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MITHILESH KUMAR SINHA

Drama Tragedy Inspirational


4.8  

MITHILESH KUMAR SINHA

Drama Tragedy Inspirational


Bhiksha

Bhiksha

2 mins 425 2 mins 425

With a cup of coffee in a hand, standing in the balcony, Neeraj felt much relieved, as he has returned to his home after 15 years of prolonged gap. The faint sound of chanting "shlokas" somewhere from nearby school, echoed in his ear. The memories of his school days were before his eyes. He tried to mutter along with the words but failed. Just, he knew, that he has forgotten all "Shlokas" of Sanskrit which his teacher made him to learn by heart in his school days.


Neeraj, could recall his teacher, a 6 feet tall, gaunt and gracile, regimental. His attire always remained same in white, neck to toe. His eyesight was, though, faint but was magnified by the lenses but he could recognize each student present in a class by their name without spectacles. No one could dare to play truant from his class as he used to call anyone before the class and asked to enchant " Niti-shlokas" and "Subhashitaanis"


He, hurriedly, finished his coffee, got dressed and rushed to the street leading towards his teacher's house. But, all gone in vain, there was not a kind of house, he was looking for, a mud house sheltered with straws. His eyes were vehemently looking for the name plate which read as " A.K.SHASHTRI". Tired of, in finding the house which he desired, he decided to come back, hopelessly and helplessly.

"A ray of hope stirred in his mind, He called "Rohit" his classmate, doubtfully as he was also out of the city for more than five years.

"whether, you have any idea about our Shashtri Sir?" 

" No, not sure. But, one of my friend has seen him in old-age home."

"What? but why...?

" I do not know, can share only this for you"

                                            

The same attire, he wore, but eyes were not faint this time. His face glazed like a star, lips were silent, as if, tired of muttering but stopped forever.

A red car stopped at the gate of old age home., a man slowly entered into.

" Who...is he? What happened....? - asked the man.

" He, departed.....now, Shashtri........was his name." 

The funeral started. The pious fire of pyre.....blinking, as if to touch the sky. Again "shlokas" were chant and echoed in his ears.

No, he could remember all shlokas.... he learnt in his childhood.



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Bhiksha

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