THE OLD MAN ON THE SEA

Long long time ago , in a small village by the sea, lived an old fisherman. He lived in a small little hut made of driftwood and draped with sea nettles. The windows of his hut were tiny and round and had seashells embedded all around. The tiny little door could never manage to close and flapped open in the sea breeze like the jaws of a shark.

 

Inside the hut, it was always dark and damp. The old fisherman kept a lamp burning on the table but there was hardly any light. The old man was bent with age and could barely stand up straight. Everything in his house smelled of the sea and was crusted with salt.

 

It had been ages since the old man had seen anyone or talked to anyone. He had a small boat in which he would venture out to the sea and cast out his net to gather up small fishes. Age and time had closed off the old man and made him look more like an old turtle than a man.

That day too he got up from his bed and took his boat out to the heaving seas but something was strange today. The skies were grey and leaden. It looked as if the sky would just fall into the sea and that would be the end. The waters were unruly and heaved with great emotion. The waves crashed with ferocity and the surf thundered up the rocky beach as if the dogs of hell were rushing out. The wind was biting cold and snatched at the old man in anger. The sky and the sea all roiled with anger. There was no boat on the rolling waters except the old man’s. 

 

The old man gnashed his teeth and threw out his net. He clamped his old, beaten, ragged pipe and hauled the net with all his might. The net was heavy and chafed at the old man but the old man fought with the waves and brought the net up into his boat. There was something thrashing about in the folds of his net. As the old man pulled away the net, the wind died down and the waters calmed as they waited with baited breath to see what the old man had caught.

 

The old man was gobsmacked to see that he had caught a sea nymph, a mermaid. The mermaid looked exhausted and wary of the old man. She was dressed in a shimmery armour but her shimmery tail was pierced through with an iron harpoon. Her pale skin looked bloodless as she looked up at the old man.

 

 The old man had heard of mermaids and that their tears turned into pearls and the touch of their scaly tail could heal any wound but this one looked completely defeated. Something turned in the old man’s chest, maybe his salty old heart cracked a little but he just could not bear the mermaid’s tears or her pain. He approached the mermaid and very gently bound his old ragged cravat around the tail. Then he turned his boat around and took her to his hut.

 

He gestured and told her to hold on as he prepared to yank out the harpoon. The mermaid understood and grabbed the rim of the old wash tub as the old man pulled it out. The mermaid screeched a painful gut wrenching cry and fainted. The old man was staggered at the sound but he quickly bathed the wound and bound it with medicines. The old man filled the wash tub with sea water and stoked the fire in the hearth. He prepared a thin gruel to feed her and took care of the wounded mermaid.

 

Days passed and the mermaid grew healthy. Everyday, the old man would take his boat out to sea and the sea was kind to him. His net would be full of fishes of various kinds. Seaweed, kelp and driftwood would wash up to his feet as he walked out to the beach.  The old man would cook and feed his guest. He carved charms, necklaces and jewellery from the driftwood and gift it to the mermaid. He would talk to her and sing little sea shanties. His heart was filled with love for his finned guest.

 

One day, the mermaid called him and said, “Father, I am healthy now. I must leave you for my duty waits.” The old man was sad but he said smiling proudly at the mermaid, “I am glad to see you healthy, my child. I will take you out to sea but remember me and come visit me sometime.”

 

Next day, the old man woke up very early. He gathered up all the things that he had carved for his sea dwelling daughter. He made a little package of fish cakes and sea kelp. Then he put the mermaid in his boat with the package and rowed out to the waters beyond the breaking surf. There in the high waters, he looked tearfully at the mermaid and said, “I had forgotten how lonely I was. You gave me so much love, my daughter. Remember, that my house is always open for you. Come and visit this sad old man soon.” The mermaid sighed and kissed the old man’s crusty face. “Father, I will remember and soon I will come for you. Look for me when the sea boils and the sea horses thunder up the beach. I will be there.” Then the mermaid jumped into the sea and vanished into the blue.

 

The old man came back to his silent, dark house and went to bed. His heart was sad and nothing cheered him. Next day, he took his boat and went to sea but he did not cast his net, just drifted about in his little boat thinking deep thoughts. Days passed and the old man became ill. He knew his days were coming to a close so he took his boat out for the last time. He looked down into the blue sea and said, “Oh my daughter, it has been so long since you left and I am getting old and frail now. My eyes are weak and my heart is sad. I wish that I could talk to you for the last time because I feel as if my time has come. Be brave and be happy, my daughter. Your old father is tired now and wishes to sleep.”

 

The old man sat back in his boat and looked out to the horizon as he waited for the sun to set and life to ebb. Just as the old man closed his eyes for the last time, the waters boiled up around the boat and sea horses surged up from the depths. The mermaid swam up and gently whispered to the old man, “ Come father, I have come to take you with me. Rest your weary head in the palace below the waves.” The old man smiled and taking the mermaid’s hand slipped beneath the waves.

 

 

On some nights, when the moon is round and silver and the seahorses thunder up the beach, you can see the old man on his old boat, bobbing gently upon the waves. The fisherfolk say that you will be lucky and your nets will be full if you see the old man on the sea.

THE CURSE OF THE SILENT PUPPETS 

Many years ago, there lived a puppeteer. He had no home but a small cart that held all his belongings. It served as his home, workshop, and theatre. He wandered the wide world, telling stories with his puppets, staying in each village just long enough to weave his tales, mend broken dolls, and carve new marionettes. Then, without warning, he would disappear.

One evening, he arrived at a village nestled on a cliff, deep in the forest where few dared to go. The villagers, curious and eager, gathered around his cart and begged for a story. The puppeteer smiled, his eyes reflecting the flickering light of their lamps, and brought out his puppets. He told a tale of love and betrayal, of anger and jealousy, of happiness and friendship. The villagers, enchanted, pleaded for him to stay. The puppeteer, weary from his endless journey, agreed. For the first time in many years, he felt the urge to linger.

In the days that followed, he mended and crafted in his cart by day and enchanted the villagers with stories by night. Among his audience was the prosperous farmer who owned vast fields on the cliff. He was known for his riches but also for his miserliness. He had a daughter, Lina, who was old enough to marry, but the farmer could not bear the thought of her leaving. "Who would care for me in my old age?" he often muttered to himself, clutching his iron box of gold coins.

Lina met the puppeteer in secret. Drawn by his warmth and the life he breathed into his puppets, she found herself falling in love with him. One evening, as the lanterns dimmed and the village hushed, she confessed her feelings to her father.

"Father, I want to marry the puppeteer," she said, her voice trembling.

The old farmer's eyes darkened. "A vagabond? A man with nothing but wooden dolls and a rickety cart? Never."

"But I love him," Lina pleaded. "And he loves me."

The farmer's face twisted with rage. "You will not marry him. He is not worthy of you, or of this family."

That night, while the village slept, the farmer sent word to the puppeteer, asking him to come to his house. The puppeteer arrived with hope in his heart, believing the farmer had softened. But as he walked through the garden, a shadow loomed behind him. The axe fell with a sickening thud. The farmer, breathing heavily, looked at the lifeless body at his feet. He buried the puppeteer beneath the garden soil, his heart pounding not with remorse but with a twisted satisfaction.

The next evening, the villagers gathered at the puppeteer's cart, but it was eerily silent. The puppets hung limply, their strings untouched. Days turned into weeks, and rumors swirled. Some whispered that the puppeteer had stolen away in the night. Others claimed he had found a wealthier patron. Lina, grief-stricken, withdrew into herself, her laughter silenced. The farmer, despite a creeping unease, found solace in his gold.

Then, strange things began to happen. On moonless nights, a rustling sound echoed through the village, followed by a faint clanking, like marionette strings in the wind. In the mornings, a puppet would be found on a doorstep, its wooden face frozen in an expression of sorrow or terror. The villagers, once entranced by the puppeteer's tales, now spoke of curses and restless spirits.

Lina wandered the village, her eyes vacant, her hands clutching one of the puppets left at her door. The farmer watched her fade away, guilt gnawing at him, but he told himself it was for the best. "She will understand," he muttered to his gold. "She will forgive."

One moonless night, a commotion arose near the puppeteer's abandoned cart. The villagers gathered, holding their breath, as the lanterns cast long shadows on the ground. The puppets began to twitch, then rise, their movements jerky but purposeful. The villagers gasped, rooted in place by a mixture of fear and awe.

Suddenly, in the flickering lamplight, the puppets began to dance. But this was no ordinary dance. It was a reenactment. The shadows cast on the cart’s side told a story—a story of love, betrayal, and murder. The villagers watched, horrified, as the shadows depicted the young puppeteer walking up a garden path, the gleam of an axe, and the sickening blow that felled him.

An unearthly scream ripped through the air. The puppets froze, their heads snapping toward the old farmer, who stood trembling at the edge of the crowd. A new puppet lay on the ground, its carved face a twisted replica of the farmer's, eyes hollow and wide with terror. The puppets turned toward the farmer, who stumbled back, his face draining of color.

"No... No!" he screamed, but his voice was drowned by the rustling of puppet strings. The shadow of the young puppeteer rose from the cart, his form dark and vengeful. It reached out and seized the puppet of the old man, lifting it high. The villagers watched in stunned silence as the puppeteer’s shadow threw the puppet into the trees, where it hung, swaying gently in the breeze.

Morning came, and the village awoke to a scene that would haunt them for years. The puppets were arranged in a circle around the cart, with the puppet of the old man sitting at the center, his eyes staring into nothingness. The farmer was gone, his house silent and his garden untouched, except for a single mound of disturbed earth where flowers would not grow.

Lina, clutching the puppeteer’s favorite puppet, looked to the horizon. She knew he was gone, but in some way, he had never left. The puppets were quiet now, their strings at rest. The village, though scarred, moved on, but they never forgot the puppeteer and his final story—the story of how a man who lived by guiding strings had his own fate tangled with those he loved.

 The quest for the jewel

The city of Dilli was in turmoil. The magnificent Red Fort was in shambles. The treasury was empty and the Badshah had a broken crown to his name. The only name on everyone’s lips was Mangal Pandey, the hero of Barrackpore. The one who refused to bow down before the British Commander. The soldiers were angry and restless. The idea of freedom was a spark which had ignited their souls. The Badshah sat terror stricken in his empty court.

 

Asfaq, Usman and Noorul sat under the stairs leading to the ghats of Yamuna. They had come here early in the morning to pick out lilies to sell at the market. Noorul’s sister, Reshma Appa was a skilled florist. Her bouquets and garlands of fragrant flowers were always the first ones to be sold out. In the hazy dark of dawn, they saw a boat slide silently over the quiet Yamuna. Huddled figures on the boat leapt into action as the boat scraped the bank. The three kids were struck dumb at the sight of the beefy swarthy figures. They were dressed in the red coat of the soldiers and carried swords and rifles. One of them whispered, “Look, we are not safe here in the open. Let’s get to Phani Ram ki Havelli. We will make our plans there.”

The three kids hid under the darkened step and watched as the soldiers lifted out a bloody bundle of clothes. Noorul stiffled a scream when he saw a lifeless hand slide out of the bundle. The kids were terrified. What would happen if these soldiers saw them or heard them? Asfaq, Noorul and Usman were scared but thankfully, the soldiers heard nothing. They picked up their rifles, the bloody bundle and few other sacks from the boat. "Take the boat to the middle of the river and drown it. Don't let anyone see you. After that go to the market and find out the news. Then come to the haveli. We will discuss our plans further. Also, get medicines and first aid from the Vaid and something to eat. Do you have money? Be careful." The leader clasped the boatman to him and, "We will meet soon, God willing. Jai Bhavani."

The Soldiers moved ahead with their bundles and the boatman rowed the boat away. The three kids stood up silently. "What was all that?" whispered Noorul. "Are these soldiers from Kanpur? My baba said that the Sipahis were angry and Mangal Pandey refused to shoot with the gun. He was taken away to prison and his friends shot all the Gora officers.", said Usman. Asfaq said,"I heard my Abba say that the Goras are hunting these soldiers. He said, they have disobeyed the command so the afsar log will catch them and hang them but fighting for freedom is not wrong." "Hmmm," said Noorul thoughtfully, "I hope they get to safety soon. Let's go and give these flowers to Appa. It will be morning soon. Just keep your ears and eyes open. Let's see if we can find out more about these sipahis."

CHAPTER 2

Reshma was there at the market, setting up her stall. She lifted her eyebrow and looked enquiringly at the three as they rushed in with the baskets of flowers. "What happened? Why do you all look so scared and jumpy?". Noorul put the basket down and squatted , "We saw something, Appa but this is not the place to tell about it. I promise, I will tell you at home. I am going back home with my friends. Is there anything to eat? We are all quite hungry."

Reshma had already started braiding the flowers, "Go home. I had made Khichda in the morning. You all can have it. Take some rest and thank you for the lilies, my brother. I will be back before you know it." Noorul rubbed his fingers over her arm,"Don't worry appa. We are fine. We will be back to help you close shop." Then they left, taking the wet sacks with them. Ashfaq looked around the market, "Look guys, isn't that the boatman? There, near Khan Chacha's kebab stall." "Should we follow him and find out more about those people?", asked Usman. "Let's go. Be careful. Ashfaq, get some fruits from Manju Amma. We will eat on the way", said Noorul.

The children followed the boatman through the crowded market. The boatman went from stall to stall picking up things to eat and finally vended his way out of the market with the three still on his trail. After walking for some time, the man veered left into a narrow alley. The three dashed across the street, dodging the tongas and other shoppers. By the time, they reached the alley, the boatman was at the far end. The three quickly ran after the disappearing person but it was to no avail. The boatman had vanished and the alley stopped at a wall. The kids ran parallel to the wall searching for an opening and soon they found a place where the wall had caved in. They scrambled in and found themselves in a dark, gloomy, unkempt, overgrown garden. 

The house at the far end of the garden did not look inhabited. It's wide verandahs and jaali windows looked soulless and empty. The kids ran fast through the knee length grass and climbed up the verandah. They slithered forward keeping to the shadows. There was a door at the far end of the verandah. The children tiptoed to it and nudged it open. The room looked like a small drawing room or baithak. There were old, mouldy cushions and gaddas on the floor and long circular pillows, masnad. The lacy curtains on the windows were frayed and dull. This house had seen better days but was now reeling under bad times. No one was there but a groan startled the children. They quickly ran forward on soft toes and peered in at the room beyond. 

There on the old bed, lay someone. Someone who was bandaged up and bundled in a heavy quilt. The man looked poorly. He was awake and staring at the kids. He motioned them to come forward and rasped,"Who are you? Why are you here? This is no place for children. Go away,before they find you in here." Asfaq looked at the man, "We know you are sipahis. We saw you come in but we have not told anyone about you . Why are you here? Who injured you? What are you planning to do? Will you avenge Mangal Pandey? We will help you." Noorul