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going east

This blog is to be a repository of my stories.
Here's one, a novella in progress. i hope u dig it.

Chapter 1

Boroks had an amusing job. They had to give heed to any signs of new 'births'. They would scout the new births, feed them their first supper and help them to stand on their feet. It was the only thing they knew to do. They had big ears, round eyes, strong and long arms, wide and stodgy feet and no teeth. They had a mouth but only to yawn. They lived off 'work'. The faster they would work, the more energetic they would feel. A borok confined is a borok dead.


Ardin & anksha - the gods, who created this world, had a tiff when they started with the creation of life forms. Anksha had created a million different kinds of them. He let them loose and would watch them serenely. Ardin would rather have uniformity and consistence. He wanted them all to be the best (most agile, efficient and adapting), in other words - the same. Being his usual mercurial, ardin lashed out at the world with awesome power. But Anksha intervened. Anksha loved his creature too much to let go. He faced the destruction ray instead. Being invincible, he didn’t suffer; however, he lost his balance momentarily. In his efforts to regain balance, he groped for things around him. And then… he held on to the arrow of time. His grip was so tight, and the fall so sharp, that the arrow turned the other way. And the world was never the same again.


Ardin repented for his act and tried to help Anksha, set the world straight. And his first gift was - the boroks.


The sky was a clear, blue, wide expanse of sheer rapture. There was not a cloud in sight. The bright blue of the sky abruptly sprung forth over the insurmountable violet violence of Virat Mountains in the west. The jagged edges of which, diving upwards were, as if, fighting for space. They bore the crimson evidence of their ego.
The emerald sparkle of the dense foliage at the foot of Virat, were defiantly beaming, because the sun had long risen over the Virat, and they had plenty of time before they would close down, with the dawn of starry night. These plants had large saucery aperture. Their leaves coalesced in divine surrender to their one god – the sun. The saucers would collect the ‘sundrops’, their staple food, which the sun incessantly spewed out. A white blazing mist stayed afloat over the greenery for most of the day.
Between this pool of sundrops, and the thick layer of mist, prickly bolts would spring up. This kept most other insects and animals away from the pool, and the plants, happy.

All of a sudden, borok’s ears tweaked, and eyes narrowed. A few of them ran out of their caves, and stood with excruciating patience.
A hurricane had squished through the palette of violet, greens and blue, and turned the whole landscape into an abnormally serene, juxtaposition of colours. But their alertness owed allegiance to arrival of something else. They didn’t have ‘reason’ on their side. They lived in a state of complete surrender. Surrender to the one objective of life: That of assistance to the new-borns.
Through the eye of the hurricane, sunny and sanica made their maiden voyage into this world. From the eye of the hurricane, straight in between the abreacting thunderbolts and into the pool of sundrops. The hurricane had ripped the plants, and had thrown them every which way. The one in which sunny and sanica found themselves, sat delicately perched over one of the jagged edges. Their gaunt figures, frail but not trembling, stood in the pool of sundrops. Boroks were on their way.



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