Skip to main content

How Much And How Different Value Of Money Is

This is my first short story (a long story I have already written), trying hard to express my feeling through my insufficient vocabulary in English literature. I hope, someday I will have enough English word to express my emotions more profoundly.

I was in 3rd year in IT-BHU, Varanasi. Assi-Ghat used to be my best spot, for peace and serenity descends into me as my mind synchronizes to the rhythm and tranquility of Ganges. Every evening after watching, contemplating and passing some alone moments, I used to content my tongue, without bothering my stomach at PAHALWAN LASSI BHANDAR. But that evening was not the same evening.

As I paid to the shop owner and was about to put my-self on my Honda-Activa, a sudden touché, so delicate yet so demanding made me to turn my eyes. What I saw, was a woman in mid forties, cladding in torn saris, holding a semi-clad baby in her bosom. Her whitish-brown scattered hairs, deep-dark earnest eyes, pale face, were reflecting her bottomless agony but yet reflecting the every quality of motherly-love. I often witnessed many beggars as I feel Varanasi should be more a city of beggars than city of temples. But there is something in her for that I could not turn off my eyes. I took out my purse, silently forwarded 10 rs to her. A happiness, a hope and a gratefulness reflected through her eyes as a drop waved rippled in a silent, serious and monotonous river. I first time realized how much and how different value of money is.

I hardly moved some meters, riding on my activa through agitated crowd, a sudden movement; a crying sound vibrated my ear. I turned behind and saw the same woman running towards me and struggling to crowd for coming forward. Few meters had become kilometers as crowd seemed to ever-increasing population of India, concentrated here only for this moment. I could not believe on my eyes, when a sudden pulser bike, hit her, became invisible into crowd and left her wounded. People encircled her. I ran and reached her, hold her hand. She was taking deep breaths, yet tightened her blood stained hand across the baby with my purse in her second hand. I managed her to hospital with the help of my friends but again I realized how much and how different value of money is.


Yayaver said…
no words to say...u had melted my heart.
Amit414@IT-BHU said…
thanks a lot for your encouraging words...
Shantanu said…
I could relate to the story.

Compassion is the soul of universe but it's money the world revolves around!

Popular posts from this blog

Women-Empowerment (A Short Story)

Her spectacle ridden red eyes were trying to run away from the crowd as soon as possible. Every person was looking so alien, so dreadful.  Her heart was pounding so fast, it felt it could come out anytime. She closed her eyes; took a long-breath; chanted a prayer, perhaps to stabilize her trembling soul. But it was of no use. In the high decibel of the noise she had already lost her ability to hear her own words. Somewhere at some meters away she found a corner.  She moved towards the corner with her shuddering legs but alas! Her blurring eyes were proving too difficult to keep open. She fell down and in a few hours she was laying against white bed-sheet in the government hospital. She didn’t know who took her there.  She moved her eyes everywhere to search some known faces. But there was no one. Finally she closed her eyes. So how are you feeling now? She heard a male, soothing yet concerned voice, but not sure if it was for her or someone else. She opened her eyes slightly...As the ima…

Begging Future

Scientists believe that after a certain period especially childhood, our mind does not develop; it just gathers knowledge, makes it experiences and learns new things.Freud, the father of psychology claims that till that age, the way our mind gets shaped; it lasts for our whole life and defines our behaviour and character. So, the important point which I want to draw is that childhood is the most crucial period which decides and defines our future.
To grow a child, is an art, the most beautiful living art of existence. But unfortunately, everyone doesn’t want to reveal his art as they have never felt the joy of this art Or maybe they would have work more prior to this. So their creation is not perfect. A child needs care, love, humbleness, spontaneity; which most of people would be mistaken by fulfilment of economic needs. Well, a good school can substitute the role of parents to an extent but not completely.
In case of India where good schools and perfect parents are a distant fantasy f…

LAKSHMEE- A short story (Guest Post)

Many years have passed since she left this imperfect and unjust world, but still she floats around in my memories time to time. Today I have decided to tell the story of Lakshmee as was perceived through my eyes. Lakshmee was born as a first child in a family which had seen a girl child after two generations. Although a boy would have been more welcome in this case also, Her arrival in this world was tolerated or I dare say welcomed in much better way than many of other girls had in my village. At that time you could guess by the silence and gloom at home that a girls had arrived or by noise of celebration that a boy had been born. A feast was arranged as celebration for her birth which was generally reserved for boys. Her grandfather christened her Lakshmee, consoling his son that she will bring prosperity, material and money as well as many boys to family.
She was a very lovely child with plenty of smiles and comfortable with anyone wishing to carry her in his/her arms. Since she wa…