?” inquired her mother in a calm tone this time.
“I tried, mom.” Shalini knew she was being heard. “But why? Why don’t you ever try to understand me?” By now, she was heaving with huge unstoppable sobs.
“No, mom. I was never good enough. I will never be good enough. I wish I were like my younger sister – she is happy to be what you want her to be. From wearing what you want her to wear to topping at school to studying the course you chose. My achievements were never important to you. I am messy. I break the rules. I have fun. Why? Why can’t you see that? Why are you so ignorant when it comes to me?”
All she heard were heart-wrenching sobs on the other end. The real pain had stood behind the momentary mask of her mother’s disapproval. Now that the mask was torn away, Shalini could not hold it in anymore. It was too much. Way too much. All she longed for was comfort in her mother’s lap. She just wished she would not have to deal with this.
Shalini’s mom was sure that something more than just her words was the issue here. While Shalini cried on the other end, her mom kept saying reassuring words. At long last, when Shalini was sober enough to be audible, she told her mother about the rape that she had encountered in exchange for a free ride. She told her mom everything in detail, right from walking alone on the street at night to talking to a stranger and how it led to unprecedented rape and violence. Her mother’s heart went out to her brave little daughter. She wanted to reach out and wipe away the pain and loneliness. She sympathised with her daughter and consoled her wholeheartedly. She assured her that she will stand with her at every step of life.
“My child, you are strong. I sometimes wish every woman had the strength and courage that you possess. You know how to combat injustice and stand up for yourself. I can understand what you had faced last night. Truly, you are a daring and brave girl who could pick herself and run back. You know your value, and that is your biggest weapon in fighting anything that is thrown at you.”
Shalini had silenced down at the other end. “Mom…. I guess I have to go see the doctor now” She felt numb.
“That is a good idea, my dear. Why don’t you ask Shreya to go with you?”
“No! Mom. I can go.”
“Shalini….? You are a perfect daughter. Sometimes it hurts me to see you hurt. Asking for help is not a sign of weakness or victimhood.”
The relief was already seeping into Shalini’s soul, and she started to regain her composure.
Her mother quickly made plans. “I will call Shreya and let her know that you need to go to the hospital urgently. You don’t have to disclose anything to your father. I will help you out. But do let me know how it goes. If you can, come here tomorrow or if you feel you will not make it, I will come there for a few days. Shalini…..?”
“Yes. I’m listening.”
Despite knowing the intensity of the situation and what her daughter had gone through last night, Shalini’s mother didn’t express any sorrow, although she was dumbstruck when she got to know about it. She instead helped her in moving out of it by consoling and comforting her.
“Truly, our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we have ever met.”
Short-story
The Abandoned Soul

Short Stories – Kumbh Series
Garvit Agarwal
Lucknow
Writer attended a Creative Writing Course by Takhte Writers and Publishers
The sun hung low over the Kumbh Mela, casting a warm golden hue across the throngs of devotees gathered along the banks of the sacred Ganges. The air buzzed with chants, laughter, and the rustling of colourful saris flapping in the wind. Pulkit and Ragini moved through the crowd, their hands intertwined but their expressions distant.
“Look at them, Ragini,” Pulkit said, forcing a smile as he gestured toward a group of children splashing in the water. “So carefree.”
“Carefree,” she echoed, her voice tinged with bitterness. “Must be nice.” Her gaze drifted to their son, Akash, who stood a few paces behind them, his eyes wide as he took in the chaos around him. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, a habit that had grown more pronounced in recent months.
“Let’s just find a spot,” Pulkit replied, his tone clipped. “We can’t stay here all day.”
As they settled near the ghat, the chanting grew louder, drowning out the silence that had settled between them. They exchanged a glance, a shared understanding of the growing weight of their decision.
“Pulkit,” Ragini began, her voice shaking slightly. “Are we really—”
“We have to,” he interrupted, the determination in his eyes hardening. “It’s for the best.”
Hours passed, the sun dipping lower, casting long shadows on the ground. Ragini watched as Pulkit knelt beside Akash, who was now fixated on a butterfly fluttering nearby. “Hey, buddy,” Pulkit said, his voice softer than before. “Want to chase that?”
Akash didn’t respond, lost in his world. Ragini felt a pang in her heart but quickly pushed it away. They were here for a reason, after all.
“We should go,” Pulkit said, rising to his feet. “It’s time.”
“Pulkit, I—”
“Ragini, we’ve talked about this.” He took a deep breath, his brow furrowed. “We can’t keep pretending everything is fine.”
With a heavy heart, they turned their backs on their son, leaving him by the ghat. “I’ll be right back, Akash,” Pulkit called over his shoulder, though he didn’t look back.
As they walked away, Ragini felt the weight of their decision settle in her chest like a stone. The laughter and chanting faded into a dull thrum, replaced by the sound of her heartbeat.
Later, as they listened to the preachings of a saint, a shift occurred. The saint’s voice boomed through the crowd, reverberating deep within Ragini. “Love is the greatest sacrifice,” he proclaimed. “To abandon those we love is to abandon our very souls.”
Pulkit stiffened beside her. “Did you hear that?”
“Yes!” she whispered, her heart racing. “We need to go back.”
They rushed back to the ghat, but the crowd had thickened, and panic set in as their eyes searched frantically. “Akash!” Ragini called, her voice rising above the chaos. “Where are you?”
“Stay calm,” Pulkit urged, though his voice trembled. “He can’t have gone far.”
Hours turned into days, and the relentless search for their son felt like a nightmare from which they could not wake. Each day, they returned to the ghat, calling his name until their voices were hoarse.
“Why did we leave him?” Ragini sobbed one evening, her tears mixing with the river’s water as she knelt by the bank. “What have we done?”
Pulkit sank to the ground beside her, his own eyes brimming with regret. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he murmured, his voice breaking.
“Where is he?” She cried, her heart shattered. “What if—what if he’s alone and scared?”
They were lost in their remorse, the vibrant colours of the Mela fading into a blur of sorrow. The river flowed steadily beside them, indifferent to their pain, as they clung to the hope that somehow, some way, they would find their son again.
Photo Courtesy – Mr Rajesh Balouria by Pixabay
Short-story
Triumph of Connection

Short Stories – Kumbh Series
Rutbik Gupta
Bilaspur, Chattisgarh
Writer attended a Creative Writing Course by Takhte Writers and Publishers
The Kumbh Mela pulsed with life, colours swirling like a painter’s palette. Krish and Shreya squeezed through the throngs of pilgrims, their parents trailing behind, eyes wide with wonder. The air buzzed with chants, the scent of incense thick around them.
“Look at all those people!” Shreya shouted, her voice barely rising above the chaos. “I feel like we are in a river of heads!”
“Just stay close,” Krish replied, his grip tightening around her hand. “We can’t lose each other here.”
Suddenly, a small voice broke through the din. “Mama! Papa!” A boy, no older than six, stood alone, tears streaking his dusty cheeks. Krish’s heart sank.
“Shreya, we have to help him,” he said, kneeling to the boy’s level. “What’s your name?”
“Teerth,” he sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I can’t find my parents!”
“Don’t worry, Teerth. We’ll help you,” Shreya promised, her voice softening. “Where did you last see them?”
“By the river… I was looking at the fish,” Teerth whimpered, glancing around, panic rising. “They were right there!”
“Okay, follow us,” Krish said, standing tall, determination setting in. “We’ll find them.”
They moved through the crowd, the rhythm of drums and chants echoing around them. Krish scanned each face, searching for a hint of recognition. Shreya whispered encouragement to Teerth, who clung to her hand.
“Look!” Shreya pointed, spotting a frantic couple searching through the crowd. “Teerth, is that them?”
Teerth’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Mama! Papa!” He bolted towards them, the sound of his small feet hitting against the ground.
Krish and Shreya exchanged relieved glances, hearts racing. The couple raised Teerth into their arms, tears streaming down their faces.
“Thank you! Thank you!” the mother cried, her voice breaking.
“Thank you so much, children. You’ve been our saviour”, said the father, with teary-eyed.
“No problem,” Krish said, a smile breaking through the tension. “Just doing what’s right.”
As the family embraced, Krish and Shreya shared a knowing glance. The chaos of Kumbh Mela swirled around them, but at that moment, they felt the triumph of connection.
Photo Courtesy – Mr Rajesh Balouria by Pixabay
Short-story
Fury of Tomato

Advika Bhatnagar
Shikshantar School, Gurugram
Grade 3
Alice, a nine-year-old boy, lived in the countryside of Tinseltown with his Granny. He was a stubborn and edgy child. He liked to eat whatever he wanted and didn’t care much about Granny’s words. This made the old lady very sad.
“Granny, Granny, hunger pangs! I want pizza and chocolate ice cream for dinner,” said Alice
“Wait, child, I’m making delicious chicken soup, healthy multigrain bread, and a fresh salad,” answered Granny.
Alice got angry when he saw salad on the dining table. He yelled, “Again, cucumber, bell pepper, carrot, and tomato. Is that what I will eat? “No, no, no, never, not at all. No dinner tonight.” Granny got worried and left the house to get his favourite food.
Alice was all alone. In anger, he picked up the tomato and threw it at the wall. The red pulp of the tomato almost covered the mid-wall. He was shocked to see the pulp turning into a monster.
“Ha, Ha, Ha, you stubborn boy. Every day I see you trouble your Granny for food. When you hit me against the wall today, I felt hurt. I will teach you a lesson. I am the new king of vegetables. I rule the meals,” said the tomato monster. And then the monster followed him everywhere in the room.
Alice was so scared that he was running in different directions. Sitting under the table, he quietly prayed, “Oh God, please save me from this deadly monster.”
Alice rushed to his Granny’s room, wears her hat and robe. He picks up the embroidered, favourite napkin of the Granny and moves slowly towards the wall. He wipes the tomato pulp, and the monster disappears right away.
Alice gets the lesson of his life to value all food. He vows to take care of Granny, as her belongings protect him. When she was back, he hugged her and said, “I love you so much. I will eat whatever you cook for me.”
The writer attended Takhte Writers & Publishers’ Story Writing Writeshop at Kalasthali, Gurugram.
Photo Courtesy – Andre Taissin (xRUJcUTEp6Y) Unsplash
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