When the Night Speaks By Lokanath Mishra The night was unnaturally still, the kind of silence that presses against the ears until even one’s own breathing sounds intrusive. At exactly two in the morning, Kajal heard her name whispered from the darkness. “Girl… get me some water.” She opened her eyes, more irritated than afraid. […]
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The Extra Five Hundred Twenty-Five Rupees By Lokanath Mishra Abdul and his wife Sabina had been married for thirty-two years. Abdul was sixty-two, retired from a private company, and surviving on a very small EPF pension. Sabina, fifty-four, managed the household carefully, counting every rupee. Their children had moved away long ago—settled in different cities,
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Title: The Ladder That Was Never Given By Lokanath Mishra: When the old woman exhaled her final breath, she expected darkness. Instead, she felt lighter—as if the weight of her years had gently slipped away. When she opened her eyes, a tall figure stood beside her, clothed not in fear but in calm authority. His
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THE WEIGHT OF WHAT REMAINS By Lokanath Mishra Meera often thought that love was not the loud thing people claimed it to be. With Raghav, it had always been quiet, persistent, stitched into the ordinary hours of the day. Their marriage did not begin with fireworks but with long conversations on the terrace of a
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The Shape of What We Learn to Hold By Lokanath Mishra Raman Verma was thirty-eight when he stopped pretending that solitude was punishment. It had once felt like exile—rooms too quiet, nights too long—but now it felt like a consequence he could finally live inside without breaking things. He had been married three times. Each
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The Things We Carry Home By Lokanath Mishra: Aarohi Sen believed people when they spoke gently. She believed Ritwik Malhotra when he said, “You’re my best friend,” because the sentence sounded ordinary, and ordinary things are often the most trusted. They had grown into each other’s lives without naming it. Shared meals. Shared silences. The
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THE DAY THE SIRENS LOOKED AWAY By Lokanath Mishra: Ananya Sharma had learned, over forty years of living, that danger rarely announced itself. It arrived quietly, disguised as routine. That Monday afternoon felt ordinary enough—lectures completed, attendance sheets tucked into her cloth bag, the echo of student voices trailing behind her as she stepped out
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A Story of Dvapar Yuga in Prose (Part-27A) By Lokanath Mishra ( Mahabharata in Prose)Belamali, enchanted by Bhima’s appearance, carried his lifeless body down to the netherworld (Pātāla) to her father, the Serpent King Ananta. At Belamali’s request, King Ananta fed Bhima the nectar of immortality and restored his life. When Bhima regained consciousness, he
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When Hearts Remember What Distance Cannot Erase By Lokanath Mishra ( A letter from a wife to her husband) My Beloved, When I close my eyes in the quiet of the night, I don’t see walls or distances—I see you.Somehow, even miles away, my breath still knows its way back to your heartbeat. I want
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My Son By Lokanath Mishra We are not dramatic people. My husband still wakes up at 5:30 every morning. I still boil milk the same way I did when our son was small—careful not to let it spill. Habits don’t die just because hope is tired. Our son, Raghav, used to call every night at
