Worthing Flash

  "Seeking salvation" “Back when?” the voice queries. Loud coughing is heard. “Yesterday,” she answers.  “How did it go?” the voice continues. “Glad to have attended the Kumbh. You know how religious we are,” she says. Persistent coughs continue. “Just hold on,” she mutes the phone. “It's so irritating! Take her to the other room,” she tells her son. “Grandma wants to talk to you,” the son retorts. She ignores him and continues. “Feels good to have washed off all that Karma,” she gushes on the phone. The chronic coughing gets louder. “Will you be quiet!” she screams at her wheelchair bound mother-in-law.

Ties: Fractured and Unfractured' She tiptoed to her two-year-old daughter, who was fast asleep. Sitting by her side, she took her hand, the tiny fingers instinctively twitching around hers, as if pleading. She choked up, eyes moist, overwhelmed with grief and guilt. Fighting back tears, she gently freed her hand, picked up her belongings, and headed for the door. This time, she appeared determined to leave her failed marriage behind and start life afresh with her newfound love, who would be waiting for her at the bus stop. There was no time to waste. It was now or never, and she knew the answer. Vijai Pant India

Deadline looms in front   of him. The assignment has to be completed. It is already the dead of night, but not much headway has been made. Some lines are furiously typed, but instantly deleted. He gives a violent shake to his head, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, wanting to get rid of the obsession. The wall clock continues to tick. He gives up, thinking that he will restart in the morning. However, he can do no more than toss about in the bed, sleep still eluding him. He gets up, tries to discipline the teasing thoughts, but to no avail. Mind filled, but, at the same time, blank. The loud tweet of a solitary love bird heralds another day. A notification beeps in. The line reads, “A morning text doesn’t only mean Good Morning. It also means I think about you, when I wake up.” He doesn’t reply. He simply smiles. Vijai Pant is  a freelance writer living in India.

“How can I forget you brought me up single-handedly?” Suneet says. “You have turned 18, but for me you are still a kid,” Sumit, a year older, replies. “Weren’t we supposed to get 40 lakhs after reaching 18?” Suneet asks. “Yes. Some upper caste people were involved. Government announced compensation to prevent riots,” Sumit clarifies. “But why forty?” Suneet further queries. “Twenty each, mom and dad,” Sumit explains. “But where is the money?” Suneet continues. “Some more paperwork,” Sumit informs. “Why divide forty, when I can have sixty,” Suneet shoots Sumit dead. “A murder can also be staged,” Suneet nonchalantly remarks. Vijai Pant is  a freelance writer living in India.

This story is written by Vijai Pant who is a freelance writer living in India “Hunger has been banished,” he thundered. The crowd roared. Kalawati, too, feebly cheered. After all, they had been given clear instructions on what all to do during the course of Netaji's speech, before being ferried in a truck to the rally. Meeting over, she jostled with the others for the promised 500 rupee note. After a lot of pushes and shoves she managed to lay her hands on one. Clutching the crumpled note she hurried home. She didn’t want to lose one more child to starvation.