Short Writing: A Short Story

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“It was unchanged. They were running their activities but in a new name.” Jagan said. “Did not you try to do anything against them? Did not you complain?” “Complain! Who would hear me?” Jagan asked. “I am a convicted prisoner.” He grinned. “I had no evidence against them. I had only memories with me. Memory can’t prove anything in court.” Jagan moaned. We both were silent for a few minutes. Sunlight was coming from the window. My wrist watch showing that it was five thirty. I realised that I spent the whole night with Jagan’s story. I generally love the story with a happy ending. But it was tragic. I think reality is more times tragic than a happy ending. I was sitting quiet for Jagan’s response. Finally, Jagan talked. “I think I made you sad. Yes, my story is full of sorrow. But believe me, everything I told is a truth.” Jagan said. He came down from his bed. I was reconciling what I had heard. It was a journey from Deriki to Rajasthan and then the traveler of the journey was sitting in front of me. Another smoky cup arrived. “Sir, please take the morning tea.” Jagan gave me the cup. Jagan opened the window. The sunlight was showing the sing of a new day. Jagan gave me the cup, for him, he put the tea in steel made glass and sipped it. “What about Raghu?” I asked about his old friend. “After,I returned from the prison I went to Kolkata. I searched Raghu but he was not there. No one was able to give any information about him. He might shifted to any other place. It was
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