Rain Drops E-Magazine December 2011

1. Price: `. (Free)Issue:- December 2011 Vol:- V
Rain DropsRain Drops

2. Editorial ContentDec 2011
2 3
Dec 2011
DearReaders,
Thiscouldwellbeourlasteditionofthee-magazine!TheRDteamdecidedtoendthedigital
magazine as of now and accept all submissions over the site and on the FB page. We may in
future publish quarterly or even monthly editions again but as of now, creative writings will
goonlinecompletely!
We just concluded an event for the kids in Mumbai, an art competition featuring Christmas
or winter as a theme. It is our great pleasure to be publishing all those fine art works done by
the budding artists. We shall also continue to hold events, online and offline as long as it
takes.Differenteventsbythee-magazineorbythepublishinghouse.
We love to encourage kids and adults in the field of creativity. In the field of art, writing,
music or whatever the internal talent may dictate the soul. True happiness gushes forth
when you land up doing something you really love and find peace with. Hence, continue
doing something creative, no matter what your age, find time for it, somehow, anyhow and
youwillfillyourheartandsoulwithrealpleasures.
Come forward and communicate with us anytime at: or
oronourcell:+91-9619629092.
Pleasewritetous,welovetohearfromyou!
W e a r e o n F B :
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Copyrights: All rights reserved © 2011
Cover Picture First Prize winner Ms. Anuja Khilari in Bal Chitra Mitra
Competition held at Oxford Book Store On 17th December 2011 Edited by Dhara Kothari. Published by Moksa Publishers for Rain Drops.
Designed by Biren Shah. Email: raindropsemag@gmail.com.
Cell: +91-9619629092 / +91-9757274289
Editorial
Page 2
Cryptogram
Page 12
Cryptogram Hint and Solution
Page 14
Bal Chitra Mitra Competition
Page 17 - 27
- By Dhirendra Asthana
Page 4
- By Dhirendra Asthana
Page 5
Vendetta
By Vishnu Vardhanan
Page 6-12
The New Home
Sweta Srivastava Vikram
Page 13
Manjula Saxena
Page 14
The Three Proverbs
A story from Poland
Page 15
The Lone Star
Achuthan Sivadas
Page 16
Bal Chitra Mitra Judge Painting
Page 28

3. Dec 2011
4 5
- By Dhirendra Asthana - By Dhirendra Asthana Dec 2011

4. Vendetta - By Vishnu Vardhanan Vendetta - By Vishnu Vardhanan Dec 2011Dec 2011
6 7
Every breath of him insulted what she was and
the life she lived. Every time his nostrils
exchanged a fresh volume of oxygen it
contaminatedeverybreathshedrewonearthnot
long ago. The tiredness of the air he exhaled was
almost tangible. It was heavy. It begged me to
give the freedom it long desired as a result of
running along his throat through the lungs. By
the sound of it I sensed that it merited every bit a
passionate kiss of the knife that glimmered
between my fingers. What the hell am I waiting
for? I decided to start scripting his end. I held the
knifetight.Thatwasmyfirsttime.
“First time...” the words echoed in my ears and
tookmesomewhereelse.
“Ever held a camera in hand,” were her first
wordstome.
Ishika, a busy model who had worked with more
than half a dozen national clients and top brands
demanded when the advertisement director,
Milton, introduced me to her. A former Miss
Chennai Title winner there was hardly anything
to say about her looks. All she needed to do is to
slightlybendthecurveofherlipsandleakasmile
and with that even the most strongest of the
hearts will be rocked and feel a 9 point Richter
earthquake.
Wow,aredcarpetwelcomeIthought.
“Actually I never put the camera down,” I
replied.
It was true that I was too young for a
photographer to be working in such a premium
assignment and her curtness was very obvious.
Even then I was offended. I could not hold back.
I said, “You are so concerned. I thought models
needed only good fashion to be successful, do
theyneedaphotographer'sskilltoo?”
Even then I said that she looked like someone
who did not need anything like fashion, looks,
right outfits or a good photographer's skills. Her
conversing hazel eyes, full moon lit like face
strands of hair like jumping waves proved more
than enough. Every muscle of hers calmly
proclaimed that she is a born model and the way
shecarriedherselfconfirmediteveryminute.
“Oh,really?”shesaidsarcasticallytome,”Inever
knew,havingbeenworkedin17assignments.”
She looked damn hot. But what was hottest of all
was her tongue. It was ironically spitting fire at
that moment and I was left to wage a private
battle between my admiration for her and my
wrathforherattitude.
“Might as well be true. 17 assignments and
someone complaining about angle, lighting,
lipstick, make-up, outfits and above all a
photographer doesn't fit together. A good model
is presentable even when she is shot by an
amateur kid holding the camera for the first
time,”Ishotback.
Herfacecontorted.
“You were supposed to find a photographer, not
some loony guy who just escaped from an
asylum. Iaskedhisexperienceandseewhatheis
blabbering?” She recorded her high opinion on
metothedirector.
I turned to the director and said,” I don't
appreciate the attitude. Forget it Sir. She is
nothing like a model,” I said. Her face reddened
and her cheeks resembled a hybrid tomato that
theyshowinrefrigeratoradvertisements.
“Stupid,”shesaidvenomously.
It stung me literally. I should have been cursing
her instead my eyes were cherishing her
reactions. Somehow she looked unbelievably
beautiful to my eyes even in the height of her
anger. My immediate instinct was to picture her
emoting face with my right hand (I mean my
camera) but then each frame of that moment was
etchedpixelbypixelinmymind.
I wondered what made me like her. Obviously, it
was not her beauty. Being a photographer
myself, in a single day I have the chance to come
across the number of hot chicks and gorgeous
babesthatotherscancomesacrossintheirentire
lifetime. Bumping into a bright face or a
curvaceous body for me was like getting stuck in
Chennai traffic, logging into Face book or
drinking a cup of coffee. Very common! For the
first ever time I did not need a camera to capture
amomentinmylife.
His uneven gasps seeing the shining new knife
did not help my uneasiness. I was nervous for it
was the first time. But he did not show any such
signandseemedveryfarfrombeingnervous.
He was leaning on the wall inches away with his
hands close to his chest. His body was shrunk
with the shoulders drooping in front and his
knees collapsing to the ground. An evenly
distributed, visible shuddering embraced all of
his body. He was never short of sobs and pleas,
themoansandshrieksofatrappedanimal.
I would have left him there and walked away had
it been some other instance. But not now, after
what he has done. Not after what happened to
her. The air that I inhaled grew heavy and
tightened my chest. I was unsure, dubious. I was
representing the historic cat that sat on the wall
dazed to jump, forming the reason for the cliché
“catonthewall.”
But somehow I had expected this. I had known
all along how such hesitancy would cast its
shadow upon me. The hesitancy which is purely
as a result of the beliefs and morals society has
injected into everyone without the individual's
knowledge. I understood that the iron chains
and the rusted bars of “code of conducts” and
“Decorum” that had been soaked into our
muscles and marrows right from childhood was
questioning my act. More than the just and
moral factor, the question, “Am I, the same man
who said an eye for an eye makes the whole world
blind, just plotting a blood for blood revenge?”
puzzledme.
Or is that my mind's other dormant beast simply
trying to pounce on its opportunity to satiate its
violentbloodlustpart?Idon'tknow.
Myinnervoicedeniedit.
Yes, a revenge seeker would have grabbed some
weapon and devoured this crook out of the
surging emotions. A homicidal maniac would
have tasted his blood and that of his partners-in-
crime long before. I have not done any of it. I was
cool headed. I read 4 or 5 odd books on murders,
googled for an entire week about various brutal
homicidal cases just to make sure that nothing
resemblesandnonecomesevenclosetothis.
This is definitely different. I carefully designed
his trap, collected necessary equipment and
finally chose his deathbed which is this very
dimly lit dilapidated room. A sudden whim
would have dissolved in days, a burning rage
might have quelled in weeks but this sensation
hadnot. Ithasstayed,stayedstrongandhardfor
twolongmonthsnow.
It has stayed, stayed strong and hard for two
days. Her bitterness and the anger on me did not
seem to have lost its teeth. “Miss, save those
stares and words. I won't give a damn. Don't
waste them on me,” I said when she was testing
her “burning-someone-with-the-scornful-stare”
ability.
Her gaze grew more sharp and strong when my
terseness fuelled her burning aspirations. But
unruffled I added,” To get things straight, I have
never taken a camera in my hand as I consider
thatasmyrighthandthananequipment.”
“Kind of prosthesis. I don't have to consciously
pickitup,”Isaid.
She scoffed at what I said with an air of
smugness. Upon the director's persuasion I had
come to the shooting spot againto face the fury of
thisgorgeousyetviolenttornado.
“That's the way I work, that's my style. If it's
okay, we can defer this leg pulling game and
move to the sets. Else If you are hard on for a
photographer who is of an age with trembling
hands and loads of experience, then I will bid
adieuandwalkaway.”
She did not seem to have a care in the world. “Sir,
the outside world has enough moments waiting
to be captured by my cherishing eyes and my
hungry lens,” I finished turning to the director
markingitasmyconclusion.
Her rose petal like lips twitched to say
something. It was evident from the sharpness of
Vendetta

5. Vendetta - By Vishnu Vardhanan Vendetta - By Vishnu Vardhanan Dec 2011Dec 2011
8 9
her eyes that none of them would fall under
“good to hear” category. Before words shot out
ofhermouththedirectorbrokein.
“Ishi, you got to see his portfolio. The angles and
textures were like never seen before. His work is
fresh and very new. I am sure that he will be an
awesomevalueaddtothisproject. Justgetalong
with him.” Before the director's veritable
testimonyherfurycouldnotlastlong.
“Decision is your's and the responsibility too is
yourssir,”Shesaidandstormedoutoftheplace.
After she went, “she is a very nice girl but I guess
you both got off on the wrong foot,” the director
said.
“Anotherdayatofficedoesn'tmattersir,”Isaid.
For the next 20 days the director, apart from
conceiving ideas, had to play an extra role of
being a jury to our never ending quarrels. My
decision to shoot in real locations which
sometimes comprised deserted; dilapidated old
buildings and marshy forests didn't go well with
her. Ishika thought I was doing all that just to
teaseher.
I have everything the plan, the apparatus and the
lab rat except my volition to embark on the
experiment. Meanwhile the rat seemed to have
sensedthereluctanceanditpitchedin.
“What. What did I do? What... do you... want...”
hestuttered.
With a firm voice I calmly said, “It is blood that I
seek.”
“We can... talk. Tell me. Tell me what this is
about?”hesaid.
This is not going to be easy. I normally hate
questions. More worse, under such
circumstancesIrepelleditlikeanything.
Igavehimalong,hardstareandsaid,
“September23...”
“23...What...?”
He was wiping drops of blood from the corners of
his mouth after two minutes. He succeeded in
getting me to the mood. His recklessness and
negligence reinstated the belief on my decision.
The first crack on the iron chains and rusted bars
had been made. Having taken the first step I
knew there was no looking back. No more
doubts shrouded my mind and suddenly
everything was clear. I was able to sense the
fairnessofwhatwasabouttounfold.
I looked up. He looked as if he had learnt that I
can not be reasoned with. He stood there lost
everything except for the fear of an impending
expiry. He was weighing his chances of survival
and looked around for an escape route. But for
the sharp and blood lust lips of the knife I held,
he would have fled pushing me aside or even
wouldhavenothesitatedtopackmetothegrave.
Having said all that, in some ways I owed him for
what he was about to do (or is it what was going
to be done on him)? I don't know. But the point is
he deserved to know why he is going to die, the
reason which has brought him the misfortune of
beingslaughteredlikealittlestreetdog.
“ISHIKA...”ISaid,“Remember...?”
When the assignment was over and the project
was delivered to the clients things were never the
same. I was in home relaxing after the hectic
schedule. The calling bell screamed to announce
the intrusion of my privacy. Annoyed, I went to
answer the door. To my surprise Ishika was
standing there. She was wearing a Jean and a
Casual Tee. Sunglasses perched above her
forehead. Looking at her I had a big question.
Was she beautiful because of the dress or is the
dress beautiful because of her? I had a mini
crisis. But recollecting myself, I invited her in.
Shecameinandsatonthecouch.
“Coffeeortea?Iasked.
“Justaglassofwater,”shesaid.
I handed her water bottle and asked, “Is it
December21,2012?”
“What?”
“Imeanisitdoomsday?Istheworldgoingtoend
today? When things like this happen one
certainlyhasreasonstoaskthat.”
She looked puzzled. “You are visiting my home? I
meanwhatonearthishappening?”Isaid.
She smiled, “Yes. I would have laughed at
anyonewhomighthaveevenhintedthat.”
“So...whathappened?Whatbringsyouhere?”
She started with that trademark Girlie,
“Well…Ummm...” and continued,” I got to see
the photographs. And then clients called
director,”Shesaid.
“Oh, nice, what did they say? Are they happy
aboutthework?”
“You wouldn't want to hear that if you are don't
want to loose your only good quality, humility,”
Shesaid.
“I thought you had change of hearts and going to
befriendlywithme.”
“Chill Buddy. Clients are very happy with the
work. Especially the camera work. But that is not
thereasonformychangeofhearts.”
“Whatthen?”
“I came here to tell you that you were wrong. A
model does need a good photographer like 'you'
topresentherselfwell.Thatwasevidentfromthe
output and the feedback.” She continued, “You
know what? The clients are so impressed that
they have selected me for couple of their other
product'sadvertisement.”
“What's the logic? Photography is good and you
aresignedfortwomoreprojects?”
“Don't be jealous, boy. I told them that I only
work in the project which has Mr.Gaurav as the
photographer.”
“We are working together again”, she said with
an innocent genuine smile stemming out from
her heart. Damn, she is the most beautiful thing I
have seen. Ever! “Tell me this is not a dream.
Loony guy to a favorite photographer is a long
way,”Isaidwithamockamazement.Shesmiled.
For a moment all his shuddering and his fears
vanished out of pure astonishment which the
name, Ishika, had instantly incited. Then again,
in a matter of seconds, it slowly died bringing
him back to his new found usual-self of
frightfulness.
“Oh…no…”
“See. It's not my fault.” he said which gave me
enough reasons to wave green flag for this trivial
errand.
He tried every possible defense for every step I
tooktowardshim.
“Don'tcomenearme.Wait.”
“I...ICanexplain.It'sthem...Notme...”
“Wedidnotkillher. Shekilledherself...”
“WhatcanIdoifshecommitssuicide?”
I was unmoved. I went ahead with a
determinationandmyfistsclenched.
“I don't know why she did that. It is...very
commoninherprofession.”
He was option less, helpless and finally when it
boiled down to the bottom he cried out,
“anyways...it was nothing new to her.
What...Whatdoesitmatter?”
“She….Sheis.....a…”
What???
I did not know what could fill in. Neither did her.
Ms. Ishika Arora, a top model turned actress
carried the burden of being my lover apart from
lending her name to the never ending gossips
with her fellow actors. Now she had no time to
carryout a single role. Model, actress, lover
combined to define Ishika and taking any of that
outwillnotservethepurposeofdefiningher.
Earlier the second schedule proved completely
different from that of the first. We were no more
TomandJerrylike. Everydaybroughtuscloseto
each other and at the end of the second
assignment; I was standing at her door. She
invited me in. The apartment was not big but
looked good enough for her family. She took me
toherroom.

6. Dec 2011Dec 2011
10 11
Vendetta - By Vishnu VardhananVendetta - By Vishnu Vardhanan
Like any other Girl's room it was meticulous,
thingskeptintheirplacesandwastidy.
“Niceroom,”Isaid.
“Thankyou,”shesaid.
“ButIhateit,”Isaidasanyguywouldsay.
“No wonder. You are accustomed to living in
garbage.” She pounced on the opportunity. I
staredatherresenting.
“What? Those film roles all around the room,
magazinespileduponthedesk,clothesadorning
every corner. What would you say that. A room?
In my world it is called garbage. She accused me.
I kept silent. I came to her home in a romantic
mood and almost rehearsed 15 different lines to
propose her but all that she found to talk about
was my room aka the garbage. Gosh, why the
girlsarelikethisIwasmullingover.
Brief seconds after with that thoughtful serious
expression that is exclusively patented by girls
she said,” May be I should drop by and clean your
roomsometime.”
And suddenly I stuck upon a better line. I did not
think much and just threw it. I casually retorted,
“Yeah, you should. Anyways home ministry is
goingtobeyoursaftermarriage,right?”
“Yes, true. I should be taking care of home
later...” She said and later realized,” wait. Did
yousayour...?”
I was perplexed. Emotional grenades were
exploding inside as the very thought of the
chance of denial came to my mind. I composed
myself and mustering all my courage, confidence
Isaid,
“Yes, Ms. Gorgeous. I came here to tell you that I
can't hide my liking for you anymore. I don't
know what you will think of me. But honestly I
am not sure how or when it happened until one
dayIfoundmyselfcrazilyinlovewithyou.”
She gave that usual girls look which say I-did-
not-think-of-you-like-that. I thought if she is
not ok or if she doesn't like me its not a problem
but I was praying that she should not say some
nonsense like “I thought of you like my brother”
andall. TocleartheairIcontinued,
“Sorry, I know it's surprising. I just wanted to let
you know my feelings as pretending to be normal
betraying my real feelings was eating me away. I
feltyououghttoknowthetruth.That'sit.”
She thought for a while. “You don't want me to
love you back?” she asked with a neutral tone
thatdidnothintherreaction.
“Not like that. I am making it clear that I am not
pressuringyou. Ihatetobeabother,”Isaid.
“Huh-Hmm…I see.” She said teasingly
emphasizingonthat'Isee'.
I hated that. She was making fun of my genuine
emotions. “I don't know whether you are really
this much good guy,” She mumbled as if saying it
toherselfandaskedme. Alright,sothat'sit?”
“Guessso. Whatelse?”Iasked.
“Aren't you at least going to hold my hand and
say some romantic thing. Any idea of handing
me a rose or ring kneeling down and ask whether
I want to marry you? A proposal is meant to be
likethatright?”sheasked.
“What,Idon'tunderstand,”Isaid.
“Oh,comeon.Whyareyousostupid?”shesaid.
I wanted to demand what her problem was and
whycan'tshebedirect. ButIcouldnot.
How could I when her lips were on mine. She
leaned back after a brief seconds and looked
straightintomyeyeswithaplayfullook.
“So,isthatayes?Doyouloveme?”Iasked.
I was kissed by one of the hottest asset of the
country but yet my retarded mind was bothering
to question her without realizing/cherishing
whatjusthappened.
“Ufff”,shefumed.
“You badly need to grow up,” she said and
slapped me again and again with her lips as a
punishment. I could not have asked for a better
punishment. Especiallyfromsomeonelikeher.
He needed punishment that he dared to say
something like that about her. I felt bizarre how
the society looked at a girl who slightly break the
norms and be herself. It surprised me how naive
the society is to think that only a girl who covers
her fully has good character. Isn't that mindset
inflicted such a fate to Ishika? Isn't the character
orvirtuesomethingpsychologicalthanphysical?
His body fell on the floor thudding before he
could complete the sentence. My hand cruised
over his shoulders to his face and anchored itself
on his cheek. The red liquid that was busy
flooding the floor sort of made me feel better.
There was no guilt. I wondered how the mere
remark of her gave me the nerve. I found some
peaceatlast.
I thought about her. Her flashing smile
unfurling, her sharp eyes penetrating me. It
immediately made me say; “This is so damn
right.”
I told Ishika cinema is worst place for a girl to be
in. Especially for some straight forward girl like
her its simply wrong place. She did not listen she
has achieved everything as a model earned every
penny that can be earned but yet the stardom
had hooked her. As I predicted she did not last
long in cinema with her curtness. I would have
celebrated her quitting movies had it not been
the end of her life too. They say love teaches you
compassion. It makes you kind hearted but now
as I stand in this little room felt that love not only
turns a beast into angel it also changes an angel
into beast. Love not only kills oneself but it can
make you kill others too if needed. After all, it
doesn't matter whether it is a delicate flower or
gory blood it's the same when the driving force
proves to be love. Blood is also beautiful when it
isbecauseoflove.
He was semiconscious, moaning out of pain. I
walked to the other side of the room. Opened the
belly swelled bag. Unzipped it and took out the
instruments, which are actually a collection of
carefully chosen weapons, one after the other. I
took out something which resembled a saw and
took a final glimpse of him alive, his face to be
precise. It had blood sprinkled all over and by
the side of his shoulder a pool of red liquid had
formed.Itlightenedmeup.
Iwentnearhimandsaid,”SMILEPLEASE!”
2dayslater
BRUTALMANSLAUGHTER,COPSPROBING.
Chennai: A man, possibly of above 30, was found
dead in Railway colony near the new suburbs
yesterday. The dead body was dumped into a
dustbin and has been found missing many of its
body parts. According to Commissioner Office,
the man was stabbed many times and possibly
castrated and severely amputated. His right eye
and left arm are missing. Also several of his
fingers from both legs and hands have been
removed. Postmortem reports suggest that the
murder should have taken place before 13-14
hours. Cops have commenced a thorough
investigation. Formoreturnpage8.
I kept the newspaper down. I was sitting in the
hall.
The two swaying legs still did not vanish from my
eyes that I saw when I entered this very living
room on September 26. She was dangling from
this very ceiling with her eyeballs fixed at the sky
andpupilturnedgrey.
I almost went crazy thinking what made her to
hang herself. I hated life, myself and everything
around me. Beard and the hair on my head had
grownbushyenoughtohidemyface.
There was no purpose for my living until one day.
Her postmortem report fell on my eyes. It was
dated 17 days after her death. It looked nothing
more than a missing piece of her death puzzle.
Few stacks of currency notes, my arm power,
some blackmails, phone calls and little threat
enlightenedme.
I had thought I have seen the worst of life. But
yet life said, Wait buddy, there are few more ugly
pages. The postmortem report I mean the
original one which had been kept under wraps
said Ishika has been harassed before her death.
Three different samples had been found on her
body. Large sums of money had been paid by a
big shot producer to avoid major head lines. A
bitter rift with Ishika was all that needed for that
bastard as the reason. His mistake gave me the
purpose to my life now. All said and done only
one thing remained. He needed to pay for his
sin. Ishika deserved justice. More than that no
more Ishikas should fall prey to this beast. With
that resolve I went near his home to run the
errand.
The next day, a pair of hands that were found

7. Dec 2011Dec 2011
12 13
The New Home - Sweta Srivastava VikramVendetta - By Vishnu Vardhanan
near the door of veteran producer Rajappa's home was the hot headlines. And his parking lot boasted
somethingwritteninblood,
”Don't dare to see hell. Avoid knowing the meaning of cruelty. Better commit suicide in 2 days' time -
smileplease!”
Yes, I did not plan to kill him. He has been left with two choices. Either he should commit suicide as that
of which he inflicted on Ishika or die the hell out of panic seeing how brutally his partners in crime are
goingtodie.
I unzipped the bag and took out my weapons again. His PA was tied to the chair at the end of the room
withhisfaceturnedgrey. Anotherlabratatdisposal!
vishnuvardhananms@gmail.com
www.myblabs.in
1. JB KASYJKAN CJNITP BT YGIAKNBRGI CJNITP: BQA PYNJE JN GTBQJGX
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Crytogram
Do roots call out
as we get older?
I don’t have all the answers.
But I know when the smell
of curry mingles with pumpkin pie,
cinnamon ends the feud of belonging.
I see the skin drink from the sun
with delight, knowing two mothers ask
for its love, prints of loyalty.
As footsteps get cemented in The New
Home,
homelessness becomes a stranger.
The New Home
Sweta Srivastava Vikram (www.swetavikram.com)
Cryptogram

8. Dec 2011
14
Hints and Solutions for Cryptogram
1. It requires wisdom to understand wisdom: the music is nothing if the
audience is deaf.
2. You never test the depth of a river with both feet.
3. A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.
4. Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
5. Dreams are illustrations...from the book your soul is writing about you.
Manjula Saxena
15
Dec 2011The Three Proverbs - A story from Poland
A rich man was once walking about in his garden. He was cheerful and happy. Suddenly he noticed a
small bird that had been captured in a small net. He took hold of it and was more than a little surprised
when it began to speak, saying, "Give me my freedom, dear man! Of what use is it to you to lock me in a
cage? Looking at me will not please you, for I do not have beautiful feathers. I cannot entertain you, for I
do not sing like other birds. And I cannot provide you with nourishment. I am much too small for that.
But I will tell you three wise teachings if you will give my freedom."
The master of the garden looked at the little creature and said, "If you do not sing then of course you
cannot entertain me. Let me hear your wisdom, and if it teaches me anything, I will give you your
freedom."
Then the little bird said, "First: Do not grieve over things that have already happened. Second: Do not
wish for that which is unattainable. Third: Do not believe in that which cannot be possible."
Then the master of the garden said, "You have indeed taught me something. I will give you your
freedom."
Letting the bird fly away, he thought seriously about its words. Then he heard it laughing quietly. Its
voice came from a tree where the bird was sitting.
"Why are you laughing so cheerfully?" shouted the man.
"About my easily won freedom," answered the bird, "and more than that, about the foolishness of
humans who believe they are smarter than all other creatures. If you had been smarter, only just as
smart as I am, then you would now be the richest man."
"How would that have been possible?" asked the master of the garden.
The bird replied, "If, instead of giving me my freedom, you had kept me, for in my body I have a
diamond the size of a hen's egg."
The man stood there as though he were petrified. After recovering from the surprise, he began to speak,
"You think that you are happy because I gave you your freedom. But summer will soon be over and
winter with its storms will arrive. The brooks will freeze over, and you will not be able to find a single
drop of water to quench your thirst. The fields will be covered with snow, and you will not find anything
to eat. But I will give you a warm place where you can freely fly around, and you can have as much water
and bread as you want. Come down, and I will show you that you are better off with me than with your
freedom."
Thus spoke the master of the garden, but the little bird laughed louder than before, making the man
even angrier.
"You are still laughing?" asked the man.
"Of course," replied the bird. "See, you gave me my freedom on account of the teachings that I gave you,
and now you are so foolish that you do not take the teachings to heart. I earned my freedom fairly, but
you forgot my teachings after only a few minutes. You should not grieve over things that have already
happened, but still you are grieving that you gave me my freedom. You should not wish for things that
you cannot obtain, and yet you want me, for whom freedom is my whole life, to voluntarily enter a
prison. You should not believe that which is impossible, and yet you believe that I am carrying about
inside my body a diamond as large as a hen's egg, although I myself am only half the size of a hen's egg."
And with that the bird flew away.
The Three Proverbs

9. Dec 2011 Dec 2011
Anuja Anil Khilari (Frist Prize)
Bal Chitra Mitra Competition
16 17
I look up at the sky,
It is dark and gloomy.
There is a lone star,
It is my guiding star.
Where it guides me to,
I know not.
Will I reach?
I know not.
If I reach,
The star is mine.
If I don't reach,
The star is still mine.
King or pauper,
The star is mine.
Gentle or sear,
The star is mine.
Achuthan Sivadas
Email: achu_eks@yahoo.com
Mobile: 9037718741
The Lone Star
The Lone Star - Achuthan Sivadas

10. Dec 2011 Dec 2011
Shreya Ankush Jadhav(Third Prize)
Bal Chitra Mitra Competition Bal Chitra Mitra Competition
18 19
Shreya Shenoy (Second Prize)

11. Dec 2011 Dec 2011
Rohitra Mistry(Judge Special Prize)
Bal Chitra Mitra Competition Bal Chitra Mitra Competition
20 21
Aditya Anil Khilari(Consolation Prize)

12. Dec 2011 Dec 2011
Arnav Amit Thakoor
Bal Chitra Mitra Competition Bal Chitra Mitra Competition
22 23
Sara

13. Dec 2011 Dec 2011
Mannya Sachin Parikh
Bal Chitra Mitra Competition
24 25
Bal Chitra Mitra Competition
Vritika Fenil Shah

14. Dec 2011 Dec 2011
Prithavi
26 27
Bal Chitra Mitra Competition Bal Chitra Mitra Competition
Shambhavi Vishant Surve

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Chithra Mitra (Judge) - Painitng for Children
Bal Chitra Mitra Competition