The Little Prince

— Antoine de Saint Exupéry

Note: This is mine favourite of the best stories I have read.
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Writer's dedication:

TO LEON WERTH

I ask the indulgence of the children who may read this book for dedicating it to a grown-up. I have a serious reason: he is the best friend I have in the world. I have another reason: this grown-up understands everything, even books about children. I have a third reason: he lives in France where he is hungry and cold. He needs cheering up. If all these reasons are not enough, I will dedicate the book to the child from whom this grown-up grew. All grown-ups were once children - although few of them remember it. And so I correct my dedication:

TO LEON WERTH WHEN HE WAS A LITTLE BOY

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Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing.

In the book it said: "Boa constrictors swallow their prey whole, without chewing it. After that they are not able to move, and they sleep through the six months that they need for digestion."

I pondered deeply, then, over the adventures of the jungle. And after some work with a colored pencil I succeeded in making my first drawing. My Drawing Number One. It looked something like this:

I showed my masterpiece to the grown-ups, and asked them whether the drawing frightened them.

But they answered: "Frighten? Why should any one be frightened by a hat?"

My drawing was not a picture of a hat. It was a picture of a boa constrictor digesting an elephant. But since the grown-ups were not able to understand it, I made another drawing: I drew the inside of a boa constrictor, so that the grown-ups could see it clearly. They always need to have things explained. My Drawing Number Two looked like this:

The grown-ups' response, this time, was to advise me to lay aside my drawings of boa constrictors, whether from the inside or the outside, and devote myself instead to geography, history, arithmetic, and grammar. That is why, at the age of six, I gave up what might have been a magnificent career as a painter. I had been disheartened by the failure of my Drawing Number One and my Drawing Number Two. Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.

So then I chose another profession, and learned to pilot airplanes. I have flown a little over all parts of the world; and it is true that geography has been very useful to me. At a glance I can distinguish China from Arizona. If one gets lost in the night, such knowledge is valuable.

In the course of this life I have had a great many encounters with a great many people who have been concerned with matters of consequence. I have lived a great deal among grown-ups. I have seen them intimately, close at hand. And that hasn't much improved my opinion of them.

Whenever I met one of them who seemed to me at all clear-sighted, I tried the experiment of showing him my Drawing Number One, which I have always kept. I would try to find out, so, if this was a person of true understanding. But, whoever it was, he, or she, would always say:

"That is a hat."

Then I would never talk to that person about boa constrictors, or primeval forests, or stars. I would bring myself down to his level. I would talk to him about bridge, and golf, and politics, and neckties. And the grown-up would be greatly pleased to have met such a sensible man.

...(continued)
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Rest of the story can be read here: The Little Prince PDF

Light the lamp within you, peace will come

Long long ago, in the time of Lord Buddha. there lived a dancer in the city of Mathura. She was known as Vasavadatta. She was well known for her beauty and dance. Although she had many a suitor, none had the character she was looking for.

One evening Vasavadatta was looking out through the window when she saw a handsome young monk passing by. He was none other than Upagupta, an ardent disciple of Lord Buddha.

Vasavadatta fell in love with him at once and asked her maid to call the young monk to her house.

 The maid rushed to the monk and said, "Vasavadatta, my lady, wishes to see you. Oh the holy one, will you come in?"

The monk gracefully replied, "No, not now, but I will see her in time."

Vasavadatta was disappointed. She thought that perhaps the poor monk was embarrassed to come bearing no gift. After all, the rich noblemen always came with gifts of gold and jewels. She asked her maid to run out and tell the monk that she wanted only his company and he need not bring any gift.

The maid once again conveyed to Upagupta Vasavadatta's wishes.

Upagupta replied gently but firmly, "No, I cannot. It is not yet time to visit Vasavadatta."

Disappointed Vasavadatta stopped dancing. The people were mad.

"What is the matter with her? She seems to be always unhappy" complained the nobles.

Vasavadatta's maid knew her sorrow and was sad to see her beloved mistress always brooding over that heartless monk who refused to visit her.

To get her mind off of the monk, the maid asked Vasavadatta to go an visit the exhibition of a young sculptor of Mathura. As Vasavadatta admired the works of art, the young sculptor was secretly admiring her beauty. His thought was interrupted when Vasavadatta found a sculpture that she liked.

Vasavadatta asked, "This is so beautiful. How much does it cost? Will you sell it to me?"

The young sculptor replied, "You might find the price too high."

Proudly Vasavadatta said, "Whatever its price, I am prepared to pay it."

"It is yours, if you agree to dance again" said the young sculptor.

Vasavadatta hesitated.

The sculptor said, "Are you going to go back on your word? You promised to pay any price!" Vasavadatta agreed to keep her promise by dancing again. The people of Mathura thanked the sculptor. The audience gave a thundering applause to Vasavadatta but in her heart Vasavadatta was still not happy.

She kept on thinking, "Why did Upagupta shun her when thousands of people long for a sight of her."

 In the days that followed, the chief sculptor got increasingly interested in Vasavadatta. He asked her to pose for him so that he could capture her image in stone.

Seeing his exquisite work, Vasavadatta commented, "My art will die with me but your art will last for centuries to come."

The sculptor remarked, "I am so happy to see my talent bring happiness to you."

A few days later, the sculpture vanished. Both Vasavadatta and her maid were worried. They thought he might have left town. To their horror his body was found buried, not far from Vasavadatta's house.

People reported that the young sculptor was last seen entering Vasavadatta's house three days before he was killed. The enemies of the sculptor, who were jealous of him for getting the favor of Vasavadatta, had killed him and secretly buried him near Vasavadatta's house so that she would be falsely accused of the crime.

The king called Vasavadatta for an explanation. Shocked Vasavadatta had nothing to say. He confiscated all her property and banished her from Mathura. People threw stones at her and she was badly wounded. Finally she took shelter in a crematory. Her dearest maid knew that she was innocent. Vasavadatta was deliberatelly framed for the murder.

Vasavadatta soon became ill as her wounds got infected. She received no sympathy or medical help from anyone except her faithful maid. The passers-by would often throw stones at her and asked the maid to leave her to die.

"She deserves that for the sin she has committed!" they shouted.

Then came Upagupta, the Buddhist monk. Vasavadatta asked her maid to cover her. She did not want to show her wounded face to her beloved, Upagupta.

Upagupta said, "Vasvadatta, I have come to you just as you always desired."

"Oh monk! You rejected me when all of Mathura admired me," said Vasavadatta.

"Why do you choose to come now when I am nothing but a mass of festering flesh, shunned by all?" asked she.

Upagupta smiled and said with great compassion, "At that time you did not need me, Vasavadatta. You do now. Come, let me take you to my monastery and allow me heal your wounds."

 In due course Vasavadatta recovered under the care and nursing of the young monk. But she lost her beauty and was always depressed.

Seeing this, Upagupta consoled her, "Vasavadatta, you are sorry for loosing your beauty which lasts only as long as you are young. You are yet to discover a beauty greater than that you have lost, the beauty of the self. Come with me and listen to Lord Buddha, it will bring you peace and eternal happiness."

Vasavadatta, curious to know more, began to attend the discourses of Lord Buddha.

"You can't call your body your own!" Buddha said in his discourse. "When the body is cast away, it becomes food for the vultures. Light the lamp within you, only then, will you find true peace."

Quietly Vasavadatta began to think and repeat to herself, "Light the lamp within you, peace will come ---."

When the discourse ended, Vasavadatta fell at the feet of Lord Buddha seeking salvation.

Buddha blessed her, "So be it, my child. May you find peace.

Some of best Hindi Stories I came across

Here's a list of stories & essays which i really liked & will like to be in always touch with. Read them somewhere in past & they really are one of the best.

• सच्ची वीरता — सरदार पूर्णं सिंह 
• मै और मेरा देश — श्री कन्हैया लाल मिश्र प्रभाकर
• चीफ की दावत — भीष्म साहनी
• ममता — श्री जय शंकर प्रसाद
• भीड़ में खोया आदमी — लीलाधर शर्मा पर्वतीय
• श्रम की प्रतिष्ठा — विनोबा भावे
• भोलाराम का जीव

But the sad part is in spite of searching a lot over the web haven't found any of them. So making a list in order to later include them in the stories section. Also a humble request to anyone reading this - If you do come across any of these in e-file/pdf or any electronic form please do notify me. Will be very grateful.

An excerpt from : "श्रम की प्रतिष्ठा" — विनोबा भावे

परिश्रम को सफलता की चाबी माना जाता है। जीवन में सफलता पुरुषार्थ दिखाने से प्राप्त होती है। जो परिश्रम का महत्व जानता है और परिश्रम करने से कतराता नहीं है लक्ष्मी उसे वरण करने के लिए सदैव तैयार रहती है। भाग्य के भरोसे रहने वाले विफलता का स्वाद ही चखते हैं। अवसर उनके हाथ में आकर भी निकल जाता है। कठिन परिश्रम ही भाग्य को बनाता है। किया गया परिश्रम कभी व्यर्थ नहीं जाता। वह अपना रंग अवश्य दिखाता है। परिश्रम का महत्व परिश्रम करने वाले से अधिक कोई नहीं जानता है। परिश्रम के सहारे मनुष्य किसी भी प्रकार की कठिनाई को अपने मार्ग से दूर हटा देता है। परिश्रम का नाम आत्मविश्वास और आत्मनिर्भरता है। जो परिश्रमी हैं, वह आत्मनिर्भर हैं। आत्मनिर्भरता उसमें आत्मविश्वास का समावेश करती है। परिश्रम से बढ़ने वाला व्यक्ति चट्टान के समान होता है। उसकी सफलता दूसरों की दया और सहानुभूति पर निर्भर नहीं होती है। संसार में अन्य लोगों द्वारा उसका अनुसरण किया जाता है। ऐसे लोग संसार में अमर हो जाते हैं। मानचित्र में जापान बहुत ही छोटा देश है परन्तु उसका लोहा पूरा विश्व मानता है। आज जापान हर क्षेत्र में अग्रणीय है। ऐसा वहाँ के लोगों के कठोर परिश्रम के कारण ही संभव हो पाया है। भारत जिसने कई वर्षों की गुलामी सही। उसकी अतुल धन-संपदा को लुट लिया गया परन्तु इस देश के नागरिकों ने पुन: स्वयं को विश्व के यूरोपीय देशों की कतार में ला खड़ा किया है। परिश्रम अपनी कहानी स्वयं कहता है। यदि हम कहीं सफल नहीं हो पाते हैं, तो समझ लेना चाहिए कि हमने पूरी तरह से परिश्रम नहीं किया है। विद्यार्थी जीवन में भी परिश्रम बहुत महत्व रखता है। यदि विद्यार्थी पढ़ने में मन नहीं लगाता है और निरंतर अभ्यास नहीं करता, तो परीक्षा में उसके हाथ असफलता ही लगती है। परिश्रम जितना अधिक किया होगा, सफलता का स्वाद उतना ही रसीला होगा। अत: इसके महत्व को समझते हुए परिश्रम को जीवन में महत्व देना चाहिए।

Short story(2) - The Garden Party

— Katherine Mansfield

And after all the weather was ideal. They could not have had a more perfect day for a garden-party if they had ordered it. Windless, warm, the sky without a cloud. Only the blue was veiled with a haze of light gold, as it is sometimes in early summer. The gardener had been up since dawn, mowing the lawns and sweeping them, until the grass and the dark flat rosettes where the daisy plants had been seemed to shine. As for the roses, you could not help feeling they understood that roses are the only flowers that impress people at garden-parties; the only flowers that everybody is certain of knowing. Hundreds, yes, literally hundreds, had come out in a single night; the green bushes bowed down as though they had been visited by archangels.

Breakfast was not yet over before the men came to put up the marquee.

"Where do you want the marquee put, mother?"

लघु कथा - "उसने कहा था" |

आज यूँ ही सालों पहले पढ़ी यह कहानी याद आ गयी - "उसने कहा था" |

सोचा क्यूँ न एक-एक करके जितनी हो सके उतनी अनुपम कृतियों को एक जगह एकत्रित कर लिया जाए जिन्होने की कभी मुझे अन्दर तक झकझोर दिया था |

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"उसने कहा था" — चंद्रधर शर्मा गुलेरी

बड़े-बड़े शहरों के इक्के-गाड़िवालों की जवान के कोड़ों से जिनकी पीठ छिल गई है, और कान पक गए हैं, उनसे हमारी प्रार्थना है कि अमृतसर के बम्बूकार्ट वालों की बोली का मरहम लगाएँ।

जब बड़े-बड़े शहरों की चौड़ी सड़कों पर घोड़े की पीठ चाबुक से धुनते हुए, इक्केवाले कभी घोड़े की नानी से अपना निकट-सम्बन्ध स्थिर करते हैं, कभी राह चलते पैदलों की आँखों के न होने पर तरस खाते हैं, कभी उनके पैरों की अंगुलियों के पोरे को चींघकर अपने-ही को सताया हुआ बताते हैं, और संसार-भर की ग्लानि, निराशा और क्षोभ के अवतार बने, नाक की सीध चले जाते हैं, तब अमृतसर में उनकी बिरादरी वाले तंग चक्करदार गलियों में, हर-एक लड्ढी वाले के लिए ठहर कर सब्र का समुद्र उमड़ा कर 'बचो खालसाजी।' 'हटो भाई जी।' 'ठहरना भाई जी।' 'आने दो लाला जी।' 'हटो बाछा।' -- कहते हुए सफेद फेटों, खच्चरों और बत्तकों, गन्नें और खोमचे और भारेवालों के जंगल में से राह खेते हैं।