Words - once spoken can only be forgiven. The irreversible nature of them have always made the oldest caution the young lest they carry the regret like their ancestors. Alas! No one learns this lesson until it is too late.
(Blurb to be edited)
Vāc i...
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The half light was barely a few hours old yet the streets of Indraprastha harboured a bustling market. Merchants of all sorts of businesses hollered out prices with vigour hoping to impress enough patrons and bring in profits.
Leaning heavily on a wooden staff, an old man limped his way slowly through the path. His eyes gleaned over the goods. Utensils of copper, clay, silver, various beaded jewellery were laid out in rows. Some were selling their cattle and horses while some were pitching in on some games of luck. He steadily passed them all over to the farmers' side of the market.
"O grandpa! Will you only stare at the goods or even buy some?" A boy well into his teens yelled over the cacophony.
"What a well mannered boy you are, lad! If only you would sell your red sorrel as fresh as your attitude, then I would've bought some," grumbled the man as he tightened the heavy rags around his frame. "Terrible youths, terrible winters. Can't these old bones wish for a day of peaceful spring after a hundred and eight nights of winter?"
The boy immediately went red and his nostrils flared. Wrapping his arms in front of his chest, he turned away his nose high in the air. "Move along then, grandpa. You are holding up customers."
Hacking out a cough, the old man moved along grumbling more about terrible winters and terrible youths. Then he spotted what he had come looking for. It was just as he had heard.
Across the sacred fig tree, laid a lone narrow path that vanished between thick walls of shops. There were a few men selling their crops in front of it.
The old man stood and contemplated. Then he limped towards them. "Good lads, do any of you keep any good pointed gourds?"
"It is the end of winter, uncle," one man answered.
"Do you sell pointed gourds?" The old man ignored the previous answer and asked the other seller.
Both of them looked confused. "Uncle, it is not the harvest season for pointed gourd. You won't get it anywhere," one of them replied.
"Oh you must look at my attire and think this old man mustn't have a coin on himself and refuse to sell me your vegetables. Discriminating against me! Terrible youths of today. I demand you sell me your pointed gourds!" The old man thunked his staff on the road for good measure.
His voiced words had drawn in a few more eyes and ears as nearby sellers and passersby all stopped to understand the situation.
"Respected elder, please understand that you will not find pointed gourds anywhere in this market or the next or any in the kingdom. The vegetable is still in it's stage of growing and hasn't been harvested," the seller folded his hands as he stood up.
The old man coughed once then cleared his throat. "Atleast one of you has some manners. Ah you must have heard wrong. I asked if you sell some bottle gourds."
