The dawn

The time, passed mid shadow on a wintry December night. The place, a everlasting(a) ghat on the banks of Ganges. The place was absolutely quiet except the overweight of the ripples striking the cobbled steps and near imperceptible rustle of the night air. A few dogs could be spotted curling up beside the ash still warm although the fire had long extinguished. If you pan off your vision you could see nobody but your eyes would perfectly enamor stuck on a desolate lonely externalise stretching on the cast iron bench. He was a man probably in his mid twenties, a run-down frame with disheveled hair and uncut beard. His eyes were contumacious with a meaningless stare on the ever ringlet waters. Suddenly with almost a lunge forward he stood up as if he was in blind hastiness to do a job very urgently. He took his freshman step but was startled to feel the hand of soulfulness on his shoulder. He looked over his shoulder. In the oblique get out of the street lamp he picked up a senile presage with snow white flowing beards and hair. His perched half lit side of meat showed all the signs of virtue. On his pursed lips he picked up an assuring make a face as if he was his acquaintance. Why have you taken much(prenominal) a desperate decision to suicide? he asked unfeigned away without any circumlocution.



This do the young man almost petrified with amazement. Wh...Who are you? he stammered, and why have you come to tantalise me? he pronounced with a weak note of defiance. With a very gentle pull the old man made the young man retrace his steps and coaxed him to sit on the bench.

Paritosh, the young man, felt himself almost in a province of trance. Quite abruptly he allowed his long cooped...

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