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I live above everyone and when my time comes, I fall to save all the living races. They call me Rain and I watch over the tale of the sky and earth every day. Though they might seem mingled, they are not just like many relations in the living world. Sometimes, I become the reason for the birth of these relationships and other times, I hide their tears and sorrows. Irrespective of their interpretation, I mostly cherish them choosing to be a spectator and sometimes a narrator too. Cover Photo by Pankaj Tottada “Tara! Tara... wake up dear, it’s time for your dance class!” said Nirmala, switching off the alarm set by Tara. It has been a routine for Nirmala waking her daughter ever since her husband passed away. Tara woke up and got ready for her class. Observing the time, she packed breakfast in a hurry and dropped it into her bag. She took her bicycle keys and drove down the lane and stopped near a tree to give breakfast to an old man who lived there in a small hut. Just like every other day, when given food, the old man smiled and blessed her.

As the cold winds touched the Prince, he rode triumphantly on his horse followed by two soldiers. He knew, he had earned the ride, the one he waited for a fortnight and as he rode his horse, his light blue cape cut the cold wind with the warmth of his anxiousness. Listening to the thunder of galloping horses, subjects walked out into the street to witness nature’s will. On the street mentioned two weeks ago, Prince Indrajeet waited for Lakshmi and its master. Observing the Prince filled with pride in earning his ride, a few of his subjects were worried about Lakshmi. Illustration by Sonam Jha Their faces turned pale under the black clouds hiding the fierce burning ball behind it. The wind grew colder as Lakshmi finally approached them. On top of her was her companion Vishnu. Resting on his horse, Prince Indrajeet raised his hand holding the demanded coin that appeared to everyone like a white dot in a dark world. While it felt as if nature had to surrender to tyranny, Lakshmi burnt like a golden flame eradicating the darkness.

At dusk, after a three-hour discussion, Parikshit rushed ahead of an old man in his sixties carrying his bag. As they reached the green Hindustan Ambassador waiting for them near the entrance of the music school, the old man wearing a white dhoti and dark green angavastram entered the car after Parikshit placed his bag in the back seat and opened the door for him. As the old man, Hastar settled, he confessed, “I was worried if you would have issues with what I was planning to tell you about Diya. However, after our meeting, I’m relieved.” Cover Photo by Pankaj Tottada With a smile, Parikshit mentioned, “Trust me, sir. I will report nothing more than what you have informed me. Your institute will receive the best advertising through this interview.” Glancing at the young interviewer, Hastar mentioned, “It’s good business for your newspaper too,” as Parikshit nodded, he continued, “Convey Akashvani my best wishes and thank you!”