The next few days were hectic in schedule. The king and the warrior seemed busy in preparation, discussing plans and exchanging notes all day. As for our hero, Seth, with a lot of free time in his hands, he spent his mornings busy exploring the garden and in long conversations with his princess. The more time he spent in this place, the lesser he though of his world, which already felt like a fading memory. He only wished he could let his parents know that he was safe and in love. It was a strange feeling, to be in love. Seth felt so at ease that he felt he could share his most intimate secrets, dreams and aspirations with the princess.

After years of being ridiculed at being a dreamer, he had concluded that he was indeed different and an alien amongst the people of his world. All alone he would spend lone hours contemplating life and his purpose in the world.

The book he had been writing was his last connection with all that he had experienced that was magical and mysterious in life. It had kept him sane in a world insane after money, fame and power. He recalled the senior editor of the publishing house rejecting his work. If only there was way to go back, he would shout it out to his parents, friends and the world, that magic exists, and that he had not been crazy to believe.

Ever since his arrival into this magical world he had felt he was finally on his way to discovering his true identity. He had once asked the king ‘what’s the truth’, the king had answered, ‘truth is an experience and is not something to be believed, told or read in books. The blueprint of the destiny of each man lies in that sacred space within where no thought, conditioning or emotions can exist.’

Seth was curious to know more about this inner space the king spoke off. The king had promised, ‘Each question asked will be answered, but the answer to all your questions lie within. Mediate on this and you will understand’. Seth resigned himself to the fact that no answers were forthcoming from the king. Maybe the answers do lie within, he pondered, but where.

Seth and the princess spoke often during their long walks through narrow well hidden paths. A new world was opening its arms to engulf him, a world of discovery and experience, a world of love and feelings. The more he shared and spoke, the more he felt unburdened and free.

One day while sitting under a tree, Seth, total in his relaxation was watching the clouds move across the vast expanse of the sky meditating on his past life, his passions and his relationships. He was searching for answers which would explain the unexpected turn of events in his life. While in midst of his deep thoughts he felt an urgent need to pen some of them down so he would not forget. He promptly removed a pad of paper from his pocket and started to write. It seemed the pen was moving on its own accord and the words forming on the paper had a life of their own. He was bewildered. As he watched the pen form line after line, he surrendered to the unknown power that was taking him over.

Unknown past
It burns within
Of betrayal
Of pain and of hurt
Of pleasure and of sin
Hidden wounds they reappear
Cause me to tremble
Cause me to fear
Memories with no face
Feelings with no name
Have taken me over
And cause me shame
What had I done?
What has happened to me?
Why is a loving heart
Still burdened, not free
How to heal a wound
That trusts not the heart
Once betrayed in love
Scared to hurt again
Or did I betray in love
And give my love but blame
Hidden waiting to be found
Time it seems is now near
To cleanse the burden of the ashes
Loves angels here
Give me courage to face
All that was lost in fear
Give me love to forgive
All that was near and dear

By the time he had finished writing he was overcome by a powerful urge to cry. This was the first time he had written anything so beautiful and poetic. He could see memories of his early life so clearly as if he was watching a silent movie. A dark mist which had clouded his eyes was being lifted and he felt unburdened and free. He sensed his pain, anger, jealousy and hurt had all been a part of life’s mysterious endeavor for him to learn. He felt much lighter as if a huge burden had been lifted off his sagging shoulders. He was filled with gratefulness for this gift he had received.

Over the next few days he wrote often.
The poetry came in the form of answers he had seeked to all the questions which had preoccupied his mind forever. It seemed as if each leaf and flower was created by this universe to inspire him. The chirping of the birds was a symphony for his higher understanding. Every loving moment became a song in praise of his beloved.

Even the whispering of the wind told tales for him to learn lessons of a world that existed beyond his mind. A lost world that had existed within him. An inner world he was coming to slowly perceive and understand. He felt blessed and special, a seeker of the ultimate treasure.

Once I asked of the sun:
Why does shine so brightly
Casting us your loving bait?
What summits scaled?
What depths fathomed? Have we
That you celebrate
Tiny our peaks and shallow the seas
Where seek us, our treasure
Does not the ultimate lie, in deepest
Ocean, on highest peak?
Thus spoke the sun:
I speak no ill, for yet
I am to scale my highest peak
To fathom my deepest ocean
So how to judge you?
Seeked have I, for eons
My highest, my deepest
To find one still higher, and …deeper
Judge not others
Or pride in your tiny hills and
Muddy waters; I cast my love to humble
And the vain, for me to share
My warmth and light, that
They may melt their hearts
See they may my treasure

He would recite his poems to the princess and they would spend hours sharing the joy and understanding it brought to both of them. He had never been happier. What surprised him was that even the king seemed very pleased with his poetic progress and would often spend long hours reading and rereading his poems with the uttermost of attention.

Writing a poem was treated like a pass-time, a mere hobby, back in his world, not something that serious people did. Though he had personally never be interested in writing poems back home, he had read many biographies of poets who had died alone, weary and poor as they felt they were not understood. Seth now understood that poets have always been a subject of misunderstanding. Their art was not just fancy dreams and mere flowery words, but secrets shared by heavens and the earth.

For long we dreamers, have heard whispers
of secrets between heaven and earth; in solitude
to lie of many things yet said, to make merry
of our misery
Surrendered, have I, to the Spirit
Who speaks a strange tongue; now I speak
her language that I may learn; no more the ink does dry
For I write in blood
No more, my words tremble, to please
A passing crowd; save my longing speaks
Within me
this be my journey
where few would hear, and fewer listen
I speak so my ears hear, and my heart …listen
I have set my sights beyond man
Where gods raise their eyes, to meet with mine
Infinite, boundless, limitless… our possibilities
Not a poets dream, I give you

He felt spiritually connected to each poet born before his time and each poet yet to be born in the future. He felt his early life had been wasted in pleasing people around him and in trying to impress them. Though he was loved by his family and friends, in his heart he had felt lost, as if some crucial element was missing in his life. Over time he had resigned to the fact that maybe there was something lacking in him.

This feeling of being inadequate to accept the world and its religious, social and moral codes of conduct had affected all areas of his life. His relationship with his parents, friends, his work and his past relationships with girls, all had seemed false as he himself felt he was not being real in fear of feeling judged or condemned. The false was seemingly more appreciated and valued than the real.

I desireth, the admiring eye
Who bears witness to my success
And failures, with vigilance
Yet they no awake, than I
I craved their fire to burn within
But what give he, who is poor
With weary heart, I smiled their smile
That forgotten have I, to laugh my laughter
Yet pleased none
Many faces have worn
Many a part played
Many have I loved in vain
Many a innocence was slain
And nothing have I gained
I awoke, mask less, naked from the womb of
Love; the first ray of sight, blinding, then clear
I learn to trust my eye, that I may see
For the first time, My truth

Through his poems he felt could express the unknown feelings which rose from his unconscious mind as daydreams and fantasies. As the poetry flowed, Seth felt happier and fulfilled with the new direction his life seemed to be taking. He was the poet, love had given him wings to fly and life was his muse.

He had everything he had every wanted out of life, right here, right now.

In the morning, the king disclosed ‘A warrior will be accompanying you on your quest’. Warrior! thought Seth. Finally! they had come to their senses. He asked a few prying questions trying to reassure himself that the warrior would be the one to slay the wizard, not him; he’s was there just for emotional support and his intellect.

Noon, it was time for the warrior to arrive. Seth was, by then really anxious to meet his new ‘partner’. He looked contemptuously at his watch and then realizing that they probably did not follow the time, as in his world, he looked at the sun. A distant roar in the horizon disturbed his final estimates and calculations of time.

A well built stallion raised dust in the horizon as it approached closer. Seth, saw a young man, with an athletic body, in black shiny amour and long jet black hair tied neatly into a ponytail. So, this was the warrior, he thought, suitably impressed by the warriors entry. Comfortably the young warrior leapt from his horse landing with a thud on his two feet. The young warrior had a demeanor of a – a, well, a young warrior.

The warrior strode past Seth, giving him an inquisitive look, before reaching the king. The look in the warriors eyes brimmed with sharp confidence. With a smart fancy bow, he said ‘Friend, it’s been a long time. So we meet again’. He had traveled over the great deserts and the mountains to join forces with the king in the battle against evil. This was his destiny. The king greeted him back, ‘Yes, the day has finally arrived, the one so awaited and yet, dreaded for so long’.

‘Well’ said the warrior ‘I am here now and it’s a great honor to be here by your side to fight the forces of darkness.

Show me the armies. Seth who was eyeing the warrior and trying to catch bits of the conversations, now smiled. The armies, he thought, so the warrior was expecting an army. He was not the only sucker then. If his smiled had widened any further, he would have needed stitches.

He walked up to the warrior, giving out his hand ‘Hi, I am Seth and it’s probably just you and me on the quest’. The warrior looked quizzically down at the little queer man standing besides him and then ‘questiongly’ at the king. The king said ‘Well! what he says is true.’

The warrior unbelievingly looked once more at the puny man standing besides him. This! He reconfirmed. This was the army with which he was supposed to defeat the evil wizard. There had got to be some mistake. The king took the warrior to one side. Seth was starting to get really annoyed at this large gorilla of a man in front of him who kept giving him curious stares. Finally the warrior came up to Seth ‘I don’t know if you are capable, but even I cannot question the kings faith in you’. The warrior hoped the king had made the correct choice.

Seth was too stunned to speak. The audacity of this fellow to come up to him and tell him straight on his face that he was incapable. Seth - the chosen one - incapable. He was starting to dislike this fellow and had to control the antagonizing pain which swelled up as the warriors hand crushed his own in what was a simple gesture commonly known as: The handshake. The king interrupted their mutual display of heart felt emotions.

‘Come, you must be tired from your journey. We shall eat now and then you must rest for your journey.’ Eat again, Seth thought sarcastically, ‘time really flies when you are having fun’. The dinner was quiet, except for the king and the warrior exchanging old stories. Normally, Seth would have loved to participate with some heroic tales of his own, but his anger for the warrior superceded his desire to participate in this conversation. A little later, the king took his leave and vanished into the inner rooms.

A glass of fruit juice later, Seth noticed that his princess was chatting too cosily with the warrior. He had heard the king mention that the warrior and the princess had been childhood friends. He rationalized that the physical gestures exchanged between them should not be taken too lightly. Seth excused himself, taking off to bed early. Lying in his bed he gazed at the romantic full moon finalizing his diabolic plan to woo back the princess. His eyelids droop as he entered into his alpha levels……

His victorious return after defeating the evil wizard. A huge celebration with lots of wine and women dancing, even better than the one he had seen when he had first arrived. The warrior sitting gallantly on (his) throne, wearing (his) jeweled clad crown. (His) beloved princess by his side and (his) loyal subjects, all in celebration of the newly crowned king: The Warrior.

Seth gasped for breath, waking up all sweaty and chocked. What a nightmare, he thought. He had to think positively. He recalled one of the self improvement books he had read a month back ‘Habits of Highly Positive People’.

Step 1: Remove All Negative Thoughts
Step 2: Never Give Up
Step 3. Keep…………..
(Our hero was soon positively fast asleep)

The dark thing outside the window stared at the young lad lying on the bed. He was sure he could just peel the delicate skin right off the bones of this young lad. He inhaled taking in the smell of the young man as he slid down the drainpipe. Ah, if only he could take a small bite of the young lad as a memory.

In the distance Seth saw a small hut. The hut had a bubbly brook going across in front of it. As you may already have guessed, there was no other way to the hut, other than to cross the brook. Maybe it’s the same brook, he thought ‘Who cares. Let me just wade across the water’. He really hated getting his new shoes wet all the time and wanted to catch the architect responsible for this crazy town(/brook) planning.

An old man was tending to his garden. He seemed to be a carbon copy of the king, but his beard was shorter and maybe not as white. So this was the ‘wise old hermit’ with all the answers, he thought.

‘I have seen you many times, in my dreams and visions’ the hermit said, gripping Seth’s hand excitedly. ‘So the prophecy is true. You have come to us to fulfill your destiny.’
Befuddled, Seth repeated ‘My destiny!’
‘Yes! Your destiny.

An ancient prophesy had predicted that our world would weaken. Our kingdom is the last link between man and existence. Our world of magic is slowly becoming extinct as man turns away from everything that is magical and mysterious.’ A dramatic pause for his guest to digest the seriousness of the situation.

‘An evil wizard, who has powers beyond our control and the ruler of the dark lands, has placed a ‘seed’ inside man. A seed of evil which fuels man’s greed for wealth and power. Man unknowingly, had prostituted his soul and continues on a path which will eventually lead to the final destruction of man himself.’

Another pause of silence. ‘You are the one chosen to help save both our world’s as both our world’s are connected.’

Hmm, Seth reflected seriously. What he had gauged so far from these stories was that this place was in some kind of deep shit and he was the one with the answers. If he did nothing about it, his world and theirs would eventually go into a reign of darkness and terror, and it was also clear, there was a evil wizard responsible. He had always felt that the planet was going to the dogs. Politicians and power crazy individuals, could end the world at the press of a button. Imagine! Kaboom !

They were calling it nuclear technology which would eventually bring world peace. Peace my foot!

Of course, how this train of thoughts were relevant to the above subject of discussion, is beyond comprehension.

The hermit continued, distracting Seth from his deep ponderings, ‘Now you must follow your destiny and fight the dark forces.’
‘F-fight’, stammered Seth, startled.

So much for hospitality. Not asking him to sit down or for a glass of water (or fruit juice) and now the audacity of asking him to fight: that to with an evil wizard. It had all seemed very nice, being a chosen one, but no one had mentioned anything about fighting. No ways! He thought, brooding, in times like these he always remembered his dear mother.

Resisting a strong urge to scuttle away, he stammered ‘W-what c-can I do. There must be some mistake.’ After all, he was just a writer, that too a non-accomplished one. How could he fight against the forces of evil?, what weapons would he use? He snickered at his thoughts, that for an instant he was actually considering the option of fighting; planning his strategies and weapons.

‘Don’t underestimate yourself’, the hermit said.
‘Think back, think about the book you are writing’, all the while making hypnotic gestures with his long elegant fingers.
The book, Seth thought. What book?
In all the excitement he had forgotten his book he had been writing. Then it dawned on him, why this place, the king and the princess had looked so familiar. It was not déjà vu.

Somehow this kingdom had all existed in his book. Of course not exactly in a manner of speaking, but overall, familiar. Now he was really unsure if this was reality or just one of his really long day dreams. The hermit looked at him as if reading his mind, ‘Do you see now. This is your destiny. A QUEST to save both our worlds.’

Seth was still trying to digest this moment. This was so unbelievable that his fears was replaced with questions. He collected his train of thoughts. ‘Suppose for a moment I believe that I am a chosen one. Where do I find this Mr. Evil Guy? How do I defeat him?’ The hermit looked thoughtful as if trying to conjure an answers ‘Somehow there are never any answers when one is out on a quest to fulfill his destiny, but on the path you will receive signs. Follow your heart.’

Yah! Right, Seth thought, no answers when one is out to fulfill his destiny. ‘Is this some sort of a joke and do I look like a Bozo’, he said almost aloud. He had never taken to the drink in his life. This, he comprehended, would be an ideal time to start.

‘So go on your way now, as we have very little time’. The hermit turned away, attending to his garden once more as if none of this conversation had ever taken place. Seth looked at the hermit half expecting him to turn back and say something more.

After all this was crazy: ‘So-o here I am fighting this evil wizard!’ He walked over to the princess who was in the backyard of the hut chit-chatting with wild flowers. Crazy, he thought, this place was definitely crazy; OR maybe, he was the one going insane. The look on the princess’ face was different, as if searching his soul. Her face radiated the setting sun. He looked into her deep brown eyes.

My God, it cannot be true. It cannot be HER.
Was she the little girl of his dreams?
Images flash of two children, laughing, experiencing adventures in a magical land. Flashback of a ‘promise’ he had made long time back – a ‘promise’ to a special friend. First the book and then his imaginary childhood friend. Yes! It was confirmed. He was now ‘certified insane’.

She was not a dream. He was unsure whether to be mad at his parents, friends or at himself for forgetting his promise. She was definitely not a dream. He felt a surge of anger towards all those grown-ups and friends who had never believed him. As a final verification of his mental health, he reached out and touched her fair cheek. She was real - the cheek blushed, knowing that her long lost friend had finally remembered.

Seth face was pale. Words forming at the tip of his tongue, got swallowed straight back in. ‘Come’ she said, ‘It will be night soon and father will be waiting for us.’ He tried to maintain a straight face during their journey back. After all he was the chosen one: chosen to probably die, he thought, but decided against telling her that her hero, the savior of their world was actually, a chicken at heart. It was evening by the time they returned to their cottage, and the king was standing by the door, waiting eagerly for their return.

‘Well’, the king said ‘We should probably eat now as you will need the energy for your quest in a month from today.’ Seth was, now, really frightened. Somehow he had thought there would be more time, not just one piddly little month. They would definitely need to train him in the magical arts . After all what did he know about slaying a powerful wizard? Seth did not know when their meal, a bowl of fruits(as you may already have guessed) was over.

All alone in bed, he tried visualizing his victorious return after defeating the evil wizard in a quest to save the world.

A huge celebration, with a lots of wine and women dancing, even better than the one he had seen when he had first arrived. Himself sitting gallantly on a throne, wearing a jeweled clad crown. His beloved princess by his side, and his loyal subjects, all in celebration of the newly crowned king: HIM.

After all, fairy tales always have happy endings. Don’t they?

A hand was pulling at his sheet. Seth murmured in his sleep ‘Come on mom, let me sleep some more’.

‘Good morning’ came an unexpected voice. Seth, through his half closed eyes, saw a beautiful girl standing next to his bed. He pinched himself (all this pinching was making his arm sore). It was not a dream! he thought, he was really - where was he? In a daze he moved towards the window. Had he died and gone to heaven? Then the old man he had met must be ‘God’ and the princess an ‘Angel’; definitely an angel, but he had seen no visible wings. He rubbed his eyes again, adjusting his glasses. ‘Where am I?’, he asked realizing that this must have been the umpteenth time he had asked this question but no one out here seemed to bother with an answer, other than ‘magical realm’. His logical mind craved for more concrete information. ‘I need to know. Am I dead?’ he muttered quietly to himself. He quickly felt his body, reassuring himself.

The princess smiled, ‘This is our world, not to far from yours and my father…’, pointing to the old man sitting in the garden ‘is our king’. Seth scratched his head to remember. Last night was such a haze. ‘He is the one who got you here, remember?’, trying to impress him with her father’s wizardry. ‘Come, I will show you around’, she said, taking his hand in her own. For the first time since he had gotten here, he felt that this was for real. Sounds of birds and creatures of the dawn greeted him. This world of hers, was truly amazing. Each step was a scintillating experience of colours, textures and aromas, from florescent flowers to gigantic mushrooms.

An oversized bumble bee zipped by his ear, while playing hide and seek with a woodpecker. Alice in wonderland he thought. Who and where the hell was Alice, in any case?

‘This place is really beautiful’, he rambled on and on adjusting his glasses every now and then as they kept slipping from their confines. It’s was like fairyland. The princess walked along in silence. Every once in a while he caught her slyly trying to catch a glance. She had an inquisitive expression about her face. She must be shy, he thought and was waiting for him to make the first move. Just when he thought he had gathered enough courage to cough up an ingenious opening line she curiously beat him to it pointing to his glasses which lay strategically balanced on his nose.
‘What are those?’
‘These are glasses’, pause, ‘Well with four eyes’, pause, ‘I can see you better’, he said all with appropriate hand – eye coordination. He was incredibly impressed with his sense of humour. He broke into a spasm of high pitched laughter as if in respect for his linguist abilities. A little later - realizing he was playing the grand orchestra alone, his laughter kicked the bucket. ‘It’s a joke’, he explained sheepishly.

She nodded her head; not a smile on those lovely lips. Well, he surrendered, it was probably not all that funny in any case. Desperate to keep open their channel of communication he vomited out details of a filthy dump called his world. Is there no better way to seduce a lady, than telling her that your home stinks. Well it does, Seth complained. It was true; you don’t need an environmentalist to see the havoc man was creating. In fact he was reminded of a poem from a famous poet back in his times. How did it go? Ah, Yes!

‘Oh, mother nature, in your arms you gave us birth
Loved us when we were still unknown
And raised us like your very own
Yet on your land man puts barricades
Proclaims parts of the land as his own
As if one could own the earth and skies
Man continues to deceive his own eyes
He rapes and plunders his land for more
And leaves when pastures are green no more.
Till he finds another piece of land to claim
And rips his mothers clothes to shame
He cuts the forests which breathe with us
For profits of some unknown lust
He kills the living for game and shoes
And brings upon himself unknown woes
Little does he realize, when trees will be no more
And living things will become scarce
Our mother cries for her children
Who destroy themselves in haste

PS: The famous poet is also the author of this book. Talk about coincidences. Also it may be noted that the poet is still not, so famous.

‘Who has spoilt your home?’ she asked politely. A valid question, he deduced. Yes! lets see, now who was responsible: politicians, businessmen, priests, … the neighbours… Just as he was about to present his infamous hit list – he grasped what he presumed to be her true question.

He had conveniently omitted one member in his hit list, ‘Himself’, as each individual was responsible for the environment. A deep frown on her face, ‘It’s because of you. I mean it’s because of people in your world that we are dying. My father has told me stories of your world, how you destroy everything that is beautiful, cut the forests and kill the animals. You teach your children that we don’t exist, but we do exist! as you can see.’
Seth’ expression was quizzical: a look that asked - what are you talking about lady?
‘You are like the others, you all forget everything… all your promises…’, she mumbled.
‘Forget?’, repeated Seth involuntarily, barely catching her fast words. What was he supposed to remember in the first place? Ah! woman, go figure. A question which must have had confounded, even Plato: Understanding Woman.

Seth realised that he had taken this open-channel-of-communication ‘thingy’ too far. It was time to take this relationship to a newer level. Time to get back to the basics of dating: ask her out to the movies. But, does this place have a movie hall? An awkward silence follows.

Sensing his apparent state of confusion, she figured that she had probably spoken too much. After all, he was supposed to be their savior, or so her father had told her, even if he did not behave like one. She held onto his hand once more, and literally, dragged him back towards the cottage. The king was sitting in the front lawn. He looked up from his book, ‘I hope she did not trouble you too much’.
Seth nodded his head.
‘Come, sit besides me’

Since there wasn’t another chair, Seth sprawled on the green grass succumbing to the electric feel of the fresh dew on the palm of his hand. The king continued, fondling his white beard ‘I know you are confused as to why you are here’, pause, ‘The answers are not as easy to explain as I thought they would be, but you will get them eventually’. A long pause of silence.
‘Let me tell you a story’ the king broke the contemplative silence.

Seth eagerly cuddled up besides the king. He was having a hard time grasping the kings simple-to-the-point metaphorical language and a story was always a welcome diversion. Also Seth’s hovering eye had caught some of the titles of a few of the books stacked on a large mushroom besides the king Slaying a demon, The book of spells…
The king cleared his throat.

‘Once upon a time there lived a little boy who often visited a fairyland. He spent his days in innocent mirth and youthful laughter with friends that loved and looked after. But as this youth came of age, toiling in this worlds rage, forget he did his friend, destiny he tried to bend.’ Seth looked on a little sadly hoping the story had a happy ending. He loved stories with a happy ending. The King continued ‘But somehow the little boy managed to keep his memories alive in stories he often wrote. Years later the little boy returned to fairyland only this time as the last hope to save this magical land. What does the little boy do?’

‘What’ asked Seth expectantly.
‘That’s what we need to find out’ answered the king.
What! thought Seth, realizing the story was over. The ending could definitely use a little work.

The king continued, ‘Later in the day, you shall go down the river to the place where an old wise friend of mine, the Hermit lives, and he may have some of the answers you seek. As for now, I must rest.’

Having said this, the king excused himself and went into the cottage. Seth nodded his head. He had by now resigned to the fact that he was never going to get an answer to the only two questions he had asked since he had come here.

Where was he?
Why was he here?
Maybe the hermit had all the answers.
Another big glass of fruit juice, later.
The princess asked him to follow her. She did not hold his hand this time, and he was a little saddened. They crossed the brook once more( and yes, his shoes got wet again). This time he could see small fishy creatures of unknown shapes and colours, whizzing through the clear gushing water. He quickly scanned the brook(side) for ‘Winki’ - his frog. Nope! no winking frogs in sight. As he walked, he realized he had a packet of smokes in his pocket. In all the excitement he had forgotten his favorite pastime back home: smoking. He stuck a cigarette to his lips, lighting it. As he exhaled, a sense of relief spread over his body - finally a string to his world.

The princess, till now curious made a sour face at the odour of the smoke. ‘Why do you blow out smoke like the dragon. Only yours is a lot smellier’. He tried explaining the rationality behind taking in foul smelling smoke and then blowing it out, BUT failed to do so. Who Could?
And had the princess really seen a fire breathing dragon. He wanted to ask more, but kept quiet. Not wanting to upset the princess, he tossed the cigarette to show her how much she meant to him.

A big mistake. The princess looked outraged. It took no clairvoyant to figure her hostile message: pick that up right now before I beat the shit out of you. Seth promptly undid his crime. How irresponsible of him, he thought, mad at himself. First he marveled the cleanliness of the place and then tossed trash to pollute it. Maybe his world had been just as beautiful and it was people like him had spoilt it. He shuddered at the thought. He had never felt comfortable taking responsibility for any of his actions. Responsibility made him feel very uncomfortable. The princess walked through the woods with ease, familiar with the paths. She seemed to have forgiven his recent misdeed. He asked for her real name. She replied ‘Princess’.

She moved with the grace of a ballerina, familiar with every plant, flower and even the little creatures who crawled around. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had names for all of them. Many a times, she stopped to smell or talk to a flower and made him do it too. It seemed stupid, but he did not want to displease his princess any further. He sensed some kind of chemistry building between them and did not want to spoil whatever was left after his recent clumsy behavior.

Seth, smiling to himself, thought of one of his friends catching him smelling or talking with flowers. The boys back home would surely have a good laugh at his expense.

The brightness around him slowly reduced and his vision returned. Strange colorful plants, bright gigantic flowers and long spiralling green trees greeted him. He rubbed his eyes and re-adjusted his glasses. Where was he? Swaying gently in the breeze, like coiled up springs, the branches of the trees invited him to come and sit in their shade. In a strange way they seemed alive. He had never seen trees like this before. The grass too was an unusually shade of emerald green and the sky; blue and clear with an odd purplish hue.

He takes in a deep breath, the freshness of the air almost choking him. He pinched his arms trying to break this dream and return to reality. There was still no change. He pinched himself once more, this time harder and let out a howl of pain, hoping his father would not find him day dreaming in the house - like always.
This place was weird, not frightening, but definitely weird.

He heard soft music coming from beyond the trees, flutes and bells blended with the natural sounds of the wind rustling through the trees. Enthralled by the harmony and melody of the music, he found himself moving in that direction. As if in a trance, he moved through the thicket as the music increased in volume and tempo. He stopped in his tracks. He was standing at the edge of a small hill. Below was a narrow, not so steep path, winding down into what seemed like a town square. In the distance he could see many small figures dancing in a procession. In his excitement, he rushed down the winding road, tripped on the lose pebbles and found himself rolling down the hill.

‘Ouch’, ‘Ouch’, ‘Ouch’. He got up, wiping the mud off his jeans. The only thing hurting: his pride. He re-adjusted his glasses, trying his best not to look as stupid as he felt. He found himself in the middle of a town square or so it seemed. All around him were men and women dancing, human yet strangely different. They were all slender, extremely beautiful and were wearing dark green embroidered robes, ornaments and exotic jewels. They were mostly of medium height, rosy cheeked and bare footed. Maybe this was one of those exotic fashion parades, he thought.

The men and women looked vibrantly alive as they danced, apparently not noticing the stranger, who had literally, fallen amongst them. One little fellow, not boy nor man, of youthful body and wisened face, wearing a green suit, moving as if half dancing, half walking, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes he pointed in Seth’ direction speaking aloud in a strange dialect. Others stopped dancing; they curiously eyed the strange lad in front of them. Seth, dressed in his worn-out jeans, an orange pullover, messed up hair and glasses, must have looked an odd sight.

Seth, noticing that he was now the center of attention, felt a familiar feeling rise, starting from the pit of his stomach and slowly moving upwards. He wanted to say something but his voice had deserted him. He swallowed his spit, gulping it down, almost choking himself. He always hated being the center of the stage (in this case a very strange procession), with everybody staring intently at him. This was the reason he had never enrolled for drama classes or public speaking back in school, or any of the extra curricular activities, for that matter.

His hands, deeply entrenched safely inside his jeans pockets, his body swaying from side to side, he nervously managed ‘H-hello! Sorry to intrude, but where am I?’

He was aware that it may have sounded like a stupid question, but it seemed relevant to him. No one spoke. No one moved. They kept staring silently, and watchfully. There was pin drop silence, the kind that caused the hair of his skin to rise. It seemed the silence stretched forever. From the crowd, he could see one young woman moving towards him; she was obviously well respected as everyone gave way as she slowly approached him. She was just about the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his entire life.

She was young, maybe seventeen or eighteen and had the body of a goddess. She was fair, had big brown eyes and luscious pink lips. She was wearing a translucent gown which changed colours like a shifting rainbow. She wore no ornaments except a pendant around her neck. He stood transfixed, her fragrance overwhelming him. It was a perfume of pure essence and certainly not man made. It had the smell of exotic flowers and herbs, which intoxicated him, causing his pulse to race. There was a quality about this girl that made him feel very aware, very sensual and yet it was not the same arousal he usually felt with other woman. He was puzzled with the sense of familiarity with this woman. Had he met her before?

The girl raised her hand, her delicate, long fingers making poetry in the air, she gestured him to follow her. She turned around, gliding away, her gown swaying deliciously showing him a glimpse of her long slender legs. He wanted to ask so many questions; where was he? what was her name? but for the moment, he intelligently decided to follow her quietly. The beautiful people in the town square stared, pointed, whispered and giggled.

The houses were small, colourful, elegant and very tastefully done. The streets were narrow, brick-lined and zigzagged. The streets were clean, very clean. A few men and woman passed, their eyes glued to the ground. A few prying eyes peeked through the safety of their homes. A small child, naked, with big eyes, was sitting by the road and playing with a ball. The ball was moving on its own accord, defying all laws of gravity, as if, it was playing with the boy.

Bewildered, but he does not stop, frightened at being left behind he continued following the girl. A little further on, he could no longer see, the little boy no more, the pretty town no more, the beautiful people no more. In a short span of time the scene around them was changing rapidly. The trees were relatively smaller. They looked like those artificial plants he could get back home at department stores which glowed in the dark. The path ahead was narrower and in the distance he saw a garden, beyond which there was a cottage. The cottage looked pretty with a thatched roof, pastel coloured walls and window boxes with flowers. It had a chimney, but there was no smoke coming out.

The garden was well maintained, yet looked natural. It assaulted his senses with colours, aromas and textures, as if enchanted. He could hear the sounds of birds singing. Everything seemed alive, each plant, each branch; they too were bathed in an odd purplish haze, which seemed to be everywhere, around them.

His ‘Angel’ had moved far ahead; or so he had named her (not knowing her real name). She not only definitely looked like an angel but she was his angel in this strange place, since she was guiding him. Ofcourse he had no idea where she, his angel, was guiding him too, but surprisingly that thought did not bother him.

He quickly picked up his pace, not wanting to loose sight of the only person who seemed to know anything about where they were headed.

Between the garden and the cottage ran a small bubbling brook, which was strange as there was no other way to get to the cottage, other than, crossing the brook. He stepped into the brook, a little worried at getting his new shoes wet. The water was amazingly crystal clear; the bed covered with perfectly round white stones of all sizes and colourfull weeds which swayed gently. The brook was shallow, but there was no visible life inside. The edge of the stream was lined with smaller white pebbles, arranged too neatly to be natural.

On the other side, near a green bush, sat a rather large green frog. It lay there basking in the sun, motionless, with only the eyeballs following him. He stared back at the frog and then stopped in his tracks. The frog held his look, then suddenly winked before jumping into the brook and disappearing. It cannot not be! Was he dreaming?

By now, he had resigned himself to the fact that this was in fact a dream, a figment of his imagination, in which case it should not be surprising that a frog would wink at him. His ‘Angel’ had disappeared into the cottage. The cottage reminded him of his early days at the farmhouse with his parents. He used to love it there, lazing and playing all day long. He had never forgiven his parents for moving into the big bad city. He then realised he was standing all alone, in front of a stranger’s cottage. Fighting off a strong urge to pinch himself again, he was now curious to see what would happen next and did not want to break this dream; if, ofcourse, this was really a dream. An old man appeared on the doorstep. He was dressed in an embroidered robe, dark green in color. The old man motioned for him to come on inside.

Dark Green was sure a favourite colour this fall. The old man’s long white beard almost touched the floor, but his skin was clear and fresh like that of someone a whole lot younger. What caught his attention was that though the old man wore no fancy ornaments like the ones he had seen in the town square and yet an aura of power and wisdom extruded him. He looked into the old man’s eyes. They were calm and contemplative. Though Seth was in a strange land, in front of a strange house belonging to this strange old man, yet (strangely) he felt no hesitation in entering the cottage. He could not place his finger on it, but somehow the surroundings felt familiar.

The room was larger than he would have thought it would be. It had two large windows touching the ground. The room was illuminated as though the walls, though solid, let the light seep past them. There seemed to be no electric lights in the room but then he had not seen any electric poles outside either. There was no furniture in the room, save a small table with three wooden stools around it. How perfect, one for him, one for the old man and maybe the other for his guiding angel. He hoped she was around here somewhere.

Was this old man her father? Then he would have to ask his permission to date his daughter? ‘I think you better sit down’ said the old man in a slow deep voice. Seth, exuberant, took a seat. Happy that the old man spoke English, and happy that someone had actually spoken to him. He was getting tired of all the gesturing, pointing and giggling.

‘Where am I?’ asked Seth.
The old man, making vicious curls in his beard with his long fingers answered ‘Welcome to our realm of magic.’
‘Did you say magic?’, responded Seth, alarmed.
‘Yes, ofcourse, magic.’ said the old man.
‘Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am the king of this realm. With the help of my daughter and a little magic,
I have brought you here into our land.’
‘King! Your land! Magic!’ echoed Seth.
Just then, Seth’s ‘Angel’ walked in and took a seat next to the self proclaimed king. Seth quickly tidied his hair, managed a low ‘Hello’, and flashed his best smile.
‘Allow me to introduce my daughter, my princess, to you.’

Seth stared at the princess expecting a hello. The princess just stared back, then winked. Startled, Seth glasses fall to the floor. He gave a sheepish grin, picked up his glasses and balanced them back on the bridge of his nose. The princess finally smiled. She looked at him once more and broke into an uncontrollable giggle. The king gave her a stern look, as if to tell her it was not polite to laugh (or giggle) at guests. The king then requested her to bring them some food to eat. Food. Yes, Seth thought, ‘I am hungry’. The princess disappeared again into the inner rooms.

The king looked around as if to making sure the coast was clear. He moved his chair closer to Seth’s and whispered ‘ I have rehearsed this moment a thousand times in my dreams, hoping I would meet you someday. Yet here I am, speechless.’ Seth looked on thoughtfully. The king continued ‘You know you have a choice. You can choose to go back to your world and awaken in your land, your house, and this will just be a forgotten dream. Or you can choose to stay here and think of this as an adventure.’ Not much of a choice, Seth thought, this was where he wanted to be. Anyway, he liked adventures and most of all he liked the princess.

‘I will stay’, replied Seth and the look on the king's face told him he had made the correct choice. The king felt a little guilty; he knew he was not telling this young lad the entire truth, but he had no choice, this is the way it had to be. The princess soon returned with a bowl of assorted fruits in her hand. ‘Now we eat’ invited the king. ‘Hmm’, Seth thought, ‘desert’s first’. What a strange custom, but who was he to complain. Some of the fruits looked strange, but after a quick taste, he decided, he liked desert. Within a moment his bowl was empty. He patted his stomach in appreciation and to kindly convey the message that he was eagerly waiting for the main course.

A little later he realised that this was the main course and the desert. His stomach was still growling for food but he decided against asking for more in case it seemed impolite.

‘Now we sleep’ said the king. Sleep! Seth thought. How could he sleep when there were so many unanswered questions. The king gestured for the princess to take Seth to his room ‘Sleep well as a long journey awaits you tomorrow.’ The king excused himself. He was feeling weak after that last spell. It was not often that a mortal was invoked into their world.

Seth followed the princess to a room with a small bed. He wanted to ask her where the hell he was. Not that he was complaining. The princess bided him farewell. Good night, he consoled himself, sweet dreams. He guessed a kiss would have been out of question. Extremely tired, he lay down on the bed made of soft hay and dried leaves. It was fluffy and comfortable. He sighed as his tired body sank into the bed. There was a homely, rustic smell about the room. The aroma enticed him to drift into a fluffy relaxed state.

The room de-illuminated itself in a manner of speaking, considering there were no electric lights to switch off. The room was now dark, with just ample light to see its contours. Not much to see anyways, as the only thing that could be called furniture was the bed he was sleeping on. There was a large window by his side and he could see the stars shimmering in the moonlight. It reminded him of his room at the farmhouse. Not too much of thought had been given to the aesthetics in this room, he thought, remembering his best friend, who was a budding architect and interior designer. Maybe later he could ask the king if he could do his mumbo jumbo and get his friend here too. Hah! He could just imagine the look on his friend's face.

Exhausted, his eyes close and he was soon fast asleep.

Outside the bedroom window, something dark was hovering around. It moved slithering down the drainpipe. Seeing the young man asleep on the bed caused his stomach to growl and twist as inhuman thoughts of a feast entered his demented mind. He would have to wait. He licked his lips in anticipation. He skittered off into the garden, towards the forests, carrying the smell of the young lad in his memory.

Around twelve years later. Beep…beep…beep... Seth switched off the blaring alarm clock. One often wondered, how was it that, with eyes closed, one could pinpoint and disarm the evil twin of the sandman with such ease. So, Seth having defeated his worthy opponent in a battle of wits, comfortably eased back, into slumber.

Actually do we realise the importance given to a name in our world? After all, it’s just the outcome of one of those late night pondering our parents went through. ‘Hmm, honey let's call him Joe or Sridhar’ Or ‘let’s call her Diane or Julie.’ ‘No honey, this name just doesn’t seem right, lets call the neighbours over for drinks and a discussion.’ We do not have much of a choice do we?

And somehow, this name has become more important than our independent spirit. For this story let us not label our hero. For simplicity we call him ‘Seth’. Thus Seth belongs to no race, no religion and no country. Lets just assume he belongs to the world, infact the universe. Now back on to the story.

‘Wake up honey’. His mother walked briskly into the room, as if waking him was a part of her daily morning list of chores and the alarm clock – well, a showpiece. She switched off the television, pulled open the dark green drapes. The morning light of the sun seeped into the once dark room sending millions of particles helter-shelter. Seth murmured in his sleep. She picked up the scattered books lying on the bed, ‘Rise and shine honey, you don’t want to be late for your presentation today - remember!’.

The words ‘the presentation’ struck a high cord in some conscious part of his brain.
‘Good morning mom, what’s the time’
‘Time to be up honey’ she said, leaving the room to attend to her other menial chores. Seth rubbed his eyes, reached out towards the side table, groping for his glasses. He fumbled as put them on, his eyes adjusting to the contours of the room. His room was a mess. Books were lying scattered on his desk, a stack of un-filed sheets of paper, and his favorite coffee mug, half filled with stale coffee from yesterday. He opened his bedroom window. A big mistake.

Loud horns and blaring sirens greeted him. The noise level way above the prescribed limits, even on the fourth floor of their two bedroom apartment in the city. Opposite, his neighbour: a ramshackle building; the paint peeling in intricate layers, green moss vegetating the ill-maintained sooty windows. A young woman peeking. She smiled at him. He smiled back. He closed the window, drawing the curtains. Silence once more. He longed for his room in the attic: the backyard, the golden cornfields, the abandoned nest, the clear blue sky, the white fluffy clouds, the musical chattering of the squirrels. In his heart, he knew, he had never forgiven his parents for moving into the city.

He looked at his watch. It was time for him to get ready. The presentation, he thought. He had spent the last one and a half year of his life, literally, in this very room: many late nights, cups and cups of strong coffee and cigarettes incensing in the ashtray; he had been working on a concept for his first novel; he had titled it Seeds. The final draft of his novel was over, well almost over. He was still not satisfied. It lacked something: it lacked SOUL. His professor words rang in his ears.

His professor: a doctorate in literature and philosophy, having written a few successful novels himself, used to say ‘You never know when a novel is complete, just something in your heart tells you: it’s there’. Seth sighed as he recalled nostalgically of his long discussions with the professor walking around the park during the lunch breaks. Professor would say - Literature is a sensuous art, using words to create visual and auditory sensations, that touch human emotions.

Seth felt both guilty, as well as uneasy, as today, he was to present his manuscript to a large publishing house, a reference given to him by a close friend. A good deal of pressure from his parents, friends and colleagues had been instrumental for this hastened decision. He looked at his watch again; he would have to hurry. Grabbing a towel, he hurried over to the bathroom. The vicious dark circles under his eyes, sucked in cheeks told stories of an unhealthy lifestyle. After a quick shower, he pulled on his lucky faded jeans and a smart orange pullover. He tried to set his untidy long wavy hair. ‘I really need a haircut’, he reminded himself. He hastily stuffed copies of the manuscript and his lucky pen into a leather case before rushing towards the dining table.

His father, like always was sipping on his coffee, reading the newspaper, engrossed in his daily morning ritual. He looked up at Seth, ‘Good morning son, are you all ready for the big day?’ and then disappeared again into the financial pages of his paper.

Seth mumbled ‘Yes Dad ’, not sounding too confident, as he plopped into his chair. In a hurry he poured some skimmed milk into a bowl. Hmm, which cereal should he have today? He takes his pick off the shelf, spilling a few onto the table as he poured them into the bowl.
He gulped down the last scoop of cereal almost chocking himself. He then grabbed the leather case and headed for the door. ‘Bye mom, bye pop, see ya later’. His mother rushed out of the kitchen with a jam sandwich in her hand. ‘Have this on your way, and best of luck’; she pecked him on his cheek. He blushed.

An empty cab was standing by the neighbours front door. The neighbours daughter was paying her fare, struggling with her shopping bags and three inch heels. He looked the other way, trying to avoid her gaze. It was too late; she flashed him a smile. He smiled back. She had been the cheerleader at his last school and had been voted the most popular girl. Once, a few days before senior prom, he had asked her to go to the prom with him. It was a long time back, but he remembered the incident as if it had happened, just yesterday.

She had been a close friend every since his family had moved into the city. But ever since her promotion to the ‘elite’ of the school, she had been avoiding him, ignoring his calls, looking away when he waved out to her. His friends told him ‘Why do you keep trying to talk with her, cant you see she is embarrassed to be seen with you’. He did not believe them. His faith in friendship had conquered the obvious logic which was visible to everyone, but himself. As a reinforcement to his breaking pride, he had told his friends he was asking her out to the prom. One lazy afternoon, a few days before the big day, he saw her sitting by the basketball court with a few of her girlfriends.

Gathering courage, he walked up to her and asked her out. Yes, that simple. Her reaction was a blitz of facial stimuli which moved from: shock to embarrassment, confusion to pity, finally ending in a complete dead blank. He had never known such a rupture of emotions, in so little a time.

Composing herself (as you can understand the burdens of puberty), she had replied, amidst giggles and funny looks from her friends, that she was already going with the captain of the football team. He had been overcome with embarrassment, pondering about a life about to end at such a tender age - his. He was ridiculed and laughed at the entire semester. She was to get engaged soon, to the captain of the football team.

He blinked. He saw her waddle up the stairs, shopping bags in hand. He noticed that she had put on weight, and that too not in the right places; ‘there is justice after all’. He quickly got into the cab and into the busy streets. A few minutes from his destination, the cab came to a dead halt. Ahead, a flashy black car had run into another car causing a traffic jam. Not having patience to wait anymore, he paid his fare and dashed onto the streets. A black cat crossed his path. ‘What a good omen’, he thought sarcastically. You know, you don’t believe in omens and superstitions, but still, you prefer they did not happen all the same. The pale faced man from the flashy car, wearing a black suit, a thick gold chain around his neck shimmering in the light of the sun was screaming obscenities at the other car driver, pointing to his precious damaged car.

Unswept leaves flew along the pavement; a slight chill in the air. The smells and sounds of city life. Seth quickly made his way through the hoard of people rushing in all directions; he stopped only at a traffic crossing. While waiting, he watched the impatient morning faces. A fat rosy-cheeked lady, smelling like an exotic buffet was balancing a large grocery bag, a milkshake and a packet of large fries in one hand. At this point it would be rude to mention about the contents in her other hand.

Another gentleman just on his left: thin chaplin moustache, neatly gelled hair, wearing a blue suit and a crooked tie; he was shouting on his mobile, complaining about his financial losses in the stock market, apparently to his unsuccessful broker, while trying to get a number off his palmtop. The light turned green and people scurried past him across the road; everyone seemed to be in a hurry to reach someplace!

He picked up his pace. Around the corner, the delicious aroma of freshly ground coffee titillated his olfactory senses. He stopped outside the coffee shop. Did he have time to have a quick cup of coffee? God knows, he needed one desperately. Looking at his watch, he unwillingly decided, to skip the much desirous cup of coffee. Later, he consoled, he would grant himself this wish - generously. Someone bumped into him, interrupting his coffee dreams and causing his glasses to slip off his nose. Adjusting his glasses, he turned around and saw an elderly lady with wrinkled face, scarf covering her graying hair, knitted pullover to keep the chill away, clutching onto her walking stick, struggling to pick up her handbag which had fallen onto the pavement. Seth picked up the handbag and handed it to the sweet old lady. ‘Oops, I beg your pardon’, he smiled politely. The sweet elderly lady cautiously accepted her possession, then in a startling move that would have put ‘Bruce Lee’ to shame, she swung it, striking him across his left eye. He howled in pain. ‘You young hooligans, never @#$#*#@ watch where you are going’, she shrieked, her sweet wrinkled face, now a contorted mask of anger. He had never killed anyone before, and wondered if you got capital punishment in this state for the murder of a senior citizen.

Seth quietly slipped away into the crowd, one hand pacifying his stinging eye. What was this world coming to? Finally making his way past the swarming, now hostile crowd, he finally made it to his destination. Eyeing the long lines for the elevator, he dashed up the stairs.

Publishers Office: the secretary, a very snobbish, very pretty lady was sitting with a women’s magazine lying open on her desk and nail polish in one hand. She directed him towards the conference room. She was really hot. As any warm blooded mammal, he felt a certain arousal at a possible mating with a species of his kind. The conference room was aesthetically designed; rich polished teakwood furniture specially the large engraved conference table in the center, thick Persian carpets, brass framed picture frames neatly hanging on the walls. This was the place where dreams were made, or broken, he thought, especially for a young aspiring writer like him. Catching his breath, he placed copies of his manuscript - Seeds, neatly on the conference table; one for each chair. Satisfied, he took a seat, wiping the anxious sweat off his brow, which itself was quiet extraordinary as the room temperature would have sufficed a polar bear.

Seth looked at his watch again, reconfirming the time. Affirmative - they were late. A minutes later, he felt a familiar feeling rise in is gut, as one by one new faces entered the room and seated themselves around the conference table. ‘Good morning gentlemen’ greeted the chairperson, handing his business card to Seth.

The senior editor of the company, a young pompous fellow, gelled hair, crooked eyes and a string of degrees affixed below his name, which explained his latter arrogance.
Half an hour later into the presentation, the senior editor interrupted ‘Seth, your writing style and ideas for the book are definitely innovative, but …’

‘But?’ repeated Seth, ‘questiongly’, peeved at this fellow, who had interrupted him in mid-sentence. This fellow – who was also currently deciding his future, shook his head in a reptilian side-to-side fashion ‘ Seth, I can’t take this to the publishing department. This book … what’s the name again … yes, Seeds; is not marketable. And we are here to make Money-y.’ The senior editor spoke slowly, deliberately, and lingered on the word ‘Money-y’ as if reaching the peak of his orgasm.

He continued ‘Look around us. Our readers market today are not interested in books on magical quests and fairies, kings and princesses. Let’s be realistic, the fairy tale generation is over. Today’s readers demand: love, war, sex, violence … you get what I am saying? How about writing a book .. something about-t … say the Internet. A young hacker and his sexy girlfriend who gets away with the biggest scam of all times … ooh all that money-y!’

The panel of experts around the table slowly nod their heads in synchronized sheep like harmony. The senior editor got up and left abruptly after a half-hearted handshake; others trailed behind him. Seth, now alone in the conference room once more, shook his head in despair. They did not even let him finish. The last one and a half year, wasted, he thought, collecting the copies of his manuscript: his life, scattered across the conference table. And yes, it was true in his heart he knew that his book was not ‘there’ yet, but still, he was dejected. The pretty secretary outside was still extremely busy engrossed in the magazine, planning her life, love and career moves. He looked one last time at the publishers posh office.

His most recently acquired enemy - ‘the entire publishing world’. It takes a foolish man to scorn his livelihood and boy - was he foolish.
He left a short expressing letter for the senior editor with her. A grave mistake indeed and possibly the end of his career as a writer.
Did the ‘publishing world’ forgive his misdeed? Yes, if you readers are reading this book. Otherwise please contact the author for a personally printed copy – hand delivered.
He recalled an article he had read: writers have to live the experiences of their writing. Maybe he should just go ahead and find a magical kingdom. A whole lot easier than facing a hostile audience he thought or maybe he should choose a career in something a whole lot simpler - like stealing cars, for example.

What had hurt him were the words of the senior editor still resounding ‘the fairy tale generation is over’. What would the world be without magic and mystery? Was it possible that people had changed so much in the last few years?

The new generation: war simulation games, virtual reality sets, WWF wrestling. Infact even some cartoons shows on television could use some sensible censorship (I think most responsible parents will vouch for that). Was it really the end of all that was magical and mysterious in the world.

He vaguely remembered incidents of his own childhood, his imaginary friend - a little girl and their adventures in a magical world. When he had tried to share his experiences with his family and friends, he had been ridiculed, called a baby and a dreamer. His parents had been so worried about his overactive imagination, that they had a serious talk with him about growing up.

Growing up had seemed a better alternative than seeing a psychiatrist. Seth’ imaginations and beliefs had gotten him into trouble before.
Remembering his father’s and mother’s long lectures he made a mental note, once again, to live in the real world and forget his fantasies. Well, ‘I’m trying’, he thought.

He exited the publishers building, straight out onto the noisy narrow streets below. He strolled, kicking the empty crushed cans which decorated the pavement towards a warmer and friendlier place: the coffee shop. He came across a hoarding (could hardly be missed, as it occupied the entire front half of a prestigious building) of a man ‘snazzily’ dressed, a voluptuous big breasted woman drooling be his side, and words flashing ‘I GET, WHAT I WANT’ in large syllables. Below, in not so large syllables was a medical warning: cigarette smoking is injurious to health.

It amused Seth to think that the advertising agencies really though ridiculous concepts like these, would work. He was neither gullible, nor foolish to the overdose of visual stimulations presented; he flicked his Zippo lighting up a Malboro Lights cigarette.

A call beckoned him. He turned around; on the pavement, a young beggar girl was asking for alms. She had brown eyes, black hair and wore tattered clothes. What struck him in particular was her outfit: a dark green embroidered robe. Had the robe not been soiled and tattered, she would have looked like a little princess. He felt an aura of familiarity with the girl. She smiled at him. Seth, smiled back; he slipped his hands into his pocket and removed a small wad of crumbled currency, searching for small change to give to the girl. He looked at the crumpled notes in his hand and thought; Money-y (personifying the senior editor).
So this was what made the world tick!

Disgusted, he handed her the entire wad of money, not even leaving enough for coffee or his taxi ride back home. As their fingers touched, he felt a tingle all over his body.

Suddenly he felt a tug at his solar plexus as he was pulled into a vortex of bright light. He found his feet being lifted off the ground. He was spiralling through a bright tunnel of light as if he had been catapulted into the ‘eye of the storm’. Bright electric pulses of light and florescent geometrical shapes whizzed past him.

Then it stopped; he was standing straight on his feet, disoriented, as if the world had been turned upside down and then upright once more.

It was one of those warm and pleasant afternoons; fields of corn danced with the cool breeze. A yellowish golden hue filled the scene as cornfields reflected the rays of the sun, creating shimmering waves of light patterns across the endless fields. Barren trees, lined the fields, naked, trying to guard their last bit of clothing; they fought to hold onto the reddish brown leaves as they fell, swaying gently with the breeze, landing softly on the ground. Blue skies, white fluffy clouds; a lone bird circling.

In the backyard of a cottage in the distance, a woman was standing by the kitchen window. She and her family had moved to this farmhouse a year ago. Initially she had almost regretted the move, having spent her childhood in the city, but the man she loved had always wanted to live in the countryside. Her husband had worked really hard on the cottage; the ill- kept plumbing, the red tiled roof, scratching and painting the green moss off the walls and finally his pride, the huge wooden porch that he had built himself overlooking the backyard.

She pushed her hair back, looking over to the backyard where she had planted a variety of flowers which had blossomed and stood proud among a few apple trees, an old sturdy willow tree, a vegetable garden, a dried up well and an old torn-down barn at one end, bordered by bare hedges.

By the barn, she caught sight of her husband chopping wood to patch up a fence on the other side of their property.

The logs neatly lined up; the air fresh with the smell of sawdust. He, in his torn denim shorts, chest bare and body glistering with sweat, sensed her gaze and gave her one of his cute, yet naughty smile, and with a wink resumed his sweaty endeavor.

She stretched, arching her body outside the window. Her little boy was sitting in one corner of the porch reading a book. She gazed at him lovingly, ‘her boy’. It seemed like yesterday; the overwhelming joys of motherhood: Her gooey eyed, puke belching son. His first word ‘G-a-a-h’. And yes - you will not find it in the dictionary. The father had insisted that it sounded like ‘D-a-a-h’ meaning ‘Dad’. But we Moms know better - don’t we.

It was positively a ‘M-a-a-h’, meaning ‘Mom - thank you for giving me life and for all the pains you took feeding, bathing and changing me for all those years. It is now my sole endeavor and my life’s mission to repay this un-repayable debt’. But we Moms know better - don’t we.
She blinked, pulling back a tear drop which had started to form in the liquid pool of her eyes. ‘Enough of reading, time for your nap honey, remember what the doctor said about getting bed rest’, she called out. She was worried about him. Her little boy had been behaving very distant and seemed disturbed lately. Their family doctor had advised bed rest. He had said ‘Not to worry dear, it’s just one of those ‘growing up’ phases’. She had not believed him.

The boy shrugged, his large brown eyes blinked in a ‘Not again Ma’ sort of fashion, a little peeved at being interrupted right in the middle of an interesting chapter.

A pause later - deciding she looked serious, he held onto grandma’s old rocking chair, mumbling, he got up.

She takes in a deep breath, ‘Kids - they are so adamant’.

The little guy waved at his father muttering little complaints. His father waved back. His father was his hero. Last night his father had told him a story about a quest to save a beautiful princess. He knew he had grown way too old for bed time stories, but still, he loved them.

He blinked, startled, as a butterfly with black spots speckled on translucent silverish wings fluttered past him towards a bush with bright flowers. The butterfly lazily hovered in mid air, taking its time, as if over a choice of entrée, flickered its wings one last time before settling down on a specially bright flower. His eyes explored the backyard one last time; a familiar place with familiar smells and sounds and yet he could not understand the awe, the sense of mystery and fear it brought to his mind.

The bright and shiny brass door knob sparkled like a diamond in his eyes reflecting the bright afternoon sun. He pushed open the slightly ajar door making his way inside the house; entering he saw ‘Doggie’, Dad’s - black Labrador, who was lazing after having his fill. ‘Doggie’ slowly opened his droopy eyes, wagged his tail once, before settling back into deep slumber and dog dreams. The familiar sound of the ticking of an old grandfather clock rang in his ears as he climbed up the creaky wooden staircase to his bedroom.

His room was in the attic; he liked it up there. From the large wooden grilled window by his bed, he could see beyond the backyard, over the fence all the way over to the cornfields, where the hills skirted the horizon. Sometimes, he would just sit by the window enjoying the silence, the abandoned nest on the tree which rose besides his window, the endless golden cornfields. Bees conjuring honey, sailing in and out of their hives. Dogs basking lazily in the sun. Squirrels chattering. Yes! He liked it up here.

He crawled into his cozy bed; lying down he could see the clear blue sky. A lone bird was circling the skies, as if lost in the vastness of the heaven. Fluffy white clouds sailing past. He wondered where the white clouds came from, and too where they were going. His father had once told him ‘If you sit and look at the clouds long enough, you will see a message. Clouds are messages from God’. And yes, tooth fairies leave money under the pillow. He was older and much wiser now.

His drowsy eyes gazed at the photographs lying on the windowsill; his favourite being one of grandma’s, who often visited during the summer holidays and always baked loads of cakes and cookies. He could almost smell her cooking and his mouth watered in anticipation of her next visit. His eyelids closed, the silence settling in. A whispering sound interrupted his silence; his eyes opened wide and he strained his ears. He heard the whispering sound again. It was coming from under the bed. His chest tightened and a cold terror gripped his heart; cautious of making any sound, he inched his way till he was sitting upright on his bed, his tiny fingers clutching onto the bed sheet.

He remembered tales his grandmother used to recite, tales of ghosts and monsters under the bed of bad children. His pulse racing, his heart as if about to leap out of his throat, he composed himself. He peeked from the edge of his bed, his fingers still holding on to the bed sheet for dear life. A distinct, clear, soft sound called out ‘Come with me’. A long pause followed - He saw a dim glow, which quickly sparkled into emerald blue flames illuminating the bed. A small pretty hand, glowing in the flames beckoned ‘Come with me little boy’. For some strange reason he felt no longer afraid.

Slowly, involuntarily, his fingers traced the contours of the edge of his bed moving towards the light. He heard sounds of bells ringing in the distance, his nostrils estranged with scents of wild herbs and exotic flowers. He felt the flames caress his finger tips, moving up till they enveloped his hand. A feeling of intoxication overwhelmed him causing his eyelids to droop…

A crystal blue lake, frilled by tall spiralling green trees; a little boy sitting on a fallen tree trunk gazing at his reflection. Nonchalantly, he throws a pebble into the water, watching his face ripple. As the ripples subside, another face emerged. He turned around, she was here!
Little girl: ‘Where have you been? I have been waiting..’

Little boy: ‘Well …. you see….my parents … my friends… they told me…’. All the while, his eyes glued to the ground, watching his nervous feet make intricate designs in the sand.
Little girl: ‘We don’t have much time.’
‘Why?’ he asked looking deep into those little worried eyes.
‘There is no time’ she repeated nervously, glancing over her shoulders, half expecting to find someone - listening.
‘No time for what?’
‘I can’t tell you right now … ‘, her voice dropped to almost a whisper, ‘but there is trouble and ….’
‘What trouble?’ Now he was getting worried.
‘Promise me! Promise that you will never forget this place, or forget me, no matter what anyone tells you’
‘But…’
‘Promise me’ she repeated urgently, gently holding his hand in her own. He would never forget the lingering touch of her skin against his, the memory of which haunted him for a long time to come.

He looked into her big brown eyes, her angelic face radiating the setting sun. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, ‘I promise - I will never forget’. He could feel her hands slipping from his own. Her arms still outstretched, she turned around, and fled into the forest. He called out to her, but in vain. His vision constricted as black mists rose engulfing the lake and the surrounding forest. He felt something - something moving towards him. A stench of decay filled his nostrils. He could sense that it was evil. An evil far greater than his young mind could perceive. His pulse raced. It was coming closer ... closer … closer …he screamed …and screamed.

His father rushed up the wooden stairs, leaving his half eaten chicken sandwich on the kitchen counter; his mother was only a moment away. She reached out and hugged him, ‘What is it honey?’ He was sweating profusely, his face was pale and white, muttering insanely; a girl … a promise … evil. His father sighed with relief ‘It’s all right son, its just a bad dream’. The boy reacted vehemently, ‘It was not a bad dream Dad, she was here and…and… ’. His father looked around the room nodding his head, ‘Well’, he said, ‘There is no one here now.’ Disturbed, the kid resigned himself to the fact that grownups would not listen or understand.

His mother held him close, pecking him on the cheek. ‘It’s all right honey! it was just a bad dream’. The boy sat upright and watched his parents leave. He could hear their footsteps fade as they climbed down the wooden stairs. Then, there was silence once more. His pulse was still racing. He got up and moved towards the bathroom. A splash of cold water later he caught his reflection in the mirror. A pale faced boy with untidy hair looked back at him. He couldn’t recall the details - it was all so hazy.

He concentrated hard to remember … a little girl … she was in some kind of trouble... he was not to forget something … a promise, and a presence so evil that it had caused his heart to tremble. Restless, he walked over to his bed, his head still spinning with more questions. Who was the little girl? Was she a dream like his father had said? It had seemed so real! All he knew was that the little girl was in trouble and he had to help her. But how? Where was he to find her? He tried to get a grip on himself. He had been having weird dreams for almost a year now, though they were receding lately. He remembered his dreams were pleasant, in fact the right word would be – adventurous, but never until today had he experienced such terror and the unbearable stench. He shuddered once more at the recollection.

Splashing some cold water on his face, he walked over to his cupboard. He clambered up a stool removing an old shoe box from the far corner. He blew the dust off the box, sneezing as the dust tickled his nostrils. Back on his bed, he gently removed the tattered cover, revealing clean sheets of papers with notes scribbled on it. Notes: he had scribbled about his adventures with a little girl in a magical land. From the stack, he removed one sheet at random. It was dated, and below hand written in pencil:

Today, we talked for hours about the skies, the flowers, the trees. We sat in the hollow of an old tree, hidden, and watched men in green clothes do a merry dance. There was a …..

He looked at the untidy scribbles, trying to make sense of what was happening to him. He wondered if he should dispose his treasure and forget all of this, deciding, he closed the shoe box, climbed up the stool once more and pushed his treasure to the far corner on the top of the cupboard.

It was to lie there, silently, patiently, gathering dust for a long time. He made a mental note to forget about the little girl. He slipped on an old favorite tee-shirt to go out and get some fresh air and meet his best friend. Below, he could hear his mother and father seemingly arguing by the kitchen; he knew it was about him. He coughed, then clambered down the stairs. Reaching the dining table, he plopped into his chair. His father was sipping his coffee, a magazine lying open on the table; his mother busy in the kitchen preparing an aromatic apple pie. He inhaled the delicious aroma of the baking apples, his senses lingering onto the smell. His father looked up from the magazine ‘Going out?’ The boy muttered ‘Yes’. He quickly gobbled his peanut butter sandwich, skipped his glass of milk and headed straight for the door. ‘Keep away from my flowers, and don’t be out to late’ his mother hollered, still busy baking in the kitchen. He dashed out wanting to escape those covert glances exchanged between his parents. He knew what they meant: What are we going do with our boy? Outside, he waved out to his best friend, waiting by the front gate. He had spoken to his friend about his adventures and the little girl, but lately the discussion had always ended up in a heated argument.

An entire evening ahead of him; glimpses of the little girl – his dream, already a fading memory; his mind planning his victorious win over his friend at a game of scrabble.