Art of writting Story

Writing a story is the most difficult art among literatures. Unlike articles it needs an end rather than a conclusion. Unlike poem it should have a flow and relations of consequences rather than a steady description. Story is a unification of the world inside and the world outside. We select characters, incidents and environments from our surroundings and modify them in shape of a story, a true story in our imaginary world.
For example, suppose I am travelling in a train. See outside the window. What do you see there? A small village with few tatchy huts. A woman is washing her cloths in pond. Buffalos are in fields feeding themselves. There are so many black buffalos. There is a boy among them, let say Gopi, common name for the village boy, dark complexion, very few cloths on his body. He is carrying a stick in his hand. Perhaps he is a shepherd. His father is a poor man. He can’t afford his education. There is a school in his village near the banyan tree. This is a government school and children are supposed to get free education here, therefore, getting education couldn’t be a problem for the boy. Then the question is why this boy does not go to school. Like me he also doesn’t like reading. But he has different idea. He thinks that if he studies then he can spend his life with ease and luxury. There is a difference between him and me. Unlike me, he had born in a poor family. He has suffered with scarcity which I didn’t. He attributes his misery to the illiteracy of his parents and therefore, he doesn’t want to remain illiterate. Nice thinking but the problem is there is no teacher in that school. The old master of that school died last year. After that there is no one to take care of the school except the daughter of the old master. Her name was Parvati. Normally, parents name their child on the name of divine personalities. She is a beautiful young girl, very shy in nature, fair complexion (writer specific description). She was taught by her father. After her father she wanted the job of teacher at that school but the head of the village prohibited her from getting that job because in his opinion girls should not be allowed to work.
Like every morning Gopi came to parvati house to collect her buffalos so that he can take them to field. This was his job. Gopi knew that Parvati was educated and she could teach him but he never asked her for it. But today he will ask her to teach him and he did. For Parvati it was like her dream come true. She always wanted to be like her father and today the opportunity was on her door. Time was scheduled that every evening she would give Gopi a private tuition.
Now, Gopi was good in reading letters. He could read sentences. There is a road which connects the village to the nearby town. Every day, many buses pass through the road. There is something written on the back side of that bus. Yes it is “Horn Please“. Gopi could read it. He shouted these words with his full strength. A surprised-face sags on him. He was the head of village that was just passing by. Gopi shuddered with fear and amusement broke off. Sorry, it was the sentence written on the rear of bus.
Parvati was death sentenced. Today, she will be attributed to the holly fire for the sin she has committed.
Now, I don’t have any intention to linger this story. Since, I am a citizen of a developing country which is struggling with lots of troubles; therefore, I am not supposed to give the story a happy ending. So you see ends are important. Well no doubt these days’ women are not being subjected to fires. These are the story of pre-independence days. I wove a story out of scenes from a small window of train. Now, come inside the train. There are so many unauthorized passengers who don’t have reservation to sit in this boggy but they are here. Every day these people use to travel on this train. This is like their home. In fact I am a guest in their home. And I can’t challenge them in their home. That middle aged man sitting just in front of me is an officer in old secretariat in Patna. He is an influential man. Every person in the train is trying to appease him. Every day he uses to go to the secretariat at 11:00 a.m. Lots of people meet him every day in his office in regard of their business. They offer hell amount of money for their work. Yes, I am talking about bribe. This gentle man accept bribe, a real villain for the people like us. But sometimes we also need to bribe to get our work done. We abuse the system but never tried to refine it. Everybody needs Mahatma Gandhi and Bhagat singh for their ideology but do not dare to be one of them. Now have a look on the ideology of this officer. Every person is doing wrong things to survive. This is inherent in our system. I have three daughters ready for the marriage. And every marriage is going to cost me at least 10 lac rupees. From where can I get this hell amount of money? What can I do? Now at this point one must think what is wrong and what is right.
Any way I leave this story unfinished at this point. Some story should be left unfinished. Now, look outside the window. There is a dog in the street trying to get his food from wastes. I had a pet dog too, jet black, thin, fast like hell, ferocious and always ready to fight other dogs. My neighbor also had a dog, German shepherd, big, tiger look. He always wanted a combat of two dogs. But my father never allowed one. One day I was walking with my dog. Sensing a good opportunity my neighbor throws a combat challenge and this time it’s me who accepted. No doubt German shepherd was stronger than my dog but war can’t be won by strength. The only thing is important is temperament. A real warrior never thinks of his strength. He has to fight and he has to win. It was a matter of moment that the German shepherd was on the ground below the paws of Indian dog. Defeat or victory never ends a war but it use to be a mere start. My neighbor never forgot that defeat and he doubled the meal of his dog. When you act by having motivated with jealously, you make series of self ruining mistakes. Due to over eating, his dog became bulkier and slow. The day of final combat appropriately last combat was arrived. Well I am the story teller and I have presented my dog as hero so his win is sure. So at this point, description is important. Indian black dog was standing before the gate of my neighbor. My neighbor held my dog at his neck, so that his movement became restricted and then he called his own dog. There was full arrangement of a fabricated win of German shepherd. You might wonder that how could I allow my neighbor to hold my dog. Well he told me that he wanted to establish a friendship between the two dogs and I couldn’t oppose. Here we see that in a war politics plays a very important role which made me helpless. So after holding my dog he called his dog. His dog came out from his gate and looked at the black hound just like Alexander looked at the empire of Magadh and tried to sneak through a corner as Alexander did several years ago. But this time it was not Magadh, even under the bound, the black dog tried attack the German shepherd and his that act frighten the shepherd and he escaped back to Greece. Fear always leads to great mistakes. Due to fear that shepherd dog couldn’t see that the hound is helpless and couldn’t do anything. But in the end I won. A happy ending story it was. But all stories do not have happy endings and some story doesn’t even have an end.
Now the train reaches Agra station. This station is very crowded. I don’t like crowd. Agra, the city itself is great proof of great love. Ah but I really don’t like stations. Somebody is crying, somebody is yelling. Holy shit! …….. Holy Shit!!!!!!!!!!!! Wow, what a girl? Damn beautiful…. Ultimate…. Masto type.. Aha ..uhu… I really love train stations. It’s like a real heaven. I think she comes here to board the train. Oh! God, do me a favor. Let this girl to come in my compartment. It would be so nice of you if this girl sits next to me. But I know you don’t grant my wishes. What the hell, she is sitting beside me. I am the luckiest guy on the earth. During whole journey I never looked straight in to her eyes and didn’t talk to her and New Delhi arrived. I got the taxi and reached FIITJEE hostel. That’s the end of my train journey.
THE END