The ruins


the ruins

He stood on the hill, watching the sun set in west, fiercely painting the western sky with shades of red and purple. Some clouds immersed themselves in that crimson ocean and came out tinged with red.

The hill across the small valley was studded with the ruins of an ancient palace. He stood there watching; centuries ago if someone stood at his place he might have been witnessing another scene.

One by one the lights of the palace lighting up to welcome evening, chime of bells and sound of conch shells sounding from homes; may be a sweet symphony of shehnai from the palace.

“Centuries ago there was a king that ruled this area, those are the remains of his palace. “ He heard a sweet voice and turned around to face a young woman in local attire standing a few feet behind, near a tree, she was standing there, looking at the ruins with misty eyes. The sun was long gone but full moon has partially replaced him. She was spreading her magical light on the surroundings.

“He was a brave, honest person. Unfortunately he had an evil enemy.” She continued as if in a trance, as if she was reciting the story to the trees, woods, hills and the valley.

“He hated the king because he could never be like him. His sick mind concocted a strange plot. He knew the princess loved to wander alone in these hills, using his innocent, extremely beautiful face he trapped her in the web of love.”

“Then that day came, the monster stood gloating in king’s court, princess blushing by his side, he has coaxed her to marry him without blessing of his parents.”

The king tried to accept it but late in the night they were sitting in his chamber when his enemy hissed softly, “See your daughter for the last time. Her place will be with my maids, I am planning to marry officially next month. Your daughter will spend her life serving my queen.”

Later at night the wicked soul stumbled into his wife’s chamber, bloodied and gasping, “Your father killed me. I thought our love will wipe out his hatred for me…” were the last words he spoke.

“The innocent girl, fooled by sweet words of love could not recognize her own loving father; mistrusted that righteous man and trusted a conjuror and drank poison.”

“The king dispatched his body to his kingdom and performed his only daughter’s last rites here.”
“Her mausoleum was on this hill, time has wiped away every sign of it. She was an extraordinary flute player. Local people say they can still hear her flute playing here, in these hills.” The girl stopped talking.

He turned around but she was not there. He heard the haunting sound of flute spreading in the night air originating from some place nearby.

Sharmishtha Basu
9.8.11

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Author: sharmishtha basu

Well, Sharmishtha Basu is fifth child of Late Dr. Shibaprasad Basu, she is Bengali, Indian, she took birth in Tundla, Uttar Pradesh, lived in and around Uttar Pradesh for the first sixteen years of her life, then returned to Burdwan, West Bengal , her family has dwelled there for five hundred years or so and are still dwelling there, she lived in West Bengal till 2015 February, since February 2015 she is living in Hyderabad. She is unemployed, unmarried so with lot of time and excessive energy, some evil people made her dreams of having a normal career impossible but that did not diminished her energy, so she utilizes her time and energy mainly by painting and writing, hoping that her books will become her dream career, her salvation in her words, she is a blend of bhaktiyoga and karmayoga. You can contact her through her blogs @mydomainpvt.wordpress.com (main blog), her facebook page @facebook.com/sermistabasu, amazon page @amazon.com/author/sharmishthabasu or emails sharmishthabasu@hotmail.com & sermistabasu@gmail.com

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