Short-story
The View of a Wasp

Keshav Kadyan
Arwachin international school
Grade – 8
Chapter 1
I am a wasp. Yes, a wasp. Don’t be alarmed.
I do not sting until I am put in danger. So many of you must be scared of me. I am not going to bite yet. So yeah, this is a story about me interacting with a human for the first time.
It all started at my nest. My nest is in a red ’letterbox‘, as I have heard from the humans over time. The letterbox is on a red metal thingy, which I have listened to humans call a door. So the human moves the door every day and shakes. Yes, shakes! My whole colony is almost like an earthquake. One day, I saw why he did it, then I saw it.
Chapter 2
He was taking out a monster. At least I thought it was a monster.
It was a ‘cycle’. That’s what the human called it. Oh, did I tell you that I can understand humanese (as my folk call it) all well, but humans don’t even hear it when we are behind them, flying and shouting? So, one day, I tried finding out why he bothered us, and I decided to deal with him for once and all. A secret weapon is why human beings are scared of us—my sting.
Chapter 3
The next day, when he opened the door and shook my nest, I went and flew out of my nest. He got a little scared after seeing me, but I ran away and hid, and as soon his defense was low, I climbed on his back. You might think I should have bitten him there and then, but no, I would attack when it hurts the more; I needed to make sure I would kill or put him in pain for the rest of his life. I know it is a little harsh, but they make medicines for us as if we are some illnesses. So, I climbed on his back and held on.
As soon as I was fit, I started climbing his back to the neck. I knew it would hurt on his face the most. I was petrified of falling, and I couldn’t fly after him because he was too fast. So I held and climbed up. Then I reached just below his neck, and the wind was too strong up there, and I saw some water nearby and thought of my idea!
Chapter 4
I would bite him on the neck he would misbalance and fall. I have seen that people fall from their cycles many times. I stung him right there three times and left him. I knew I would die, but I didn’t hesitate—anything for my family. While I was falling, I waited for him to fall too, but he didn’t. He did not fell. I didn’t know what happened the plan was perfectly executed.
Afterwards, I saw that he had two layers of skin. One was blue, the other peach coloured. I had stung the wrong skin. I thought of flying away, but I damaged my wing. I fell. This was the end. I was going to die; I didn’t do anything. I felt sadness in me.
Chapter 5
I somehow saved and healed myself. And then I was flying, trying to find my nest, but then I saw that human again. Human and that cycle. You can’t imagine how furious I was with him. I flew towards him as fast I could. Yes, finally, my revenge, I thought. What a fool I was to think? I arrived quickly, but he went away without even realising my arch-nemesis. He escaped. I encountered him many times; nonetheless, he ran.
Chapter 6
Now I had the last chance, or I would give up my life. I saw and followed him and observed for a few days. After watching his routine, I sat on his outer skin that had changed colour and went to my home for the first time. I had no idea how much time. I went in and saw that those human medicines murdered my entire family and every wasp. I went to the human and started stinging him, but before I could even touch him, a giant human sent this smaller one away and put the medicine in my face.
Chapter 7
I died at the spot. And that’s how I am here as a soul in the upper world. So how about you? Are you a human soul? I hate humans, but we can’t be violent here. So tell me how you reached here?
Human said, “Well, you see the human down there. Yeah, he killed me. Nice folk his parents were. They are in the inner cleansing spa, I think”.
Wasp retorted – “Nice”.
(Photo Courtesy Eduardo-Gorghetto-Unsplash)
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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