RAABTA

“Tomorrow will be a new dawn, of new hope, and a new beginning. Tomorrow will be the best. Because Tomorrow, there will be no tomorrow.”   The cold night was silent. The stars twinkled like a sheet of golden sequences spread across the midnight sky.  The camp tents below had green flags flying high. The Shahenshah E Hind was having a good night’s sleep in the peace of an almost seized victory. He dreamt of sitting on the throne of the fort the next day as the invincible; and who knew, perhaps, he could catch that nightmare alive. Kunwar Pratap Singh had stolen Jalaluddin’s dreams and turned them into nightmares. His otherwise not-so-efficient father would have surrendered long ago. Rumour had it that he had escaped with his closest kin to some lakeside palace. Jalal shifted in his sleep. He wished that Kunwar Pratap was still here. Chittorgarh was not just home to these people. It was their honour. He would soon win it all. Their pride would be his.   The glorious fort city of Chittor

This one is a collaboration OS by me and Garima and has no other parts, it is a creation of our midnight chats and random thoughts! Hope you enjoy and review it! The London Heathrow  Airport was buzzing with commuters one hectic Wednesday morning, as the lounge looked overly crowded. In a pair of leather pants, heavy boots, and a white lace top, teamed with her leather jacket, sunglasses, handbag and a trolley in toe, she looked around the place with a frown. Taking off her glares, her almond-shaped kohl-clad eyes were searching across the lounge for a comfortable seat.  Two back-to-back flight announcements came to her rescue as she smiled at many commuters, running towards the gates, leaving the place comfortably empty. She sat in one of the chairs, overlooking the glass panes where the planes were in sight. She placed her handbag carefully beside her on the empty seat and swept her locks away from her face. With a sigh, she took out “ Pride and Prejudice”  opened the boo

“They alone become immortal, who choose the pen over the sword, They alone are treated as humans, of flesh, blood and soul, Who leaves behind Memoirs of Emotions, than Monuments of Dust.” Kashmir, the valley that was called Paradise on Earth, was a sight to remember. Her dark brown eyes spotted two swans frolicking in the waters of the lake in the distance while the wind blew over it gently. For the first time away from the clatter and noise of the camps and castles, she heard the trees whisper to each other.   They made music. In her mind’s eye, she could visualize it all. Her grandfather was accompanied by the Empress in a boat, enjoying the serenity of the place. She had often heard her father complain bitterly to her mother about how the Emperor was being lured away from power by his queen and he was completely attracted by the ways of religion and saintly ways once, during his visit to the valleys. She stared at the distant mountains, blue hues merging into the sky ab