My First Beehive

I have vivid memories of my fourth-grade year. Those days, my father's work kept him away from home, and my family moved to my uncle's Wadi. For those unfamiliar, a Wadi is a small community located far outside the main village in farmland, where only a few people reside. The Wadi had a two-room school that only went up to fourth grade, and our class had only ten students. Aside from me, there was only one other boy in my class named Prakash, while the rest were girls. Prakash, became known as Pakya, while I was called Vikya, as it is common in Marathi to abbreviate names. Pakya and I quickly became best friends, and as it turned out, he was also my distant cousin.

Our family lived in the heart of the Wadi, surrounded by ten to fifteen other houses. Meanwhile, Pakya lived near our maternal uncle's farmland, which had five or six houses for their extended family. To reach this farmland from the Wadi, we had to cross two beautiful streams surrounded by lush green trees. While walking along those streams in the canopy of the trees, Pakya and I would make grandiose plans for all sorts of adventures until we finished the 10th standard. Unfortunately, our plans often failed, and we found ourselves in trouble with the folks in the Wadi, resulting in some well-deserved beatings. Poor Pakya always bore the brunt of the punishment, and he received more than his fair share of thrashings. Although I was always treated like a guest by other people and spared from punishment, my mother made sure I received my fair share of the whippings.

We created such a buzz in Wadi that people still remember the infamous legendary duo of Vikya-Pakya. This is no exaggeration. The first entry in our long list of misadventures was our first attempt to extract honey from a wild beehive. 

Pakya was obsessed with beehives since he was a kid. He was always in awe of his older cousins and their relatives who would bring home huge honeycombs from wild beehives. Until I reached fourth grade, I had only seen beehives from afar and had never even tasted honey. But thanks to Pakya, I was soon a beehive enthusiast like him. He shared all kinds of information with me, from how to extract honey, to where to find the honeycomb, and which bees to avoid. In Marathi, extracting honey from a wild beehive was literally called "flogging the beehive." And fueled by our excitement, we decided to try flogging a small beehive ourselves. 

One day, Pakya announced that he had discovered a small beehive. While I can't remember the exact date, I do recall the aftermath of the sorghum harvest - the fields in the Wadi were dotted with massive piles of dried fodder called Ganj, each measuring at least 15 feet in height and 20 feet in width. These towering yellow structures were scattered in the corners of every farm patch. 

Pakya had spotted the beehive on a small, barren plot of grassland located at the far end of my cousin-uncle's property. The hive was nestled on a small Tarwad bush and was incredibly minuscule in size, no larger than a grown man's palm, perhaps even smaller. In fact, it was so petite that an experienced person would have waited at least another month before attempting to flog it.

After school that day, Pakya and I raced to check out the small beehive, planning to raid it on Sunday morning. We thought we had the perfect plan. Pakya suggested using smoke to blind the bees, so he brought dried cow dung patties - the same fuel used for clay stoves called Chulhas. He even brought an old, half-torn bicycle tire just in case we needed more smoke. He also brought kerosene, a dirty rag to soak it with, and a box of matchsticks, which he had swiped from the Chulha in his house. Meanwhile, I thought I was being clever by bringing plastic bags my mother kept in the house. They were the kind that came with groceries like peanuts and pulses, and I planned to use them to protect our hands from bee stings. But Pakya was one step ahead - he had brought a big, old blanket to protect himself from the bees.

It would have been better if only the two of us had gone, but Pakya rounded up a whole gang of kids far younger than us from the neighborhood. However, it wasn't Pakya's fault; they would have followed us anyway since it was a Sunday. As we arrived at the Tarwad bush, I covered my hands with plastic bags, while Pakya shielded himself with a blanket. We positioned other children at a safe distance away from the bush and began to light the cow dung patties. It turned out we had no idea how to light them properly and ended up using too much kerosene sparingly. Finally, we gave up and opted for the tire instead. Pakya wrapped a rag soaked in kerosene around the mouth of the tire, lit it, and handed it to me.

The fire was burning brightly but there was little smoke. I entered the bush from one side and held the tire under the beehive from a safe distance. As the smoke began to rise, a few bees stirred and flew around, but the rest simply moved to the other side of the hive to avoid the smoke. Although I was frightened by the sight of the bees flying around, Pakya had already assured me that they were not stingers. And the plastic wrapped around my hands provided a sense of relief that at least my hands wouldn’t get stung. We were doing everything right, but the flames seemed to grow stronger than the smoke. Whenever the smoke shifted to the other side, the bees that had flown earlier returned to their places and resumed their positions. Nonetheless, my confidence skyrocketed as I realized that the bees were still not biting us. 

After a while, boredom set in, and Pakya came up with the ultimate solution. He suggested that we violently shake the branch to which the beehive was rested, and when the bees fly up, we should break off the entire branch and run for our lives. Apparently, this was the go-to method for experienced bee wranglers who seldom rely on smoke to get the job done. But the thought of attempting such a daring feat made me tremble with fear. I protested vehemently, warning Pakya about the potential danger of getting stung. However, he simply brushed off my concerns and took full responsibility for the plan. As for me, I stood at a safe distance, watching the scene unfold.

He wedged himself in a tight space in the bush and shook the branch of the beehive vigorously with one hand, causing most of the bees to fly away in a frenzy. Then he tried to break the branch, but it didn't work. Usually, the branches of the Tarwad bush were easy to snap, but this time it somehow proved to be difficult. Pakya became frustrated and asked for my help. He said he would cut the honeycomb instead of breaking the entire branch but there were still a few bees that kept returning to the hive. It was up to me to use the burning tire I still held in my hand to drive them away.

As I tried to chase the bees away, one of them managed to sneak into the plastic bag on my arm and stung me in a couple of spots. I let out a loud scream, dropped the bag, and ran away. I swore to myself that I would never attempt to disturb a beehive again. However, Pakya tried to console me by saying that since I had already been stung, I might as well have some honey and then take revenge by burning the hive. The possibility of revenge lifted my mood, and the pain from the sting had also lessened by then. The tire continued to burn brightly, fueling my determination. I removed the protective plastic bag from my other hand, returned to the bush, and began to drive up the bees vigorously. Another bee stung me on the other hand, but this time I gritted my teeth and endured the pain, seeking vengeance. Eventually, Pakya scraped the honeycomb off the branch.

The honeycomb turned out to be very small with only a tiny amount of honey. If I had known the ratio of the honeycomb size to the beehive, I would have stayed far away from it. Unfortunately, because of the children who were with us, we didn't even get enough honey to taste. But to our satisfaction, we burned the honeycomb completely.

As we set the honeycomb ablaze, the thick kerosene-soaked rag we used was consumed by the flames, causing the tire to catch fire. Burning embers of rubber rained down, igniting the dry grass below. We watched in awe as the flames spread in an intricate circular pattern, forming a ring of fire about one and a half feet in diameter. The flames licked at the edges of the circle, leaving behind a charred, black disc of grass in the center. Quickly Pakya threw the blanket on it and smothered the flames.

We were all mesmerized by the circular black disc engraved onto the yellow, dry grass on the barren patch. Pakya was so excited that he suggested we create another one. I started the fire on a different part of the grass, and we watched eagerly as the circle grew larger, reaching up to four or five feet wide. Pakya had to work harder this time to extinguish the fire. He quickly grabbed the blanket and expertly hit it a few times on the side of the circle to put out the flames. The resulting burnt grass display was even more stunning than the last one and Pakya suggested we should create an even larger one. 

I headed straight for the center of the barren patch and lit the fire. However, the grass started burning faster this time. This was because the wind had picked up fueling the fire. We were unaware that grass burns faster in the wind. Pakya sprang into action, attempting to extinguish the growing circle of fire. Unfortunately, the circle had grown too large, and when he extinguished it on one side, the flames would rekindle on the other, burning more fiercely than before. The wind whipped up the flames, and they grew into a frighteningly massive blaze. Moments ago, the gang of children who had been guiding us by pointing out the locations of fires suddenly turned and ran back the way we came, their enthusiasm replaced by fear. Overwhelmed by terror, Pakya and I also fled the scene. 

We sprinted towards the gang and threatened them to keep the fire incident a secret from their parents, warning of dire consequences otherwise. Pakya reassured me that people regularly burn the barren patch, so we need not worry as long as no one knows who set it ablaze. Feeling anxious, I decided to take a different route and went to the Wadi. I didn't return home until evening, hoping that no one would suspect my involvement in the incident.

It would have been better if only the barren patch had been burnt, but unfortunately, my cousin-uncle's fodder Ganj was located right next to it at the corner of the field, and the fire destroyed it as well. That fodder was worth five hundred rupees, a considerable sum for my uncle at those time. It wasn't until later that night I realized what had happened when my grandfather came home and told my mother about our adventure. As expected, the children who had witnessed our escapade had already spread exaggerated versions of the story, making us look even worse. While I don't remember being physically punished, Pakya received severe thrashing. However, my mother's disappointment was palpable as she sat with her hands on her head for a long time. The taunting from her continued for many days.

The next day, news of our fiery feat spread like wildfire throughout the Wadi. Everyone knew that the Vikya-Pakya duo burnt the fodder. Everywhere we went, people would tease us about it. But we continued with our misadventures, making sure that no one would ever forget about us. 

------------------------------ Vikram Khaire 20 March 2023 (Translated from the original Marathi story ‘Pahil Mavhal’ with the help of Google Translate and ChatGpt.)

 

The Brave Girl

    As I watched the blood drip steadily from his fingers, a sense of unease settled within me. My heart raced faster and faster, matching the rhythmic drip of blood in the kidney tray, refusing to slow down. The patient's chest rose and fell with increasing speed, as though the sight of his own blood was unsettling him. He looked up at me, his face pale and strained. "How much longer, sister?" he asked with a voice barely above a whisper.

    "Just a little while longer," I replied, my eyes fixed on the crimson liquid. "We must wait for the bad blood to be purged before I can dress the wound."

    I finished dressing the wound in the next five minutes. I didn't bother to remove my surgical gloves before taking a quick bathroom break with my purse slung over my shoulder. On my way out, I reluctantly asked Arati to clean the tray, knowing from experience that she was careless and prone to mistakes. When I returned, my worst fears had come true. Arati was clumsily mopping the floor, having made a mess of everything. I scowled at her incompetence and wondered how anyone like her could become a nurse these days. Not only had she dropped the tray, but she had also splattered blood all over my new apron, which was the second one I had to replace within a week. Despite this, I was not too concerned about the apron as I had just purchased a brand-new set. With a resigned sigh, I carefully placed my purse on the table and joined Arati in cleaning up the mess.

    Just then the ring of my mobile phone pierced the quiet of the hospital ward, jolting me out of my thoughts. Without looking at the caller ID, I knew it was my mother. I let it ring for a few more seconds and cleaned my hands, before reluctantly answering.

    "Shalini, pick up the phone quickly!" My mother's voice was filled with urgency.

    "I was busy with work, Mom. What's the matter?" I replied, already anticipating her concerns.

    "Did you ask the doctor about the change in the shift?" she demanded, her voice rising in pitch.

    "Yes, I did," I replied, my eyes darting to the clock on the wall and my purse. "I'll have the morning shift starting tomorrow. And don't worry, I'll be fine."

    "How can you be so relaxed about everything? Don't you read the news?" she chided. "And your shift ends at 10 pm, right? Should I come and pick you up?"

    "It ends at 11, Mom," I corrected her, my irritation mounting. "And you don't have to pick me up. I'm a black belt, remember? I can take care of myself."

    "Don't brag about that black belt. You always come home so late, and I can't sleep until I know you're safe at home" she complained.

    "Today is my last night shift, Mom. I'll be coming home in the afternoon from tomorrow. Please don't worry," I tried to reason with her.

    It took me about five minutes to calm her down and convince her not to pick me up. As I hung up the phone, I let out a frustrated sigh. This conversation was becoming a daily ritual, and it was starting to wear on me.

    As I hung up the phone, Aarti immediately chimed in, "Why are you lying to your Mom, Shalini? Don't we always leave work at 10 pm?"

    I couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at her prying into my conversation. Why did she always listen to other people's phone calls? She never seemed to have anything better to do. Trying to keep my cool, I explained, “Mom gets worried easily. If I'm ever running late or can't catch the bus, she gets anxious. So, I tell her that I'll be home by half past midnight leaving at 11, but I usually arrive early. It keeps her from worrying too much."

    "Oh, that's a clever strategy. Why can’t I think like that? I should try it with my parents so that I can spend more time with Subhash," Aarti said, impressed.

    "Seems like you can never think like that," I thought to myself, but didn't say it out loud.

    Aarti continued, "But it's obvious that your mom should worry. You're her only child, without a father, and at a marriageable age."

    I sighed inwardly. Why did Aarti always have to bring up my marriage? Since getting engaged to Subhash, she's been needling me about it incessantly. "I know, Aarti," I replied, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

    "That's not the point," Aarti replied firmly. "But don't you read the news? Aren't you scared?"

    I shot her a wry look. "You should stop reading that rubbish Police Times newspaper. They write anything for the attention," I countered.

    "But there's a serial killer on the loose," Aarti continued, her voice trembling slightly. "Not just in that paper, but it’s all over the news. He killed two girls last week, and they were our age."

    Aarti kept talking without taking a breath, sharing all the information she had gathered about the serial killer. She seemed to have a knack for collecting useless information. Despite my growing anxiety, I felt curious, so I let her speak.

    Aarti's eyes widened as she continued, "The police have linked him to at least six murders so far. And get this - he only targets pretty girls with curly hair. He slices their throats without a second thought. Just to be safe l straightened my hair yesterday just like you. Why take such a risk?"

    I raised an eyebrow. "Pretty girls with curly hair? That sounds like nonsense, Aarti. I don't think even the police know that." A faint smile tugged at my lips as I asked, "But when was your hair ever curly?"

    Aarti was beautiful, there was no denying that. But I wasn't going to praise her too much.

    "Don't laugh," she retorted. "What if the killer mistook my hair for curly and dragged me away? Would he forgive me just because my hair turned out to be straight?" she said, anger creeping into her voice. 

    I tried to suppress the smile that threatened to surface, but Aarti saw it and grew even more irritated.

    "I know you have curly hair too," she continued. "But you keep going to the parlor to get it straightened. You could be in danger, Shalini."

    It's true, I do have naturally curly hairs that I've always loved, but it's not easy to manage. Who has the time for that kind of hassle? Instead, I've started keeping my hair shorter and straightening it whenever I can. Plus, I've grown to love the sleek look of straight hair.

    Aarti's irritation, however, had not subsided. "You're scared too," she accused. "Don't pretend like you're not just because you're a black belt in karate."

    I was a black belt in taekwondo, not karate. But I decided not to correct her. I explained to her, "I'm not afraid of anyone, really. I'm very cautious and constantly vigilant. It's not just serial killers, even petty criminals don't just attack out of nowhere. They stalk their victims, carefully watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. If we stay aware of our surroundings at all times, then we can easily avoid any potential danger.”

    I could tell she wasn't convinced, so I added, "And I can defend myself if I have to. I've been trained to do so, and I always carry a small but sharp knife with me just in case."

    Aarti's face was now etched with surprise, but it quickly turned to curiosity. "Knife! Show me?" she exclaimed, her gaze locked on my purse.

    I hesitated for a moment. Why did I even mention the knife in the first place? I knew she would ask to see it. But there was no turning back now. As she reached for my purse, I quickly stepped in and snatched it away from her.

    "Why did you snatch?” she asked with a hint of anger in her voice, “What are you hiding there?"

    I replied in a teasing tone, "Don’t worry, I am going to show you the knife. I'm just worried you might accidentally cut yourself with it."

    I retrieved the small knife from my purse. Its compact, folded shape made it easy to conceal in the palm of one hand. As I held it out to her, Aarti's eyes widened in excitement. She eagerly took the knife from me and examined it closely. "It's heavy!" she exclaimed. "How do you open it?"

    Without hesitation, I took the knife from her and demonstrated the two buttons on it. I explained to her, "This button is called the safety button, and this second button opens the knife. However, should the safety button be locked, pressing the second button will not cause the knife to open."

    With practiced ease, I pressed the safety button first, ensuring a secure hold on the knife, before pressing the second button. The blade slid out with a sharp, metallic sound, glistening under the fluorescent tube light. Aarti's eyes widened with delight as she took the knife in her hand again, inspecting it with renewed interest. As she gazed at my knife, her eyes lit up with admiration. "I'd love to have a knife like this," she said wistfully. "It would make me feel safer. Subhash always picks me up, which is why I dare to come for the afternoon shift. Otherwise, I would have stopped coming to the hospital altogether."

    I pondered silently, wondering who could fetch her a knife like mine. "Merely owning a knife won't be of much help if you don't know how to use it," I replied. "You struggle even with a simple dressing."

    After some consideration, I made an offer. "Why don't you come over for dinner this Sunday? You've never accepted my numerous invitations before. I'll teach you how to use a knife. My mother won't be home, and I'll bring wine. We'll have a great time."

    Aarti blushed a little as she agreed. "I'll definitely come this Sunday," she said. "And will you teach me to wield a knife too?" she added excitedly.

    "Certainly, my dear, but let's focus on work for now," I said. "There's a lot to do here."

    Aarti, however, appeared to be in no mood to stop chatting. She continued, "Seeing this knife, I just remembered. Did you know that serial killer uses different knife every time he kills? And, you know, he takes out one of their teeth as a gift."

    "E!.., that's quite enough," I interrupted sternly, hoping to put an end to her talk. But, as usual, she didn't listen. Luckily, I was able to steer the conversation toward other topics, and we continued chatting until the end of the night shift. It had also become a daily ritual for me to endure her constant chit-chat.

    As my shift ended at 10 pm, I did my usual routine of changing out of my nurse's uniform into a comfortable Salwar Kameez. I carefully put the blood-stained apron into a plastic bag, but the image of the dripping blood still haunted my mind, causing my heart to beat even faster. Just then, Subhash arrived to pick up Aarti. After bidding them farewell, I started walking towards the bus stop. 

    I arrived at the small bus stop around the corner in just a few minutes. The spot was quiet and peaceful, with only a handful of people waiting for the bus. The road was deserted, except for the occasional bike or rickshaw, breaking the eerie silence. Despite its modest size, the city offered all necessary facilities, including hospitals, schools, hotels, and bars. The buses run until midnight, and girls still feel safe walking around even at late hours.

    As I sat waiting for the bus, the air around me grew cool and still, enveloping me in a comforting embrace. I was exhausted after a long day's work, and the iron chair offered me the comfort I needed. The other people waiting for the bus were all absorbed in their own little worlds, their heads bent low over their Nokia phones. They are either chatting away or tapping furiously with two fingers, playing games. Back when mobile phones were still new, people used to annoy others by playing loud ringtones, but now with the convenience of free messages, the constant din of ringtones has diminished. Instead, the only sounds were the occasional beep or buzz of incoming messages.

    After some time, I noticed a girl making her way toward the bus stop in the distance. Her figure appeared pale, dressed in jeans and a top, and like everyone else, she too was engrossed in her phone. Yet, in the dim light of the screen, her pretty face seemed to shine a little brighter. The city streets were dimly lit by scattered yellow lamps, flickering and casting eerie shadows on the deserted road. Some of the lamps had gone out completely, leaving patches of darkness in their wake. Suddenly, in the light of a flickering lamp, I caught sight of a figure following the girl at a distance. At first, I thought it was just a trick of the light, but as I looked closer, I could see him clearly in the glow of the lamps. He was tall and moving slowly, carefully staying out of sight. Meanwhile, the girl remained completely oblivious, her attention focused solely on her phone.

    As the girl drew closer to the bus stop, I couldn't help but notice the mesmerizing sway of her long, loose curls as they glistened in the dim light. Her stunning beauty was undeniable, but as I watched her, a shiver ran down my spine. Aarti's words echoed in my mind, reminding me of the news reports warning young women to stay safe at night. And yet, this girl seemed unfazed, wandering around carelessly with her hair untied. Meanwhile, the mysterious man still trailed behind her, silent and steady like a predator stalking its prey.

    The girl arrived at the bus stop and settled into an unoccupied seat in the corner. Her expansive purse once slung over her shoulder, now rested on her lap as she lost herself in the phone's glowing screen. Even in the harsh light of the bus stop, her beauty was striking. The tall man who had been following her all this time had closed in on her, standing closer than was comfortable.  

    As I observed the man closely, my mind began to race with suspicion. His age was difficult to discern, but I guessed he was in his thirties. His height was impressive, and he had a slight build. He was dressed cleanly, but his eyes were bloodshot red, his hair was unkempt, and he sported a scruffy beard and mustache. He seemed to fit the profile of a potential serial killer. Was he the kind of man that the police were searching for? And yet, his sandals were tattered and stitched in several places, and his clothes didn't seem to match. It was as if he had just put on new clothes for the first time, and he didn't even have a bag with him. But there was something big in his pants pocket, though it was hard to tell what it was. Perhaps a bottle of alcohol? He stood with folded hands, his eyes fixated on the girl's long, beautiful hair draped over her shoulders, which made me feel uneasy.

    As I scanned the area, I realized that besides the man and myself, only a few people were present at the bus stop. All of them were engrossed in their phones, except for the man and me. I focused my attention on him, and it seemed that his focus was solely on the girl. Feeling uneasy, I made a deliberate move to stand near the girl, hoping to deter the man's attention from her. I fixed my stare on him, and he quickly averted his gaze in response. The girl, however, remained lost in her phone, completely oblivious to the danger that lurked in the shadows.

    It was time for my bus to arrive. The distant sound of the approaching bus quickened my heartbeat, and I hoped with every fiber of my being that it wasn't mine. A feeling of unease washed over me, and my mind was overrun with a flood of thoughts. Suddenly, a strong urge came over me to abandon my ride and instead go with the young girl. The man's covert glances towards her only fueled my growing anger towards him, which I struggled to contain. As the bus drew nearer, I looked up at the board and saw to my dismay that it was indeed my bus. My hopes dwindled, and my heart skipped a beat in disappointment. Just then, the girl stood up from her seat and positioned herself directly in front of me. As her luscious curls brushed against my body, I took a deep breath and felt a momentary sense of relief and happiness, knowing that she would be accompanying me on my journey. I allowed her to board the bus first, and that's when I noticed that the man followed closely behind her. My uneasiness resurfaced, but I gathered my courage and stepped onto the bus myself, my heart still pounding.

    The bus was sparsely populated, with only a handful of passengers standing. Seats on the left were designated for women, and though several were unoccupied, the girl had chosen one to sit in. I had entertained the thought of sitting next to her and striking up a conversation, but that man stood near her seat and dissuaded me from doing so. Instead, I settled for the seat directly behind hers. As the bus lurched forward, a cold gust of wind blew through the window, causing the girl's beautiful hair to flutter around my face. Yet she remained lost in thought, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings.

    As the conductor made his way down the aisle to collect tickets, I observed that the man had purchased a ticket for the final stop, while the girl remained fixated on her phone as she requested a ticket to Keshavnagar. My heart began to race again. The mere mention of Keshavnagar was enough for that, as it is renowned for its isolation and haunting ambiance. The decaying buildings, once home to countless families, were now being demolished, making way for new settlements. Yet, even with the prospect of modernity and change, the place retained its reputation as a forbidden land, feared by many. People avoided visiting it during the day, let alone venturing out at night when the darkness amplified the existing aura of dread.  And yet, here was this girl, heading there in the dead of night, with the man who is stalking her. I reached into my purse and gripped my knife, finding comfort in its cool wooden handle. When the conductor approached me for my ticket, I quickly released my hold on the knife and retrieved my pass. After a cursory glance, the conductor moved on to check the tickets of the other passengers.

    As the bus gradually pulled away from the city limits, the crowd within seemed to disperse, and the bus now had plenty of unoccupied seats. The man claimed the empty seat on the right-hand side of the girl. His eyes were still fixed on the girl, as were the gazes of the other passengers. It was not unusual for people to stare at beautiful girls, but there was something different about the intensity of his stare. It lingered on the curly strands of her hair cascading down her shoulders, or perhaps on the purse slung over that shoulder.

    The clock must have struck 11:30 pm, and Keshavnagar’s stop was near. The girl rose from her seat and strode towards the door, her purse slung over her shoulder. At the same moment, the man rose from his seat and took a position a short distance behind her. Wasn't his stop the last one?  Anger coursed through me like a lightning bolt, and as soon as the bus came to a stop, I swiftly exited behind the two of them.

    As soon as the bus arrived at Keshavnagar, the girl quickly disembarked and buried her head in her phone, ignorant of her surroundings. I waited at the deserted bus stop, killing time by feigning interest in my phone. Not a soul was in sight, and the silence was palpable. From a distance, I saw the man trailing the girl cautiously, his eyes fixed on her every move. They vanished from my line of sight, and I checked the time on my phone. I still had a while before I reached home, but my phone battery was dwindling. Just to be on the safer side, I switched it off and tucked it away. I tread carefully along the road they had taken, making sure to avoid being spotted.

    After going a little further on the main road, the girl turned onto a deserted side road. There was no lamplight to guide her way, only the faint glow of the rising moon. The abandoned buildings loomed ominously in the shadows, and a disturbing silence hung in the air. It seemed that there was no sign of any human presence. I observed that the man was slowly gaining on her as they moved closer together. Feeling uneasy, I quickly reached into my purse and retrieved my knife, gripping it tightly in my right hand and unlocking its safety mechanism. Additionally, I put on my apron to appear more trustworthy as people tend to believe someone in the medical field is a reliable figure.

    I realized that I still had a long distance to cover, but I quickened my pace nonetheless. As I watched, the man closed in on the girl, who remained engrossed in her phone. He took a quick glance around before making a sudden move, grabbing her shoulder in a tight grip. At this sight, anger surged through me like a bolt of lightning, and I broke into a run toward them.

    The girl recoiled at the man's sudden touch, instinctively moving away. He snatched her purse, causing her to drop her phone. She immediately clutched onto her purse with both hands, pulling with all her might. The man seemed taken aback by the girl's retaliation and struggled for a moment to maintain his grip. However, he quickly regained his composure and managed to grab the purse firmly with just one hand. With the other hand, he produced a menacingly large knife from his pocket. Despite the danger, the girl stubbornly refused to release her purse. He raised his arm to strike, and I realized I wouldn't be able to intervene in time. Frantically sprinting towards them, I cried out with all my might: "Hey! Leave her alone!"

    The man flinched at the sound of my voice, his head snapping in my direction. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before turning the knife towards me. I closed the distance between us, my heart racing with fear and adrenaline. As I approached, he released his grip on the purse, causing the girl to stumble backward and fall to the ground. With a sudden lunge, he thrust the knife toward me. I was ready for it, having already retrieved my own hidden knife. I dropped down to the ground, narrowly avoiding the deadly strike. In the same fluid motion, I activated the button on my knife and it sprang open in my hand. Before the man could react, I drove my blade deep into his thigh with all my strength. The force of the blow tore through his pants, leaving a ragged wound in its wake. Blood spurted out in a sickening spray, some of it landing on my apron and even on my face. The sight and smell of the blood were overwhelming. I shuddered involuntarily, feeling goosebumps rise all over my body. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst out of my chest. 

    As soon as I struck him, the man staggered backward, his hand clutching at the deep wound in his thigh. The girl had scrambled to her feet, but her eyes were wide with confusion and fear as she watched the scene unfold. The man seemed unfazed by the wound, as if the shock had numbed him to the pain. He glared at me with a look of pure fury and charged toward us with the knife still clutched tightly in his hand. I stood my ground, watching him closely as he advanced. However, as he drew closer and the blood continued to flow from his wound, I realized that I had underestimated his determination to harm us. With a sudden surge of panic, I abandoned my plan to fight him and turned to run. The girl was still in shock, so I grabbed her hand and pulled her along with me, sprinting as fast as we could away from the man's reach. Our hearts pounded in unison as we ran, our feet pounding the pavement as we fled for our lives. 

    I was utterly exhausted from the intense running, my chest heaving as I struggled to catch my breath. My heart was still racing, but I glanced back to check if the man was still chasing us. To my immense relief, he was nowhere to be seen. I let out a sigh of relief, coming to a stop and panting heavily. The girl had also stopped beside me, and we both believed that we had escaped the danger. But our moment of respite was short-lived, as I saw the man limping towards us in the distance. His pace had slowed considerably, but he still refused to give up. One of his legs was drenched in blood, and he seemed to be in a state of agony. The pounding in my chest intensified at the sight of the blood, and we began running once again. The girl struggled to keep up, and I slowed down my pace to match hers. I kept glancing back over my shoulder, trying to see where the man might be. We caught sight of him as he rounded a bend, his limp growing more pronounced as he struggled to take each step.

    Both of us were panting and gasping for air, our hearts racing as we slowed down to catch our breath. We kept a watchful eye on our pursuer, who despite his obvious injury, continued to limp towards us slowly with dogged determination. But then, with a sickening thud, he collapsed to the ground. As a trained nurse, I quickly assessed the situation - it was clear to me that he had made a fatal mistake by continuing to chase us. My blow had severed the main femoral artery in his thigh, causing him to lose too much blood. I realized that he had only a precious few minutes left to live, unless he received immediate medical attention.

    As we watched him collapse, we slowed down and came to a stop. For a few tense moments, we scanned the scene for any signs of movement. But none came. As the tension began to dissipate, the girl let out a deep sigh of relief and sat down on the pavement. I sat down beside her. That's when she buried her face in my shoulder and began to weep. I put my hand on her left shoulder, trying to console her. Her beautiful soft curls brushed against my skin and rested on my neck and shoulder, and I couldn't help but be overwhelmed by their touch. But the throbbing in my chest had not yet stopped, on the contrary, it was growing stronger by the moment. As she glanced at the bloodstains on my apron, she asked in a trembling voice, "Are you hurt?" 

    With the knife still gripped tightly in my hand, I pointed toward the collapsed man and reassured her, "No, that's his blood." Then with a sense of pride, I said "It's thanks to this," I gestured towards the knife, "that we were saved."

    The girl looked up at me through teary eyes, overwhelmed with emotion. "You were like an angel, running to my rescue," she whispered, her crying intensifying.

    After a moment of silence, she suddenly remembered something and frantically began searching through her purse. "I need to call someone, but I can't find my phone. Do you have a phone?" she asked, her voice filled with urgency.

    I rummaged through my own purse and pulled out my phone. I tried to turn it on but it was switched off. "Sorry, it looks like my battery is dead," I replied apologetically. 

    As I looked up at her, I suddenly had an idea. "Wait, I think I know where your phone is. Let's go back and find it." We both stood up and started walking back along the road we had come from. 

    As we approached the spot where the man had fallen, we moved with slow and careful steps, both of us scanning the area for any signs of movement. As we got closer, we could see that he was lying in an awkward position. The girl turned to me and asked, "Is he dead?"

    "I'm not sure," I replied. "Let's check." With that, I reached into my purse and pulled out a pair of surgical gloves.

    Looking at the gloves, she asked, "Are you a doctor?"

    I smiled and shook my head. "No, I'm a nurse at Sahyadri Hospital."

    As I began to consider how to properly don the surgical gloves, I realized I was still holding the knife in my right hand. I started to hand it to her, but upon seeing the blood on the blade, I quickly pulled it back and said, "Wait." With one hand holding the knife against my apron, I closed it carefully and passed it to her. Once my hand was free, I swiftly put on a glove and checked the man's pulse.

    After what felt like an eternity, I finally felt a faint pulse, but it was weak and sluggish. I double-checked to make sure before turning to her and saying, "He's unconscious. But it doesn't look good." 

    Suddenly, one of his legs jerked violently, startling us both. We took a few steps back, but he remained still once again. Then a sudden realization hit me, and I quickly removed another surgical glove and slipped it onto my left hand. Carefully, I approached the man and surveyed the area. It was then that I saw the knife in his hand - a menacing Rampuri knife. Without hesitation, I picked it up and stepped back toward her. "If he wakes up and comes back, at least he won't have this on him," I said, gesturing toward the knife. "Who knows how many people he could have hurt with this?" 

    She silently nodded in agreement, and we continued on our way, constantly looking back over our shoulders. Though I was confident the man wouldn't come after us, we couldn't be too careful.

    While we walked, she held onto the knife tightly, her fingers wrapped around the handle. After some time, she offered it back to me, but I gestured for her to keep it and said, "You hold onto it for now." I showed her the knife in my own hand and reassured her, "I have one too. Let's focus on finding your phone."

    The moon cast a clear light on the desolate road, revealing the crimson hues of the blood that had been spilled from the fallen man. So much blood! The sight of that made me aware of my rapid heartbeats. The color of blood seemed to have overtaken my vision since tending to that wound in the afternoon, painting everything in a deep crimson tint.

    As we approached the spot where we had encountered the man, the blood trail abruptly ended. From a distance, I spotted her phone lying on the ground. She rushed over to the phone, eagerly picking it up, but her joy was short-lived as we soon realized it was a Nokia phone. The curious thing about Nokia phones is that their battery and SIM card get separated when they fall. We began our search for the missing pieces, our eyes scanning the ground. Finally, she found the battery, but the SIM card was nowhere to be found. Just as we were about to give up, a glint of light caught my eye in the moonlight. I raced towards it, but in my haste, I stepped on the delicate card. It was now broken and utterly useless. She bent down to collect the broken fragments, her face creased with despair. "How are we supposed to call now?" she cried out, holding back tears. 

    I couldn't help but notice the similarity between her and Aarati in their inability to think clearly.  "Hey, give me that battery. I'll turn on my phone," I said, hoping to ease her worry. And just like that, her entire demeanor shifted. She hadn't even considered that option. The tension seemed to drain from her face, and a smile flickered across my own in response. I felt a sense of satisfaction looking at her face. Despite the momentary relief, exhaustion was setting in for both of us. We stumbled upon a stone near the road and she sank into it gratefully. The man's knife still clutched in my right hand, I fiddled with my phone using my left. Retrieving the battery, I put it in my purse and exchanged it for hers. As I scanned the area, I noticed an abandoned house just a few steps away from where the blood trail ended,  inviting with its moonlit facade and ample stones for seating. "Let's go there," I suggested, leading her toward the abandoned house. She settled into a comfortable stone.

    I inserted her battery into my phone and turned it on. "Who will you call?" she asked.

    "First, my brother who lives nearby. He will come and pick us up. Then we will call the police," I replied. 

    I walked away, holding the phone in my hand, and dialed a number. The phone rang, but there was no answer. The stillness around us was all-encompassing, the silence almost tangible. There wasn't anyone around, not even a whisper of rustling leaves. Although the phone was ringing, my focus was solely on her. The moonlight caressed her serene features, highlighting the gentle sway of her adorable hair. My gaze lingered on her, and I couldn't deny that she looked even more breathtaking than she had earlier at the bus stop. I was awash with a profound sense of contentment and ease, and the incessant throbbing in my chest that had started earlier in the day slowly began to fade away. This was the moment!

    I disconnected the phone I had dialed in the hospital storeroom, for who would answer at such a late hour? Moving towards her, I swiftly slipped the phone into my purse. She looked up and asked, "What's going on?" Ignoring her, I bent down and grabbed a fistful of her lustrous curls with my left hand. With a quick and forceful tug, I sent her crashing down to the ground. With a fierce impulse, I dragged her several steps until we reached the very spot where the man's blood had been spilled. My knife lay in her trembling hand, yet its safety button had been locked, denying her the chance to wield it against me. I lowered myself onto her chest, my knees pressing against her. With a ferocious tug, I forced her hair back until her neck was taut and unyielding. The fear in her eyes only fueled my ecstasy, sending shivers down my spine. Joy coursed through me, electrifying every inch of my being. My eyes glinted with an ethereal euphoria as I gracefully sliced her neck with the Rampuri knife, causing a gush of blood to spray out. A fountain of crimson blood shot up. My apron was drenched in blood once again, but the relentless pounding in my chest, which had begun at noon, had finally ceased entirely.

    After a while I snapped out of my trance, I got up quickly and proceeded to clean myself and change my clothes. I put on my nurse's outfit again, and packed the blood-soaked clothes into plastic bags but kept the hand gloves on. As I was doing this, I thought back to all the events that had transpired. Looking at the girl, I realized that there was no need to remove her tooth after all. The killer simply didn't have enough time. She had shown incredible bravery, tearing into his thigh and forcing him to flee, leaving her behind. Eventually, he bled out on the side of the road and died. What a brave girl!

    I opened the knife in her hand and carefully examined the blade, stained with the man's blood. With utmost care, I wiped the handle of the knife to remove my fingerprints. Then, I placed the open knife back in her grip, pressing it in a way that her fingerprints would be visible on the handle. After that, I removed the battery from my phone, cleaning it meticulously before throwing it onto the street. Her phone, which had a broken SIM card and no battery, was also thrown. I wiped her left wrist clean, erasing any trace of my handprints. I didn't bother cleaning the shoulder where I had placed my hand; it was already soaked in blood. After all, the police seldom investigate thoroughly.

    I hurried to where the man had fallen and checked that he was no longer alive. Glancing at him, my frustration grew. I was tempted to kick him in anger, but managed to control myself. I was seething with fury - why did this petty thief have to interfere in my business with her? "Lived as a thief, died as a serial killer. Congratulations on your promotion!" I exclaimed as I handed him his knife.

    As I slowly retrieved the small, golden bag from the innermost pocket of my purse, my heart felt heavy with sadness. It was only the second time I had opened it that day, the first being during the afternoon bathroom break. Gazing at the eight teeth nestled inside, I vividly remembered the beautiful faces of each of the eight girls, their stunning hair cascading down their backs. It was a moment that brought both joy and sorrow, knowing that I would never see them again. With great reluctance, I closed the bag and carefully placed it into the pocket of the man's pants. The police were clueless; they believed there were only six murders. I chuckled to myself as I thought, "Well, they better start looking for two more victims."

    I left the scene and reinserted the battery into my phone, turning it on to check the time. To my relief, there was still some battery life left. It was already half past midnight, and I knew my mother would be worried about me. 

    There was only one more thing left to do. Aarti had seen the knife, and being an avid reader of the news, she may put two and two together but I doubt her ability to connect the dots. Besides, I wasn't bothered because time was running out for her, she only had until Sunday. The police are clueless, they didn’t know I also love pretty girls with straight hair.

------------- By Vikram Khaire 18 March 2023 (Translated with the help of Google translate and ChatGpt from the original Marathi story 'Brave Girl')

The Endless Trail

    The cool breeze swept over me, lifting my spirits. My stomach lurched and a sense of lightness washed over me, filled with pure bliss. The wind became strong and loud, like a wild force moving from my toes to my head. It swirled around me, rustling my clothes and hair, sending a shiver down my spine. The wind felt invigorating, almost hypnotic. I wanted to stay here, with my arms outstretched, forever, lost in its mesmerizing embrace. I closed my eyes, letting the wind caress my face, and knew, in that moment, that I was exactly where I belonged.

    I wander in the mountains and valleys, lost in their splendor. I am one with the wild, a hermit in nature's grandeur. 

    I can walk for hours, consumed by the beauty of the land, forgetting even the most basic of needs such as food. This was not always the case, for I used to only go on hikes on the weekends. Every Monday, I would set aside an hour to plan my next adventure. I would decide on the best locations for a hike and which hill-forts to tackle, then focus on work for the rest of the week. By Friday, I would finish my work and get ready to wander off into the wilderness once more.

    Even now, I am hiking the slopes of the majestic Fort of Harishchandra, a place of great beauty and seclusion nestled within the Sahyadri range. This mountain holds a special place in my heart, as I have returned to it countless times, each time discovering its secrets through a new path - be it the treacherous canal trail, the winding path from Pachanai, or the dense forest route from Khireshwar. Upon arriving, I always hike the Taramati peak before visiting the ancient, carved caves of Kedareshwara, where I wade waist-deep into the water to pray before the sacred Shivlinga. From there, I make my way to Konkan Kada, a breathtaking cliff that once allowed visitors to venture beyond its railings and lie down on the iconic black stone, gazing down at the dizzying heights below. Though I have often yearned to do so, I have never mustered the courage to make the journey during the light of day. The thought of standing atop those black stones, gazing out at the three thousand feet of empty air below, fills me with a mixture of wonder and fear.

    The cliff of the Konkan Kada is infamous for its dangers, having claimed many lives over the years. When rappelling was permitted, even the experienced climbers met their end on these cliffs. Long ago, there was a crack at the top of the Konkan Kada, separating a slightly indented portion of the ridge itself. One day, due to heavy rains, the outer part collapsed, and since then, people have reported an increase in accidents. However, it is unlikely that there is a direct connection between these two events, as accidents were happening even before the collapse. Nevertheless, people's superstitions never seem to end. In light of the growing number of accidents, the Department of Archaeology finally took action and built railings for safety.  Despite the decrease in accidents due to the new railings, some people still believe that the site is cursed.

    I don't need a reason to visit Harishchandra Fort, but this time I'm here alone because of my lazy friends and also to indulge in my love for haunted places. Don't get me wrong, I am not one to believe in those made-up stories. I just enjoy my friends' ghost tales and like to prove them wrong. They always bring fresh stories to the table, and I relish the challenge. It's not their fault, it's just human nature to believe things without questions, but I'll always be skeptical.

    This time, the story my friends came up with was about the Kokan Kada itself. I was already familiar with the tale.  My friends, along with many naive villagers, believe there's something spooky about the cliff. They claim that anyone who glanced down from it became hypnotized and ultimately fell to their death. I'd already heard it. I tried to argue that if this was true, how did people look down the cliff without falling years ago? But my friends had a ready explanation: they said the sorcery only began after the edges of the cliff crumbled on that fateful rainy day. They even insisted that everyone who crossed the railing fell down. While it's true that those who died from falling off the cliff did cross the railings, how can one fall from the cliff without crossing them? However, many others must have crossed the railings and returned safely. But they didn't buy this. In the end, my arguments were met with their usual trump card: "You have faith in God, but ghosts aren't real to you? How convenient!" So, I finally took matters into my own hands. I told them I would sneak past the railings and see for myself. After all, it's something I've always wanted to do.

    As usual, my friends ditched me, which I somewhat expected. Lately, I've been feeling lonely, partly due to my constant wanderings in the wilderness and avoiding people. But I wasn't going to let them get the best of me. I told them I would look over the Konkan Kada, take a selfie, and send it as proof. There's no sorcery, it's all a joke. I think deep down they also know this, they just like to mess with me. I've proven them wrong a few times before. I took them to many haunted places in Pune. We walked straight to the tomb of Alice in Pune University at the stroke of midnight, and that too on the new moon’s night. We also ventured into the cursed house in Sangvi. Those were the days! We didn't care about ghosts or anything. We had plenty of free time back then, but now everyone's busy with their families, except for me who's still wandering.

    This morning, I arrived in Khireshwar, and just as I anticipated, a light drizzle was falling. The village is stunningly beautiful, especially in the rain. The people here are so warm and simple, clinging to their superstitions with an endearing innocence. From my vantage point in the village, I was able to gaze upon the magnificent range of Harishchandra hills. Just looking at them filled me with excitement. Today, the view was made even more breathtaking by the intricate designs created by the black and white clouds above, a masterpiece of nature's artistry. The thrill of hiking Harishchandra Fort during the monsoon season is truly an unforgettable experience. Everywhere I looked, I was surrounded by lush greenery and a refreshingly cool atmosphere. It wasn't too cold like winter, nor too hot like summer. It was just right. And to top it off, there was the occasional shower of rain adding to the beauty of this place.

    I made my way through the dense green forest behind the village and reached the Tolar Pass. As I approached the towering rock of the pass, the skies suddenly opened up, and heavy rain began to pour down. Just as I had wished! I continued on, crossing the pass and the next seven hills, all drenched in the rain's embrace. I made my way along the continuous mountain paths of ups and downs. At times, it felt as though I was walking in circles, lost in the hypnotic rhythm of my footsteps.  But eventually, I arrived at the fort, though I cannot recall exactly how long it took.

    As I reached the fort, I eagerly set out on my hike toward the summit of Taramati peak. The rain had finally stopped, and the fog had lifted, revealing a stunning landscape of colorful wildflowers. Every hue imaginable was on display, from pristine whites and soothing blues to passionate pinks and fiery reds, and even vibrant yellows and majestic purple flowers. I reached the summit and spun around the iconic saffron flag like a giddy child, taking in the amazing views surrounding me. I sat there for what felt like hours, completely mesmerized by the vibrant colors and serene atmosphere. Time always seemed to stand still on this summit. 

    After descending from Taramati peak, I made my way to the historic Harishchandreshwara temple. This magnificent temple, carved from a single massive stone, has stood the test of time for over a thousand years. Its towering arched entrance is adorned with breathtaking sculptures and intricate carvings, leaving onlookers in a state of awe. I stood before the temple, struck by its beauty and the incredible craftsmanship that went into its creation. The stunning sculptures held me captive, and I found myself entranced and deeply mesmerized, as if under a spell. Time seemed to stand still as I gazed in wonder at the intricate details, feeling as though I had all the time in the world, as if the moment would never end.

    I headed to the north of the temple where lies the ancient Cave of Kedareshwara. In its center stands a revered Shivling encircled by water. This mystical place was once held up by four pillars, standing strong as supports for the cavern's roof. But now, only one pillar remains, its three companions lost to time, leaving a lone sentinel in this hallowed space. According to legends, this fourth pillar serves as the base of the current Kali Yuga. With each falling pillar, an era comes to an end. The Satya Yuga, Treta Yuga, and Dwapara Yuga have all ended with the falling of the previous three pillars, leaving the Kali Yuga as the final age. People say that when the fourth pillar finally breaks, the Kali Yuga will also come to an end. Even if I have blind faith in God, this seems far-fetched. If the legends were true, these pillars should have been constructed millions of years ago. Yet, in reality, they appear to be no more than a thousand years old. And if they were built during the Satya Yuga, it is said that the people at that time were thirty-three and a half feet tall. Why would they construct mere five-foot toy pillars? These are just naive stories of the gullible. People just make stuff out of thin air. In fact, people love to imagine the end of the world. I think behind this idea is the pure selfishness of humans. Nothing else. Everyone dies sooner or later, but the world doesn't care. It runs without them. So why not let the world die with them? That's why people ponder such end-of-the-world ideas. Anyway, I don’t care. I am also destined to die someday. 

    With a deep breath, I stepped into the icy, waist-deep water. It was frigid, but I was no stranger to its chill. I've encountered such water many times before. Undeterred, I walked around the Shivlinga, circling it a few times. I stopped at the lone standing pillar of the Kali Yuga and gave it a forceful push. Yet it didn’t budge. What if I tried pushing harder with each rotation? Or come back every day to push? Will the pillar ever fall? Will there ever be an escape? For all! Or is it simply a cycle, from the Satya Yuga to the Kali Yuga and back again?

    With eager steps, I set off toward Konkan Kada. The wind howled fiercely, but as I journeyed on, the dull mist began to lift and the clouds thinned, revealing the brilliant blue sky above. My clothes hung dry and crisp in the blowing air. And then, I spotted the railings - snowy white with bands of glowing red radium. As if on cue, the wind died down and I leaned against the railings which stood twenty feet away from the infamous cliff.  By then it was evening time, and I gazed upon the horizon as the sun made its final descent. The sky was dotted with wispy white clouds, ablaze with the fiery hues of the setting sun. The sun's warm rays danced across the clouds, painting them in a brilliant spectrum of red, yellow, and orange. The blood-red orb of the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, casting a final, brilliant green glow before its departure. This rare sight filled me with a sense of contentment, as the day came to a peaceful close.

    As the twilight embraced me, I cautiously looked around and climbed over the railings. Everything was clear and tranquil. But for no reason, my heart began to race.  I was not afraid, for sure. I was not afraid even in Alice Garden where two eyes glowed brightly on the tomb of Alice at the stroke of midnight. Then those eyes made two quick small leaps and we realized that it was just a frog. Here everything is crystal clear in the twilight. I was not afraid even in the creepy haunted house of Sangavi, where some strange sounds echoed in the halls but I was the one who pointed to the black cat responsible for it. There is nothing like that here. I am not afraid, I am just excited. This is no ordinary moment, for I am about to take a glimpse over the Konkan Kada. 

    I slowly made my way to the edge of the cliff, my heart pounding with anticipation. As I approached the cliff's edge, I remembered the selfie I had promised my friends. I fished my phone out of my pocket, snapped a selfie, and sent it. There are no ghosts, no sorcery, or haunted places! Peeking over the edge of the cliff was a challenge. It was too steep to simply bend forward and look. Who on earth would dare to do that? So, I slowly laid down on the black ledge, inched my head forward, and peered out over the edge. The depth was almost suffocating. I hold my breath as I watched in hypnotic fascination. The beauty was almost too much to bear. No matter how long I stared, I felt I could never be satisfied. Then I sat down. The dark red hue of the sun was still visible in the distance, casting a faint but beautiful glow over the horizon. I stayed there for some time looking at the horizon and gently peering down the cliff. It felt like I could watch this forever, so I stayed there longer. The colors on the horizon gradually faded, leaving a soft, eerie darkness in their wake, and I knew it was time to leave. I stood up for heading back. Everything was dead-drop quiet. There was no sound, not even a breeze, just the emptiness of the beginning of a night. I couldn't resist but took one last look down the cliff. Such a magnificent beauty! My heart overflowed with a deep sense of gratitude for everything. Life had become worthwhile in that one perfect moment. I spread my both hands and took a step.

    The cool breeze swept over me, lifting my spirits. My stomach lurched and a sense of lightness washed over me, filled with pure bliss. The wind became strong and loud, like a wild force moving from my toes to my head. It swirled around me, rustling my clothes and hair, sending a shiver down my spine. The wind felt invigorating, almost hypnotic. I wanted to stay here, with my arms outstretched, forever, lost in its mesmerizing embrace. I closed my eyes, letting the wind caress my face, and knew, in that moment, that I was exactly where I belonged.

    I wander in the mountains and valleys, lost in their splendor. I am one with the wild, a hermit in nature's grandeur …

-------------------

By Vikram Khaire 

16 Feb 2023

(Translated from original Marathi story ‘Abhimanyu’ with the help of Google Translate and ChatGpt)