Stories Made Simple

Tarakasura was stunned to see the little but extremely powerful child-warrior fight in the battle. He stared unmoving as the tiny arms wielded heavy weaponry with ease. The boy swung the sword left and right, blocking attacks as if he had been doing it for years. In an instant, he would switch from his sword to his vel which appeared to form a gigantic discus as he swung it around with amazing speed, defending and attacking many warriors simultaneously.  Tarakasura just watched, unable to move a single muscle. He could see Yama, the God of Death, approach him from a distance. And yet he stood, unmoving and mesmerised at the outstanding battle antics of 6-year-old Kartikeya, the son of Shiva and Parvati. His eyes met those of the boy which seemed to twinkle meaningfully at him. What he had thought would never happen was taking place right before his eyes. He had arrogantly assumed he would never die. He recalled the day when Brahma granted him his boon.  After years of severe penance,

Chandra was watching Rohini dress in front of the mirror. Her skin glowed in his shimmering light. Her large, black eyes always held wonder in them. She smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Every time she saw him, it was as if she was seeing him for the first time; love and affection overflowed from every pore of her body. And he was happily smitten in the abundant outpouring of their love.  But, an old conversation he had had with his father-in-law, Daksha, always nagged him. He had promised the father of his 27 wives that he would love all of them equally and not have any favourites. He hadn't realized what a fool he had been to make promises he couldn’t keep. He couldn't have imagined that controlling his feelings would’ve been as enormously difficult as it turned out to be. Rohini easily outshone the other wives. She dressed elegantly, she was the most graceful of them all, she was an amazing cook dishing out one delicacy after another without respite for her husband. Mo

Shramana sat on the floor under the tiny window of her room. She hugged her knees, her head was bent, her tear-ridden face hidden in the folds of her skirt. She could hear people discussing her marriage. "The only reason my son agreed to marry Shramana is that she is your daughter, Chief.” The voice reeking of boastful arrogance was that of her prospective father-in-law, an important member of the Shabari clan.  Despite being the chief, her father stood in subdued deference at the mocking tone because it was his burden to get his dark, average-looking, vegetarian daughter married in a manner befitting the royal of a hunter community. “Tell me what more you need to complete the wedding rituals, and I will happily do your bidding,” he almost grovelled. Shramana wanted to rush outside and rebuke her father for his behaviour. But she knew it would be futile because he wanted this badly. He wanted to transfer the burden of his daughter to someone else, and for this, he was more than wi

The news of the birth of Yudhishthira, the eldest son of Pandu and Kunti, made Dhritarashtra, the King of Hastinapur restless.  He poured his heart out to his charioteer, Sanjaya, who was more than a charioteer. He was the king’s mentor, counsellor, and closest friend, all rolled into one. “Would this mean Yudhisthira gets the first right to the throne of Hastinapur, Sanjaya?” “Why are you worrying about something that is still many years away, my king?” “You don’t and never will understand what it is to have a handicap,” replied the king, in a chagrined voice. “Thanks to my blindness, my younger brother, Pandu, was made king. Only when Pandu went into self-exile was I placed on the throne, and that too, only as a Regent. Bhishma, our grandsire, keeps the primary control. I fear this secondary treatment will pass on to my sons.” “Don’t worry, King Dhritarashtra. Queen Gandhari is holding 100 sons in her womb, thanks to Sage Vyasa’s boon. Your wish for an heir will soon be fulfilled.” “