Some stories belong to specific nights and sacred days. These are the stories of Janmashtami — the night a prison cell filled with light. Of Rath Yatra — the day a king becomes a servant and pulls his Lord’s chariot through the streets. Published ahead of each festival so you arrive at the celebration already carrying something meaningful inside you.
Reading Time: 2 minutesThe sun was hot. The road was hot. Even Bhoomi’s chappals felt hot. But the street was full of colour. Big wooden chariots stood waiting. Marigolds hung in long orange strings. Drums went dhum-dhum-dhum somewhere close by. Bhoomi had a secret in her pocket — a small paper boat, folded
Reading Time: 2 minutesAnanya was not allowed to sleep tonight. This was the rule, and she had been reminding everyone of it since morning. “Even if I fall asleep on the floor,” she told her grandmother, “wake me up. Promise.” “We will wake you,” her grandmother said, smiling, hanging a small string of
Reading Time: 2 minutesStop eyeing those biscuits, beta. Not today. Today we wait. You’re making that face again, the one you make when you think I’m being unfair. Sit, I’ll tell you why. When I was your age, my own grandmother used to fast the whole day on Janmashtami — no rice, no
Reading Time: 3 minutesThe prison cell had no window. Vasudeva knew this because he had counted the stones in the wall so many times he could close his eyes and see every one. One hundred and forty-three stones. He had memorised each crack, each dark stain, each place where the mortar had crumbled
