Summary of One of the story from my short stories book love flowers. . .
————————————————————Ravi was returning to his home after 12 years from he migrated in USA.
He was forced to go there for his MBA and hereinafter started live in. Lost his father in very early age but his mother fulfilled his every wish and never let him miss his father.
After a long flight he caught the bus for his district. New roads, new buildings and many more . he was coming to sell his house and wasteland full of palash trees. All fecund land was sold by his mother for his study and fulfilling his other demands.
Oh only a few months was passed from his mother death. Yes Ramaya called him and he was quite busy that time in his future projects , he was responsible towards his career so he refused to come , but today everything was changed. He need money to start his new project , after all now who is gonna to take care of his property.
From district bus stand he got a bus for his village. Now that alleyway turned into a road. He was quite impressed by the development.
“Kahan jabe ke ho” (where are you going) asked a villager.
“Pritampura” he replied roughly.
“Kekra khane” (where in pritampura) again villager thrown a question after all villager was his concomitant.
“Birju ” he replied strictly.
And finally villager was hushed till pritampura arrived.
He was so relaxed looking towards and then shape of his face was seemed wrapped, Streets of village was changed. And that’s a big problem .
“Bhaiyaa birju yahan kaise jaun”
He asked from a villager .
“Sidhe fir daye fir mandir milega fir aage ka puch lena.”( straight then right , there was a temple from there you can ask to anyone for rest)
” thanx” he pattered.
And started walking , oh that’s the temple where i came to play in childhood. And from here i have to take left.
Fog of his mind was cleared , now he know how to reach the birju’s house.
That’s the well where all women came for water for her house and still some are here for water not changed yet. Once Ramaya was fell down in well that silly girl.
Oh birju was outside of own house . yes that was birju elder brother of Ramaya.
After ushering and some formal talkes birju gave him his house key.
And turned he turned towards his house, that’s my house courtyard and this is the tree of palash Wildish standing alone. Like a guard of his house.
He opened the gate. And entered.
Suddenly someone surprised him she was Ramaya.
“Oh how ll you survive here come to my house ”
“Okay” ravi replied.
And again shuts that door.
“Sadi ho gaye” ( are you married ?)
“Not yet and not interested , and one more thing i can talk english, walk english, eat english.
Ramaya replied .
“You are still the same” ravi replied.
“Yes but you are changed” Ramaya realised him.
After dinner he was trying to sleep but all that came in his mind only Ramaya.
Like it was a seen of yesterday.
Ramaya asked him for playing holi and he refused, because of the side effect of colour. And he had to go to his hostel after two days. What if colour was not gone.
Ramaya made the colour of that palash flower.
And the. Both played holi.
Why she was still unmarried.
And next day morning
Buyer came to him for his property
“Sorry sir! I am not selling this.
” what” buyer tries too to convince him but all in vain.
He opened his house door and hugged that palash tree.
Some of the sounds still encores by the wind or by that flower. Beneath his feet.
A young boy was asking for colures from his mother
“Son i ll make you the beat from these flowers.”
And a drop of salty water was fallen out from his eyes and he hugged that tree more tightly.
“No! You have to go, please for study for me, and for this village. Its only three year . i ll miss you but please.”
A lady was decoding his feelings in front of a boy . boy was looks like ravi.
“I am not going back ” ravi expressed to Ramaya holding hed hands.
“What you ll do here?” Ramaya asked.
“Marrying with you and . . .”
“And establishing a factory ”
“Factory ? Which kind of. . .”
“Factory of colours.”
The four eyes were crying beneath the palash tree. And all that pearl drooped into the flower of palash. . .
Story by : vaibhav sagar
By : Vaibhav Sagar