Pasti ...The journey of a governmentvschool student

     The eighth of Krishna's party. Raghala's eyes were staring at the sky full of stars. "How clear the stars are when there is no moon in the sky!" Raghala's mind was stuck in thoughts. "The master of this science used to say that the moon does not have its own light, while the stars are self-illuminated. Yet in the moonlight how poor the stars seem to fade! He also said that the moon is not as fluffy or white as the rupee. It also has 3 rough lands. I don't know why this moon is sitting in the sky with its rule. If the moonlight does not fall on my eyes today, how much better I can sleep! ” One thought after another was coming like clouds in Raghala's mind.

“A shade of cool wool,

Cool Anne's body

No one like the moon,

The shadows of the beloved,

     A stream like milk and illuminates the earth, the reflection of the moon

The baby also cheered ..

The shadow of the cold ... ”

     Madhavi teacher was singing something like this in the classroom one day. He likes Chando Bow. Raghalo kept laughing in his mind. “What will this moon really be like? What does the master of science say or what does this Madhavi teacher say? I will ask Madhavi teacher tomorrow. If I ask Sahib, Kaink will say this .. “What do you want to do knowingly? Want to build a bungalow? Chhanomuno bhanva mandane "But Madhavi teacher .... Madhavi teacher will turn his hand on that head."

     Raghala's eyes opened before the sun rose that morning. As soon as the eye was opened, the eighth moon was absorbed in the eye. Raghala felt like this Chandra Madhavi teacher's poem now, a smile spread on Raghala's face and he sat down. Taking Datan in his hand, he ran to his uncle's della. Raghala asked Della to pick up the dog from the hotel and vacate her seat. "Hal hal .. stand up, go to your place." Raghala said that the dog also went ahead and climbed on the rake without nodding. As if telling Raghala that Le sat on a higher position than Tara. But Raghala's attention was on the idea of ​​when this dello would open and go inside himself. He sat down on the floor. I closed my eyes and started gnashing my teeth.

     "Sunday didn't come and you didn't take this brownie out. Royj to padyo re'ch tari nihale, what will he do on Sunday? If there is only sand! Come and see my Dello! ”

     Raghalo was thus accustomed to his uncle's words. Even so, every single word of it hit Raghala in the head. But Raghalo knew that even a single word spoken in front of him would knock Raghala out of the house, so he stayed. And I waited for Uncle Dello to open.

     When Dello opened, the darkness inside him seemed to Raghala like the darkness in his life and he would quickly turn on the light and open the back door. Nail the plank on the outside. "Delo the wreck of fate." Raghla really felt that this was his destiny, as soon as he opened it, he felt that his destiny was unfolding.

     Every Sunday, Bhuvakaka wondered what the boy would see in this wreckage. All he knew was that the boy would sit next to the mound in front of him and sleep for three or four hours.

      Raghalo knew exactly why to cut Bhuvakaka's all-encompassing thinking. "Uncle tea pv se?" This one line fell in uncle's ear and rubbed with all uncle's senses. He also heard an unspoken knot in his ear. Her nose smelled of chili. Tea steam was touching his hand. As soon as he was ready to drip saliva from his tongue, a scene that would satisfy his eyes would come in front of him. Raghulo hurriedly comes with a cup in one hand and a dish in the other. Besides, Bhuvkaka knows that Raghala will swallow either tea or gandhiya. If he gets these newspapers, then fifty-six victims. Nor does it ever accompany Bhuvakaka for tea breakfast which is the best news for Bhuvakaka on Sunday.

      Once the tea and knots are arranged on Bhuvkaka's table, Bhuvkaka's tongue has an important function to do, and Raghulo sits next to the cut iron horse without wasting a single moment. Raghala's appetite for the whole week seems to have been completely lost in the mound of cotton.

      Pasti. Some of them are dusty yellow and some of them still smell of chemicals. The stale news for the world is a tiny piece of paper to build and fill the trash and throw it away at the end, what is the past for the world is a cosmopolitan world for Raghla. What kind of world would this world be taking him to?

To BeContinued.........