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Posts Tagged ‘Avaricious’

Stone in the middle of the road

Posted by kathavarta on December 23, 2008

There was a king who ruled his kingdom wisely. He spent his time trying to improve the lives of his subjects. One day the king decided to see for himself how people lived in his kingdom. Early one morning, dressed as an ordinary citizen, he secretly mounted his horse and rode into town. The citizens were still not out in the streets. The king stopped at one place where the dirt road was narrowing somewhat. He tied his horse by the side of the road and then dug a hole right in the middle of the road. Therein he placed a metal jar wrapped in a piece of cloth. Then the king brought a stone that was lying on the side of the road and placed it on the hole, completely covering the hole. The king then mounted his horse and went up a nearby hill. Hiding behind a tree, the king looked down at the stone in the middle of the road.

The Farmer

A farmer was the first to appear. He was driving his cart with fresh-produce for the vegetable market. He saw the stone in the middle of the road and thought to himself, “It looks like this stone has been lying here in the middle of the road for some time but the people here are not bothered about removing the stone to one side. Each person thinks only for himself. People here are so lazy!” And the farmer carefully drove past avoiding the stone.

The Policeman

A little while later, a policeman was seen walking down the road. He was looking smart in his impressive police-uniform. He was walking and looking at the headlines in the newspaper. He tripped by the stone and very nearly hit the ground. He thought about the carelessness of the people, spoke some angry words and went away.

The Milkmaid

Then a milkmaid came along, singing aloud to attract the attention of the residents in nearby houses. She had one milk container on her head and another she carried by her side. Making her way down the road, looking to the left and now looking to the right.

Her foot hit the stone and she lost balance. The milk container on her head fell to the ground spilling all the milk. The milkmaid said that the people of this town are so thoughtless. How can they leave such a big stone in the middle of the road and not worry about it? Don’t they know that people can get tripped by the stone! She collected her milk pot and went away.

The Merchants

Some merchants came down the road driving their horse-cart at high speed. One wheel of the cart hit the stone and some goods fell on to the road. Looking at the stone in the middle of the road, they said the people here are so useless. Who knows for how long this stone is lying in the middle of the road but no body takes any notice of it! No one takes the trouble to remove this stone from the middle of the road! Mumbling some swear words the merchants collected their goods and drove away.

The Brahmachari (student)

A newly qualified Brahmachari (student) came walking down the road. As soon as he saw the stone in the middle of the road, he remembered the lessons he was taught by his Guru (teacher).
(1) His Guru had taught him that his first duty is to himself. If ever his life was in danger, then he must try everything possible, to preserve his life.

(2) Higher than that is the duty to his family. If ever it became necessary to give up his life to save his family, then let it be so.

(3) Higher than that is his duty to the community. If he has to sacrifice his life, and sacrifice his family for the good of the community, then the interest of the community comes first.

(4) Higher than that is the duty to the nation. If it calls for the sacrifice from the individual, his family and his community for the good of the nation, then the interest of the nation takes precedence. Higher than that is the duty to the whole of humanity.

The Brahmachari immediately removed the stone from the middle of the road. There underneath the stone he saw this bundle wrapped in a cloth with a hand-written note fastened to the cloth. The note read:

“This stone was placed here by your king. Whoever takes the trouble of removing the stone, thereby thinking about the good of the people, can keep this metal jar and its contents. And the king would like to meet this person.”

The Brahmachari opened the metal jar and was amazed to see that it was filled with gold coins. He was very pleased.

Next day the Brahmachari went to meet the king. The king could make out the good character of this Brahmachari. He was noble-minded and unselfish. The Brahmachari would give rather than take. A person with such charitable heart is a credit to the human race.

The king made the Brahmachari his chief minister who helped the king rule the kingdom for many a long years.

And the example set by the Brahmachari taught a valuable lesson to the citizens of this kingdom. They changed their attitude from ‘taking’ to ‘giving’. This attitude they applied in their personal life, family matters, community affairs, and in their national life. Now every body was so courteous, so very thoughtful and caring for the needs of others. The kingdom prospered and became a veritable heaven on earth.

Source: http://hinduism.co.za
Visit www.etirth.com for more religious information.
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Posted in Buddhism, Children story, Hindu story, Jainism, Katha, Moral story, Sikhism, Story for Adult, Varta | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments »

Bill Clinton calls Rush Limbaugh

Posted by kathavarta on October 21, 2008

Bill Clinton calls Rush Limbaugh’s producer and asks to speak with Rush. The
producer replies, “I’m sorry Mr. President, but Rush has suddenly died.”

Clinton says, “OK.”, and hangs up.

About 15 minutes later Clinton calls again and receives a slightly more irritated “Rush has died.”

Again acknowledges and hangs up.

After about 20 minutes he calls again and asks to speak to Rush.

The producer replies in a loud voice, “I told you Rush is dead. Why can’t you understand that?”

Clinton replies, “Oh, I understand that, I just love to hear you say it.”
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Posted in Funny Story, Story for Adult, Varta | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

The Eagle & the Jackdaw

Posted by kathavarta on October 7, 2008

AN EAGLE, flying down from his perch on a lofty rock, seized upon a lamb and carried him aloft in his talons.

A Jackdaw, who witnessed the capture of the lamb, was stirred with envy and determined to emulate the strength and flight of the Eagle.

He flew around with a great whir of his wings and settled upon a large ram, with the intention of carrying him off, but his claws became entangled in the ram’s fleece and he was not able to release himself, although he fluttered with his feathers as much as he could.

The shepherd, seeing what had happened, ran up and caught him. He at once clipped the Jackdaw’s wings, and taking him home at night, gave him to his children.

On their saying, “Father, what kind of bird is it?”

He replied, “To my certain knowledge he is a Daw; but he would like you to think an Eagle.”

By : Supriya Sahu, for http://www.whereincity.com
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Posted in Children story, Funny Story, Moral story, Story for Adult, Varta | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

The Truth!

Posted by kathavarta on September 20, 2008

I will let you decide if this story is true, only some will believe it but if I read it, I would not believe it either. So you decide is this, THE TRUTH OR IS IT NOT.

When I was in sixth grade, I started noticing things that were unbelievable. For example, on a field trip to the Coranado Theater in Rockford, I saw a young woman fall to her death. Actually she was pushed, pushed by a jealous musician. She was part of an orchastra, and she was very talented. Her name was Catherine. Thomas (the one that killed her) had been with the orchastra for sixteen years and was outraged that a girl of nine-teen years had gotten first chair and the leading solo. So he told her to come backstage with him the night of her big performance so they could discuss a problem that he was having with the music. Catherine was about to tell him what the problem was when Thomas pushed her from behind and she fell down four flights of stairs to her death. You are probably wondering how I came up with this information, the truth is, she told me.

I confided in my close friend, Nicole. She told me that I was not crazy for she believed in the supernatural. At this time I thought that I was going mad, for sane people don’t hear voices in their heads, and sane people don’t have people (dead people) talking through them. It seems that when I am around certian people, I am posessed and speak in voices that were not my own. The funny part was that I did not know this had happened until Nicole told me that I was scaring her. I asked her why and she told me.

Now, two years later it has become worse.

Now, someone is going after my friends. And I think it is me. Not me personaly, but one who calles herself Abby. Abby lives inside of me since, well, I really don’t know. It was after the new year, I know that.

My best friend Megan knows something, well, she dreamt something that can make Abby go away, or make Abby become me permanently. Lately it has been harder to be me shall I say. Abby I don’t really know what she wants but I can only imagine horrible things. I have taught myself to listen to what she says when she speaks through me and it terrifies me. In my voice she has threatened to kill Megan and her family and now I only have a few hours a day that I am me. I know this isn’t really a story with an ending for I am living it right now, but since I don’t know what will happen next I can only hope for the best.
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Posted in Moral story, Story for Adult, Varta | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

The wise Songbird

Posted by kathavarta on September 18, 2008

Once upon a time there was a golden songbird that lived in a beautiful garden. It spent all its days singing the loveliest songs to the honour of its maker and the delight of all the people who heard it.

But the keeper of the garden, who was a foolish and greedy man, coveted the little songster, and one day he made a cunning net in which he snared it. The little bird begged the man to release him and promised to tell him three great secrets if only he would let him go. Now the gardener really was a very greedy man and rubbing his hands together, he eagerly released the bird.

Then the songbird told him it’s three great secrets: Never believe all that you hear; Never regret what you have never lost, and never throw away that which you have in your keeping.

The gardener was furious when he heard this and said he had known these so-called ‘secrets’ since he was a little child and shouted that the bird had tricked him. But the songbird quietly replied that if the man had really known these three secrets, or only the last of them, he would never have let him go.

Then the bird added:”I have a most precious jewel weighing over three ounces hidden inside me and whoever possesses that marvellous stone will have every wish granted.”

On hearing this, the keeper roared like a lion and cursed himself for setting the songster free. But the little bird only added fuel to his rage by explaining that since he weighed no more than half an ounce at most, as anyone with eyes could plainly see, how was it possible that a gem weighing more than three ounces could be hidden within it’s tiny body?

At that the man tore his hair and lunged at the bird in a towering rage, but the little songbird flew to a nearby branch and added sweetly:”Since you never had the jewel in your hands you are already regretting what you never lost, and believing what I told you, you threw it away by setting me free.”

Then the little songbird told the man to study well these three great secrets and so become as wise as the bird himself!
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A kind of Magic

Posted by kathavarta on September 17, 2008

Rrrr…ing. The shrill sound of the call bell filled the house. Nita looked at the front door and frowned. ‘Who could it be so early in the morning? We hardly know anyone here.’

The summer vacation had just started and Nita and her family had recently shifted to this multi-storey building and were still in thee process of settling down.

She opened the door and quickly jumped aside to avoid being trampled on by the group of children who rushed into the house in a tearing hurry. The group consisted of children of all ages.

“Arun, where is Arun?” they all chorused.

“He is having a bath, Please wait,” answered Nita. Bewildered, she looked at the motley group. ‘How could Arun have made so many friends in such a short time?’ she thought. ‘Ok, so he is an extrovert but this is too much!’

“Hi, folks!” suddenly Arun burst into the drawing room wiping his wet hair vigorously with a towel. “Give me two minutes.” As he turned he saw Nita standing in a corner. He called out to her and introduced, “This is Nita, my younger sister; and Nita this is the gang from the building. This is Sanjay, this is Suruchi, Ritu, Ashok, Geeetika, Annesh, Gaurav and Tutu.”

“Hello,” said Nita shyly. Arun went inside to get ready.

“Why don’t you also come with us?” asked one of the gang members.

Nita shook her head. She knew she could not keep up with their pace.

“Oh, Nita is a dreamer-a nature-lover,” said Arun joining his friends. “She would rather paint or read a book in some quiet corner than come out and play wild games with us. Isn’t that so Nita?” Arun said patting her indulgently on the head. Nita smiled shyly.” As soon as we are gone, she will take her sketch book and go on the terrace to draw”

Before Arun could finish, the group exclaimed, “The terrace? Oh, no, not the terrace!”

“Why?” asked Nita astonished at this unanimous vehemence.

“It is a Prohibited Zone, ” said Suruchi.

“Don’t even think of,” quipped Ashok.

“Trespassers are shouted at,” added Aneesh.

“Hey, wait a minute. What is all this warning about? Why is the terrace prohibited and by whom?” asked Nita.

“By Mrs. Daroowala,” tha gang replied in chorus.

“Who is she?” asked Arun, puzzled.

“She is an old Parsi lady living on the top floor. She bought this house only last year. She lives alone save for an old maid who looks after the house and cook for her-a kind of woman Friday,” said Geetika.

“But why should she not allow anyone on the terrace?” asked Nita.

“Oh, she is just eccentric, that is all. We used to there quite often to play before she came. But within a week of her shifting there, she shooed us out,” said Ritu. “Once or twice, we did try to go upstairs but what a screaming we got! Since then no one has dared to go there.”

“I am sure she is an enchantress performing magic or something there,” said Tutu the youngest of them. She was hardly six.

“She hates children,” spoke Sanjay with finality, thus closing the subject. “Come along now, let us go and play.” Said Arun impatiently and they all rushed out just as they had rushed in.

But Nita could not take it so easily. ‘Who could this Mrs. Daroowala be who hates children? How could anyone hate children?’ she wondered.

Nita was only two years younger to Arun, who was tall and robust, always full of energy. She was a frail child, tall but very thin. The most striking features in her pale face were her eyes, big and brown, full of feelings and emotions. Unlike her brother, she was an introvert.

After breakfast, Nita sat down at the dinning table with her sketchpad and pencil. She tried to draw a few lines but could not concentrate. Each time a formidable face of an old lady with stern looks and big frown appeared before her. Nita became restless. Suddenly she picked up her sketchpad and pencils and went out of the flat. She looked up thoughtfully for a few moments and then started climbing the stairs.

On the landing in front of the top floor, Nita stopped. There was the door with the nameplate saying “Mrs. Daroowala.” She threw a furtive glance at it. It was shut. Suddenly a sound came from behind the closed door as if someone had released the latch.

Nita ran downstairs as fast as her legs could carry her silently and stopped only when she reached her floor, which was just below the top floor. She heard the door being shut and then someone climbing. Someone who walked with the help of a stick that went clackety-clack, clackety-clack in a most sinister way. Nita was gasping. Slowly she controlled her breath and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She stood there for a while debating whether or not she should go upstairs. She could not resist the temptation to see what was happening on the terrace.

Finally, she plucked up courage and climbed the stairs. The door to the terrace was half-open. She peeped through it and gasped at the sight that met her eyes. What she saw was unbelievable-something she could have never imagined.

She saw Mrs. Daroowala sitting on a deck chair surrounded by birds!

Birds of all kinds, sizes and colors. There were sparrows, blue jays, mynahs, bulbuls, pigeons and many other birds, which Neeta could not recognize. They were happily picking at the grains of rice and breadcrumbs on the ground. There were two bowls filled with water. There were birds all over the terrace, on the parapet, on the chair and all over Mrs. Daroowala-on her lap, on her shoulders and some were even perched on her head!

Nita hid herself behind a big potted palm and looked at the fascinating sight. She craned her neck to have a better look. For a while she just stared in amazement. Then she quickly picked up her sketchpad and started drawing vigorously.

Next morning, again, roughly at the same time, Nita came on the terrace. Mrs. Daroowala was already there surrounded by her feathered friends. Neeta hid herself behind the palm and got on with her sketch.

Days passed. Nita came to the terrace every day to watch the birds and Mrs. Daroowala. By now her pitcher was almost complete. It was coming out very well. The day Neeta gave it last touches, she was very happy.

It was late in the morning almost her regular time to go on the terrace. Nita looked at her painting. She had captured the whole scene beautifully, especially Mrs. Daroowala’s profile with birds perched on her hands, feet and head. ‘Oh, only if I could present it to Mrs. Daroowala,’ she sighed, for she was still too scared to go up to her. ‘How could someone who loves birds hate children!’ wondered Nita for the nth time.

Neeta quickly climbed the stairs. Mrs. Daroowala’s door was as usual shut. Nita quietly climbed the last flight of stairs.

Today the door to the terrace was shut. ‘Strange! She never shuts this door,’ thought Nita. She stood there for a while wondering what she should do. Then she heard something-the mad chirping of the birds, quite different from every day sound of joyful chirping.

She quickly opened the door and what she saw was a strange scene.

The deck chair was empty and so were the bowls. There was no bird feed on the floor. ‘Where is Mrs. Daroowala?’ Neeta wondered. The birds were still chirping and hopping about madly.

‘Oh, you must be hungry and thirsty as well, you poor dears!’ she muttered sympathetically and ran downstairs. After five minutes she returned, carrying a jug full of water and a bowl of rice, grains and breadcrumbs. As she set the food and water down, the birds flew away, scared. They hovered on the periphery chirping warily. Nita filled the bowls and scattered the rice, grains and breadcrumbs on the ground. The birds watched from their perches but hesitated to come near her.

“Oh, please come. Don’t go hungry and thirsty,” spoke Nita softly. After two three minutes, one small bird ventured forward followed by another and then another, and then all of them came. A broad smile lit up Nita’s face.

Again the next morning when Nita reached the terrace, Mrs. Daroowala was not there. Neeta scattered the rice and filled the bowls. Today the birds were quite friendly. They happily picked at the grains.

When for the third morning in a row Mrs. Daroowala did not come on the terrace, Neeta got worried. ‘Whatever has happened to her? Today I am certainly going to find out even if she screams me out of her flat,’ thought Nita.

It was a quite day. A cool breeze was blowing. Nita sat down on the deck chair. A small bird hopped and settled on her lap. Then another followed and perched on her head.

‘Oh! You have accepted me as your friend, you darling creatures.’ Nita was very happy. She closed her eyes and relaxed.

“Who is there?” suddenly a clear voice broke into her daydreams. Nita jumped out the chair and slowly turned around.

Mrs. Daroowala was standing at the door, leaning on her stick. For the first time Neeta was face to face with her and what a face it was! An ideal face for a portrait-painter, Snow-white hair swept back, a broad-creased forehead, light brown eyes, thin lips and protruding chin, with thousands of fine lines including laugh lines! It had a childlike softness-no big frown and stern looks. “Who are you?” Mrs. Daroowala asked.

“I am Nita. I live on the sixth floor.” Then after a pause she spoke, “The birds were hungry and thirsty, I gave them food and water.”

Mrs. Daroowala kept quiet. She slowly walked towards her. Nita’s heart sank. ‘Now Mrs. Daroowala is really angry that I came on the terrace without her permission, and I would be turned into a tadpole or something.’ She closed her eyes and prepared herself for shouting when she heard a soft whisper, “Thanks for taking care of my feathered friends in my absence. I was away, and my maid was called away on an emergency after I left.” Mrs. Daroowala held Neeta’s hands affectionately in her wrinkled hands. She sat down on her deck- chair and soon was surrounded by her long-lost friends. Nita stared at her.

“What are you looking at so confused?” Asked Mrs. Daroowala laughingly.

“You love birds then..then why do you hate children?” blurted Nita.

“Hate children?” Spoke Mrs. Daroowala with a frown and then broke into a hearty laugh. “Oh God! It must be the kids from the building who told you.” Nita nodded.

Mrs. Daroowala sobered a bit and then said, “Those kids came at all odds hours on the terrace to play and disturbed these poor birds. They can go anywhere to play. But as you can see, these birds have nowhere to go in this concrete jungle but here where they can eat and drink and fly around. Therefore, I shooed them out. Otherwise I love children, children like you.”

Suddenly Nita remembered something and said, “Mrs. Daroowala, please wait here till I return,” and she ran down. Mrs. Daroowala was still looking perplexed when Nita came back with a pitcher in her hand.

“Here, please accept this,” and she gave it to Mrs. Daroowala.

Mrs. Daroowala looked at it and spoke in a childlike excitement “It is me, isn’t it?” Neeta nodded. Then she read something at the bottom “An enchantress.”

“Do you think I am an enchantress who performs magic?” she asked a bit hurt.

“Everyone think so. And now I know it for sure. Yes, you are and enchantress who perform magic but magic of different kind,” replied Nita

They both smiled at each other and then laughed. Birds perched all over them chirping merrily.

By : Ajit Hari Sahu on http://www.whereincity.com/stories
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