Short-story
The Tussle

Chaitanyamoi Chetia
St. Joseph’s High School, Moranhat, Assam
The summers have started and it is the best time for the swimmers to swim in the pool. Parents are bringing their children to the swimming pool and there are many new admissions. Stout and strong boy, Probin also joined the swimming. However, his enrolment was rather late as most of the boys of his age were expert swimmers. He was asked by the trainer to learn swimming with the little kids who were studying in Kindergarten and First Grade in schools. The pool was within the walking distance from school.
Probin presence in the classroom was chaos for everybody. The school administration recently introduced CCTV cameras in an attempt to curtail brawl and scuffle amongst the students as it provided inconvertible evidence as to which student did. These were installed on the veranda of the school: one was mounted above the main door of the classroom: there were also CCTV cameras in parking spaces. Students were aware of it and all had fear of getting caught if done anything nasty.
Class teachers, with time, had started learning about the aggressive nature of Probin, which he has been concealing for many years. Only because he was good at advanced mathematics, his classmates revered him. In the last class test, he could manage to score full marks as he easily solved all the mathematical expression of Binary number problems of the question paper.
One bright sunny day Probin came near Samit of the same section and said, “Let us fight in the veranda.”
Samit was almost shocked. He had just completed taking his tiffin and came out of the classroom to play.
“Can’t you see, our teachers will watch us vividly from the teachers’ common room,” Samit said and went away.
“Wait! Let us brawl inside our classroom,” Probin continued.
“Look carefully! a CCTV camera is installed there,” Samit said with annoyance and irritation.
Samit is a lean and thin boy. Probin would defeat him easily if both happened to fight.
Samit questioned himself, “Will there be no one in our classroom of the stout body who can brawl with Probin and win?”
Then he decided that the shy boy, Ratan who always used to sit on the last bench would be a good choice as he had a sturdy body. He quickly came near Ratan and requested, “Only you will be able to brawl with Probin because his presence in the classroom has become chaos and mayhem for us.”
At the outset, Ratan declined to fight; afterwards, he complied and nodded his assent.
“Probin’s firepower and force will be futile today,” Samit imagined.
Only a few minutes left for the bell to ring and after that their remaining classes will start.
Samit said in a loud voice to everybody, “Let us go to the backyard of our school as there is no CCTV camera installed there to watch the brawl between Probin and Ratan.”
Probin was indomitable and invincible and he also thinks of himself in that way. Finally, the tussle started; very quickly Ratan’s shirt buttons tore away in fighting, punching and wrestling. Immediately, Ratan surrendered. He spoke in a tired and exhausted voice, “I will not fight with you anymore; I admit my defeat.”
All returned to their classroom after the tussle. Their teacher came but Samit could not give attention to his books. All the students opened up their copy and started writing what the teacher was dictating; Samit was sitting idle on his bench. A great many thoughts troubled him.
The teacher came near him and said, “What happened! All are busy writing and you are wandering somewhere in your mind.”
Having heard this, he immediately took out his pen and paper and started writing what the teacher was dictating.
The School bell rang and Samit started recollecting about the swimming pool. “Probin has the habit of holding the handrail as a safety measure to come to the swimming pool: he uses swimming kickboards as a floating device during swimming classes; besides, he is a fledgling swimmer. The only place I can defeat him in the swimming pool,” Samit said to himself in confidence.
Samit is adept in swimming; now he was learning about backstroke, sidestroke, and freestyle in a more perfect manner. He was also able to win gold medals in a 50-meter backstroke and a 50-meter butterfly stroke competition organised by the swimming pool committee. The trainer of the pool also started relying on him.
The guardians as well as the swimmers were coming one by one to the swimming pool. Samit as usual put on his swimming suit, goggles and cap. All the swimmers who were recently enrolled stood in a line with a kickboard in their hands. In delight, all jumped into the swimming pool. Probin was also seen in the same line; as usual, he had to hold the handrail as a safety measure for coming to the swimming pool along with the kickboard as the floating device to provide buoyancy and to keep him afloat.
The trainer told Samit, “I have to go out for an hour for an important work: I am entrusting you the responsibility to teach the boys.”
“Sir,” Samit said in confidence and jubilation.
As soon as the trainer went away, Samit came to Probin and said angrily in a loud voice, “I shall teach you a lesson and you will never skirmish and scuffle at school.”
Saying thus, he gave a kick at Probin’s feet inside water. The sudden kick frightened Probin since he was boosting his confidence with the help of the kickboard by exercising, doing laps, treading water and isolating his leg movements.
“Promise me that you will never draw circle, triangle and rectangle with your gel pen in the back of my white shirt as you always sit behind me in the classroom,” shouted Samit and gave the second kick.
With great fear Probin was clutching the kickboard with his fists tightly in water; one another punch in his left arm made him cry in pain. Every punch was a delightful joy for Samit; every punch flattened Probin and his ears buzzed.
Probin said in despair, “Your every punch had the impact of a bag of bricks on my body: I am feeling great pain; I shall never create any chaos in the classroom.”
Samit fully twisted his wrist when he punched with his right hand: he again put all his strength in his fist and punched hard at Probin’s and said, “Promise me that you will never mar and impair the iron pressed uniform pants of our classmates with chalk pencil in the classroom again?”
He screamed, “No, no, no.”
Samit’s kicks of a sledgehammer made him scream with huge sounds as the burning pain paralyzed him. His painful scream was of no effect because all the kids in the swimming pool were shrieking and yelling and giggling in glee.
Samit trotted up the stairs and walked into the bathroom, eager for his shower. It was a massive bathroom with floor tiles accompanied by multiple showerheads. He leaned his head against the shower wall. After the shower, he snatched the towel down from the hook, rubbed his back, wrapped it around his body and came out shaking his wet head.
Probin also came out of the swimming pool with lazy legs, exhausted and tired and went directly to the bathroom to take a shower: for many minutes he was in the bathroom and started sobbing. Lately, he came out with a large bath towel draped across his shoulder.
He directly came home and said to himself, “I will have to refine myself; I will have to deviate myself from tussle, scuffle and squabble at school with my classmates. I will have to reform my manners so that I am loved by everybody.”
He changed his clothes, came to his reading table and started reading the school diary which has a pledge paper attached to it and guidelines about how a responsible individual should behave in a society. He also started thinking about his life journey. From that day onwards he worked towards becoming a better person.
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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