Thursday 7 December 2017

Short Story - The Stick


‘How is he now, doctor?’ asked a concerned Fatima, who had just come holding a glass of water in her hand.
Clutching a briefcase in the right hand, the doctor was standing there; his eyes were still at a photograph hung on a dull beige wall beside the bed in a dimly illuminated room. A man in his late 70s was lying on it. One of his wrinkled arms was penetrated by a needle feeding him the nutrients, living the other on the stomach; and a thin pipe carrying the oxygen, was travelling through his nostrils. There was a support stick, made up of wood was carried by his idle hand. His old, shrunk, paralyzed body covered with a cotton shawl from legs to waist, was looking pale and dull. His eyes were fixed, lacking a blink, depicting some kind of incompleteness in it. They were shining in the light of full moon coming from the grilled window in front of the bed. The opposite corner of the bed was filled up by the stand holding dozens of fat books and other complex materials of related to biology. A dusty, wooden study table was just beside it; bearing an ink-pot and a pen with some off-white papers on it. A miniature crystallized globe of earth on the papers, was reflecting the noisy moving fan, hung from the ceiling.
There was a black and white photo, clenched by a plastic photo frame, acquiring a corner of the table showing a couple dressed in the wedding attire. Compassing around the rough floor, a cringed metal door could be found, playing the role of an entrance to that small sized room. To collect the concentration of the doctor, Fatima again asked, this time in a little louder voice, “How is my father?”
The doctor came out of the ocean of his memory, tore his eyes from the picture to turn back and answer. “Oh, sorry! Actually, I have just come and still haven’t checked him…” As soon as he turned back, seeing him, a bolt of lightning passed through Fatima’s body. Her heart skipped a bit and a familiar name, buried in the deepest fold of her memory, slipped from her mouth, “Birju!”
“…I have come in the place of Dr. Khatri who has gone to see some other-” the doctor got stopped mid-sentence.
“Wait, what did you just say?  Are you…” The doctor also got retrieved something which was lost somewhere inside him. “…Fatima?”
“Yes!” Throwing her glance down to the floor, she replied immediately; a tear rolled down her wrinkly, burnt cheek.
“Oh My God!” Transferring the briefcase from right to left, he put the idle hand on his lips and muttered under his breath in a scrutinizing way.
He found the same salwar-kamiz wearing girl in front of him, he left seven years ago; the dupatta was covering her head but still her long earrings were sneaking from inside, as always. The kangan, the mojari, everything was of the same style he had recalled from the past memory. The only thing changed was the face; the earlier most gorgeous face was now completely burnt on the left side, leaving behind only the eye. The doctor felt the storm of questions rising from inside but he quieted it somehow. He took the glass from her to drink water.
                Fatima offered him a chair; he sat on it and examined her father. He put the ear tips inside his ears and diaphragm on the patient’s chest to observe the heartbeat. After a minute or two, he said addressing to Fatima,
“Your father is shivering from cold. Cover him with some woolen material, this shawl wouldn’t work.” Advising this, the doctor pulled a page out from his diary and started writing on it. “This would be enough but still these are some medicines if in case it is needed.”
“Thank you, Birju. Oh sorry, I meant Dr. Brijesh. Actually abba was making some kind of weird noise from inside from last few days. I was unable to find the reason so I thought of calling Dr. Khatri.” Explained Fatima taking the prescription from Brijesh; however, her eyes were still pointing towards the floor.                                                                                                                     
“Good decision you took” Brijesh replied. “By the way, ‘Birju’ is okay for you.” He added further after a pause with a failed attempt to control a smile.
One of his inner senses was pulling him to sit and grab the chance of talking to the person he admired the most. But he left the place saying, “Ok then, I’ll come after two days for re-checkup. Take care of him and yourself, bye.”
That night Fatima can’t sleep well, so does Brijesh. The train of their memories together that stopped seven years ago was once again started running in their hearts. But one thing eating Brijesh up was the bizarre look of Fatima he had seen, “How come she would have been put in that situation? Who would have done such a ridiculous thing to her that she could not even help herself to meet an eye with me? ”
After two days, Dr. Khatri was going to visit Husain Miyan, Fatima’s father. But gathering some courage Brijesh asked him to let him go instead; and being an experienced assistant, Dr. Brijesh got the permission to go for the re-visit.
-----------------***---------------------------------------***--------------------------------------***-----------
Dr. Brijesh again entered the same room he visited last time; except Fatima was already present there, sitting on a chair. Seeing Brijesh, she stood up; eyes not moved even an inch upwards. She offered another chair to him and Brijesh could not help noticing that Fatima has worn his favorite crimson colored salwar-kamiz. “Maybe she still remembers!” He thought.
After diagnosing Fatima’s father, Brijesh spoke, “He is better than last time. The medicines I gave are working.”
“Thank you.” Fatima said.
Thinking of what to do, how to react, both the person sat for five long minutes; not having enough gut to look into each other’s eyes. At last, Fatima broke the silence.
“Would you like to have tea or coffee or something cold?”
The hidden urge of Brijesh was now surfacing; he could not hold more of her silence. Gathering up his all the courage, he asked finally.
“Can I have your glance please?”
                She looked up immediately; expressions of shock were running through her horrible looking face.
“And why do you need it?” said Fatima in a firm voice; her lips pressed. “Where were you Dr. Brijesh when I needed you the most seven years ago?”
“I’ll explain you, I’ll explain you every bit-”
“I don’t want to hear anything from you.” Fatima stood up and tried to say in a stronger voice. “Just…just go from here if you have checked abbu.”
“Fatima please listen to me. I have got this chance after so many years, of putting my stand, of clarifying the things, of talking to you!” Said Brijesh in a low tone; an appeal was draining from his voice. “Please sit here for some time.” He said calming down Fatima.
“The day I met you last time seven years ago, was the most depressed day of my life.” Brijesh began. “That night your father, our teacher came to meet me at my dormitory. He sat in front of me in my room and threatened me not to meet you, or even having any kind of contact with you; otherwise it would not take much time for him to ruin my life.” Fatima clapped her hands to her mouth as Brijesh uttered the last sentence; not even daring to look at her father.
“I told this thing to my donor who were sponsoring my higher studies. He advised me not to involve in these things and focus only on my studies. He informed me that my application for the higher studies has been approved and handed me the call letter. However, I still tried hard to contact you but all the efforts went in vain. I was that bright, young 18 ager at that time; still losing all hopes of even meeting you in future, I…I just prepared myself to follow the advice.
Fatima kept listening calmly.
“After a week, my passport and Visa of USA were ready.” Brijesh continued after gulping a lump of spit which was choking his voice. “I cried my heart out the night I reached there. Not because I was lonely in a strange country but because I could not even gathered myself up against your father for you. And trust me Fatima; I’ve regretted this one thing the most in my life. You may not, but I still-”
WHAMMMM!!!!
Fatima just hit Brijesh hard on his right cheek.
“How can you even think that I may not love you?”
Brijesh’s eyes remained open and wide, glued to Fatima; trying hard but failing miserably hiding the water being poured outside from his eyes. He was astounded by what just Fatima had expressed to him. She too felt a small droplet of tear falling out of her large almond-like eye. Closing them, she regretted every word she had ever thought about her Birju throughout these last seven years.
“Fatima!”
Brijesh tried to pull her back to the present day.
“What about you? How did you get into this kind of situation? Who did this to you?” Wiping his tears, he asked some of the many questions travelling in his mind.
“Two days after we met then, my father arranged a get together with one of his college friends. This was not so unusual thing as abbu used to talk about him quite often but as he and ammi was preparing me for the meet, I think I had a smell about what they were up to.” She began wiping the tears down her cheeks.
“And guess what? I was right.” Fatima looked up. “They fixed my marriage with his elder son named Rameez, and that too without my consent!” Brijesh’s eyebrows pulled up.
“The first picture came to my mind was of you after hearing this horrible news.” She continued. “I tried to convince Rameez to deny the proposal but he refrained. Then, I thought of convincing my parents going our way back but the fate had… had decided something else.” Fatima’s words chocked. Brijesh watched her carefully.
“On our way back to the city, our car…our car had met with an accident!” The words felt difficulty of being showered from her mouth as she sobbed. “She is my ammi who is no more.” Said Fatima pointing towards the photo at which Brijesh was looking the other day.
“Oh! I am very sorry to hear that Fatima.” The pain of losing your mother was no lesser than not having one. Brijesh could feel her pain from the deepest point in his heart.
“And my father…” Fatima continued. ”…my father has been petrified like this since then. His half of the body is paralyzed; he can see and listen but can’t utter a single word. Apart from the eyes and right hand lying on his stomach, none of his body parts he can move by himself. My whole life had got changed in just one day.” Brijesh swirled to look at him; one thing he did not understand was, ‘the support stick’. Although he had studied the patient, he kept listening patiently.
“You know Birju-” Brijesh felt a tide of sensation hit on the bank of his heart. “It was a dream of my father to see me in my wedding dress, one day. I was used to give him this stick and then we both walk together for the school.” Fatima reminded pointing to the right hand of her abbu which was holding a sleek polished wooden stick. After a short pause, she continued. “But everything got vanished in a moment. But thanks to Rameez’s family, who supported me in every way possible to suck me out of this funnel of calamity.
“You see Birju, I was in no way to refrain this marriage. I accepted my fate and just to tell my decision, I tried to contact you after around one and a half month of these incidents. But to my surprise, you had already gone. I got the news of your foreign studies from one of your friends.
“For the first time in life, Birju I felt helpless as you were not in the most miserable time of my life.” Fatima sighed as her watery eyes fell down. Reacting to it, Brijesh put his hand on Fatima’s. She looked up but did not refrain. Brijesh was trying hard not to get malted.
“I am really very sorry Fatima. I don’t know how I could not gather up the courage to stand to your father! I just...”
“Rameez seemed to me a good person, at first.” Fatima jumped over Brijesh’s incomplete sentence. She was emptying herself up as if she had waited for this moment for her lifetime; as if she had found an absorber to shoot her suppressed feelings of the long time. “I mean, he helped me and my family so much in the time of crisis. When no one was beside us, he was. We spent first few months knowing each other. He was attempting every possible way to keep me happy; and I was happy. Everything was going fine. But again the cards of my fate turned for no good.
“Rameez adopted the habit of liquor and gambling from his lousy friends. Every night he was used to come home drunk. He used to beat me, telling me abusive words...” Brijesh’s mouth remained open, horror stuck; eyes raged with anger.
“But I remained silent. I tried every possible way to bring my husband back on the right path, but my every attempt went in vain. I even tried to take help of my mother-in-law but no results, until one unfortunate night when things changed for the worse. I was coming back from my town looking abbu when I caught my husband, Rameez with some other...”
The memory of that single sight was used to haunt Fatima so badly that her voice chocked before even completing the sentence. Her eyes had become of size of a small walnut. Brijesh was still holding the flood in his eyes, listening quietly what his love had gone through all these days.
“I...I screamed; tried to tear them apart and put a tight slap on Rameez’s face. Since he was still in the intoxication of the liquor, he pushed me away and did a failed attempt to inhibit her. But she went out till then. Throwing frenzy, terror-filled expression at me he too went like a gunshot after her. I did not stop him. I was devastated, literally tired running after him.
Fatima tried to continue narration with hiccupping when Brijesh offered her the glass of water from the table beside. As he was putting the glass back, he felt Husain miyan hearing all these things since there was a tear rolling out of his right eye.
“I felt disgusting even sitting again on that bed. I had no idea what to do now. I stretched on the couch beside the bed, facing my right, and closed my eyes not caring of anything around the world. All sorts of thoughts including committing suicide were passing through my mind. But I made up mind firmly not to give up my life for this barbaric person. Also my abbu needed me.
“I was swirling in the sea of thoughts until a shivering cold splash of water hit me, on my face. Although it felt chilled first, it burnt me like a hell from inside. Yes, it was acid; thrown by my own husband in his cloud nine stage, upon me.”
The salty water finally made its way through Brijesh’s widened eyes. He could not hold it anymore. His insides were burning on the same heat felt by Fatima on that night, perhaps even more.
“I don’t know who took me to the hospital that night. Almost whole of my left face paid the price of that slap, I wonder. But you know Brijesh...” His eyes craned which were finding the floor to hide the tears.
“...I didn’t do compromise this time. I had firmly decided to tear this relationship. I got divorced even after negotiation from him and, his and my family so many times. And since then, here I am; taking care of my abbu.” Fatima concluded. Although her cheeks were wet, her lips stretched a bit hinting a slight smile.
“Fatima, you truly are a brave girl. I mean, how can someone survive these wounds?” Brijesh could finally give the form of words to his emotions. He wiped his and her tears and said, “These are the dents not on body; these are the dents on soul. It needs a lot of courage and patience to deal with all of these. And how can somebody so cruel to you! I mean, even the thought of playing with a woman’s self-esteem by doing some filthy deeds is terrifying for me. Literally, you have under gone more than enough, and came out winning from every situation. Hats off to you!”
The smile on Fatima’s face got broadened.
“So?”
“So...what?”
“I mean, you got married to someone or...” asked Fatima in a mischievous tone.
“Nah! ‘Couldn’t find even the similar person like you, let alone the better one.” Brijesh replied. Both laughed. It was the best sound Brijesh had heard from Fatima after seven years, her laughing.
At that fine moment, there happened a loud noise of the stick falling on the floor. They both found their abbu’s hand opened and eyes shut.


Saturday 17 June 2017

Behind the scenes...1

        



        Smita tried to call her husband Mahesh on phone but couldn't. Usually, after 2-3 times she was used to getting succeed. So, she was wondering why this time it was taking too long? 

After 15 minutes or so... 

'I tried so many times why you were not answering?'
Finally, she could talk to her husband. 
'Oh, I am sorry. I got busy with my boss. So...'

'Ok, listen. You promised Radhika to get her a new mobile phone today. You remember na? It's almost 7:30.'

'Yeah, I do. I am just departing for home. Will be there in 30 minutes.' assured Mahesh. 

'Ok, fine. She's waiting for you.'

After almost an hour... 

'Maa, Papa has come.'

        She quickly took the helmet from her father and gave it to her mother who came holding a glass of water for her husband. He took it from her and drank. They all were still at the doorway of the house. 
'Let's go na papa, I can't wait anymore.'

'Let him come in first, beta. After having dinner he'll come with you and get you a mobile phone' said her mother calmly. 

'No, Smita. I'll get her one now. She's so excited.' said the father. He got a smile on his face seeing his daughter happy. 
'Thank you, papa.' Radhika hugged her father. 

        After rushing to so many shops and almost one and a half hour, Radhika chose her mobile phone worth rupees 10000. Radhika's dream of having her personal mobile phone came true and so was her father's; to give her daughter everything she wants. 

        After reaching home, Radhika got busy in seeing new features of her mobile phone. 

                           { Behind the scenes }

'Boss, I...I actually wanted some rupees.' Mahesh hesitated while speaking. 

'Why? I mean for what? You just took some rupees already for your daughter's fees right? Now what?' snarled his Boss. 

'Actually, sir I promised my daughter to get her a mobile phone if she would pass her 10th std. with at least 90%. And she got 91% marks. She deserves her reward and I want to give her the phone of her choice, not mine. So...' explained Mahesh.

'Ok, I'll help but remember; I'll cut down this money from your salary next month.' said the Boss firmly. He couldn't refuse as he also had a daughter. 

'Sure sir. I wouldn't mind that. I've saved half of the money; I just want 5000
rupees.'

        The Boss gave him the money. The cacophonous sounds of heavy machinery started blowing Mahesh's ears again as soon as he left the AC chamber of his Boss. He took his old cell phone out to check the time. It was showing 7:30. And his wife's 8th call was coming. He received it and talked to her. 

        He was wondering why he didn't come to notice the earlier calls from her wife. Then he remembered the problem his phone's speakers have got from last few months. 

        As before, he again showed it to one of his friend who knew few things about these electronics devices. 

'Take it, Mahesh. This'll work for some more days. Umm, if you don't mind may I suggest you something?'

'Yeah, why not?'

'Why don't you buy a new latest touchscreen smartphone? You need it.'

'No, no. I am happy with this keypad phone. And it still works. Although it creates problems sometimes I'll manage with it.' said Mahesh with a gentle smile on his face. 

'Ok, as you wish.'

        Mahesh entrusted the work on his friend and departed for his home. 

        The factory, Mahesh was working in, was 25 kilometers away from his home on a highway. He was on his way home when he saw a brutally crushed car by a truck just a few kilometers ahead from his factory. The condition of the car and the truck was so bad that hardly anybody would be saved from that accident. It caused a long traffic jam. 

        Though, Mahesh was stunned; he carried on. He accelerated his motorcycle to reach home and get her daughter the present she always wanted. 

        At a turn on his way, he kept the indicator on. As soon as he turned to go into that direction, a speedy car passed by him furiously. He remained just a few inches away from being wiped away. His heartbeats got fast. Somehow, he controlled his vehicle and carried on. 

        He reached home and went with his daughter to shop the smartphone of her choice.

'Why weren't you answering my call?' asked Smita to Mahesh while having dinner. 

'Oh, it was just the sound of heavy machinery that had made my ears almost deaf.' said Mahesh sarcastically.

'And why it took so long to reach home?'

'Nothing. Just a usual traffic due to roadways trucks.'

'Hmm.' agreed Smita. 


Behind the scenes... We ought to notice what we fail to. 

Happy Fathers' Day ЁЯШК

Sunday 14 May 2017

Book Review : Shiva Trilogy (all the 3 books)



Shiva Trilogy :
1. The Immortals of Meluha
2. The Secret of the Nagas
3. The Oath of the Vayuputras

I'll go with the question first as why I started reading the 'Shiva Trilogy'?
So, my friend recommended it to me. Although he hadn't read it but he did insisted me upon the advise of a friend of his, almost a year ago. My friend told that his friend told him that he feels like a god in himself after reading these books. I thought the book 'Meluha' as a motivational book, in which the author tries to motivate you by some of the examples of already succeed people. Then I saw the cover of it. A man with hair tied in a bun standing by keeping his back which is ornamented with the battle scars. I thought it is surely not like a motivational book. But still I didn't consider to read it. I didn't know then that it is a trilogy - a series of 3 books. After about 6 months, the same friend again insisted me. This time I took the recommendation seriously and started reading the first book, 'The Immortals of Meluha'.At first, it seemed to me like an already heard fable from my parents and grandmother. The same ethereal characters, Shiva, Nandi, Sati, Daksha etc. The holy pilgrimage place, the Hindus want to visit at least once in the lifetime; Kailash Mansarovar. The same ideal civilization that we studied in the textbooks. The prosperity it contains, the way of life its people attached to, the construction of the city; all were the same. I thought what does the writer wants to prove by rewriting this? Nevertheless, I kept it reading and completed the trilogy. Throughout the journey of my reading, I also used to watch some of the interviews of Amish from the YouTube to understand the books from his perspective. There are some points upon which I'd like to review this whole trilogy.

• The detailed description :Although some things I already knew about the Indus valley civilization, the way Amish had described in the book; is very fascinating. And this thing can be seen in all the 3 books. The description of the things is very detailed. Amish makes us travel in almost all the directions in India, even beyond India. He takes us from the marvelous mountains of the Himalayas where Lord Shiva abodes to Panchavati where Lord Ram resided during their forest dwell. From the deserts of Iraq and Mesopotamia to the banks of Ganga at Kashi. And every time he describes a city, as if he himself resides in it for years.

• Reasoning and Research:Another thing which I liked more is the reasoning behind every small things, from the Meluhan cities being set on the platforms to the reason why good turned evil. From the process behind Somras making our lifeline longer to the reason behind Lord Shiva's 3rd eye in the middle of his forehead. Among these, the reason behind good turning evil I personally liked the most. It shows how detailed the author researched before and during writing a book. Whenever he makes the protagonist and his team travel by the ship in a river, the author describes its course as if he himself has traveled first and then wrote this. I used to check in the google maps every time it describes something by the course of the river and it almost all the times it landed up being correct. Besides it, the author tried exceptionally well to explain why the things we today, are in this way by reasoning from the past. E.g. The extinct of Saraswati, Holiness of Ganga, Lord Ganesha's elephant head and Goddess Kali's four hands.

• War scenes :The war scenes described in the books are very fierce. The fierceness of the scenes increases by every passing page.The last battle at Devgiri between Sati and Swuth's army is one such example in which the reader would also feel the pain of warrior by imagining the war scene. There are so many examples when I personally felt the pain while reading like when Ganesh was saving Kartik from the ligers, Sati and Kali fighting with the ligers, Sati and Shiv fighting with the Naga at Ayodhya etc.

• Philosophies :This is not just a mythological fiction, it also describes the philosophies of life very beautifully. Some of the quotes which I had filtered out and want to share with you; explains this point up to some extent.

Opposite of the Love -'The opposite of love is not hate. Hate is just love gone bad. The actual opposite of love is apathy. When you don’t care a damn as to what happens to the other person.'- The Secret of the Nagas

One for the Engineers -'You need legendary engineers to build reality out of myth.'- The Secret of the Nagas

One,which is true even in today's context-What we are doing is taking away the lifeblood of our future progeny so that our present generation can revel in the luxury.- The oath of the Vayuputras

The books even talks about the purpose of our life -We don’t become gods because we think we are gods. That is only a sign of ego. We become gods when we realize that a part of the universal divinity lives within us; when we understand our role in this great world and when we strive to fulfill that role.- The Oath of the Vayuputras

These books give us a new perspective to see our ancient values, to see history of India and to see Lord Shiva. They keep you thrilled at every stage. They keep yourself always excited about what will happen next. Believe or not, these books have the strength to make anyone close to the god, the only condition is that the person reading it should see it thoroughly. I personally feel lord Shiva close to me like never before; after reading these books.I heard in an interview of Amish, the interviewer asked what are your plans after making all the youth of India 'SHIVBHAKTS'?And I must say after reading these books, I am becoming a Shivaholic...

The universe bows to Lord Shiva. I bow to Lord Shiva.

|| рдКँ рдирдоः рд╢िрд╡ाрдп ||

Tuesday 2 May 2017

рдХрд╡िрддा - рдЪрд▓े рдЪрд▓ो...


рдЪрд▓, рдЪрд▓, рдЪрд▓, рддुрдо рд░ूрдХрдиा рдирд╣ीं рдУ рдмंрдзु, рд░ूрдХрдиा рдирд╣ीं, рддुрдо рд░ूрдХрдиा рдирд╣ीं |
рд╕ाँрд╕ рдЪрд▓े рдЬрдм рддрдХ, рдЪрд▓े рдЪрд▓ो рддрдм рддрдХ, рд░ूрдХрдиा рдирд╣ीं, рддुрдо рд░ूрдХрдиा рдирд╣ीं |

рдпोрдЬрдиों рд▓ंрдмा рд╕рдоुрдж्рд░ рдпा рд╡рд░्рд╖ा рдХा рдШрдиा рдЬंрдЧрд▓, рдЦ़рддрд░ों рд╕े рддुрдо рдШрдмрд░ाрдиा рдирд╣ीं ।
рдЬीрд╡рди рдПрдХ рдИрдо्рддीрд╣ाрди рдпाрдж рд░рдЦ़ो рддुрдо рдмंрдзु, рдХрдаिрдиाрдИрдпों рд╕े рджूрд░ рднाрдЧрдиा рдирд╣ीं ।

рдХाँрдЯों рднрд░ा рдкрде рд╣ो рдпा рдлुрд▓ों рдХी рд╣ो рд╢рдп्рдпा, рддुрдо рд╡िрд╢्рд░ाрдо рдХा рднी рдоोрд╣ рдХрд░рдиा рдирд╣ीं ।
рд╣рд▓рдХी рд╕ी рдаोрдХрд░ рд╕े рд╣ोंрд╕рд▓े рдХो рддोрдб़рдХрд░, рд╣ाрд░ рдоाрди рдХрд░ рддुрдо рд░ूрдХрдиा рдирд╣ीे ।

рд░ाрд╕्рддों рдкे рдХрд╣ीं-рдХрд╣ीं рдмाрдзाрдПँ рддो рдЖрдПँрдЧी рдкрд░, рд░ूрдЦ़ рд╕рдЪ्рдЪे рд░ाрд╕्рддे рд╕े рдоोрдб़рдиा рдирд╣ीं ।
рджेрд╢ рдФрд░ рдкрд░ीрд╡ाрд░ рдХी рдк्рд░рддिрд╖्рдаा рдХा рдоाрди рд░рдЦ़ो, рд░ूрдХрдиा рдирд╣ीं рддुрдо рд░ूрдХрдиा рдирд╣ीं |

рдХрд░्рдо рдкे рд╣рдХ़ рддेрд░ा рдХрд░्рдо рдХрд░ो рддुрдо рдмंрдзु, рдл़рд▓ рдХी рдЖрд╢ा рдоें рд╡्рдпрд░्рде рдЬीрдиा рдирд╣ीं ।
рдЪрд▓े рдЪрд▓ो рд╕рдм рдоिрд▓े, рдмैрдаे рд╕िрд░्рдл 'рдЖрднाрд╕' рдоिрд▓े, рд░ाрд╕्рддे рдоें рд░ाрд╣ी рддुрдо рд░ूрдХрдиा рдирд╣ीं |

Saturday 18 February 2017

ркХрк╡િркдા - рккા

рккркк્рккા рк╕ાркеે ЁЯШК


ркХрк▓рко ркнрк▓ે ркоાрк░ી рк╣ોркп, рккркг рк▓ркЦрк╡ાркиું рк╢િркЦ્ркпો рк╣ું ркЖрккркиા ркеркХી.
ркЬીрк╡ркиркиી ркжрк░ેркХ ркХ્рк╖ркгркоાં рк╕ંркШрк░્рк╖ ркХрк░ીркиે ркЬીркдрк╡ાркиું, рк╢િркЦ્ркпો ркЫું рк╣ું ркЖрккркиા ркеркХી.
ркЖрккркиા ркеркХી ркЬ ркЖрк╡ркб્ркпું ркоркиે,
рк╕ંркмંркзો ркиિркнાрк╡рк╡ાркиું,
ркЬિંркжркЧી ркЬીрк╡рк╡ાркиું,
рк░ોркдાркиે рк╣рк╕ાрк╡рк╡ાркиું, рк╢િркЦ્ркпો ркЫું рк╣ું ркЖрккркиા ркеркХી. 

рккркк્рккા…
рккркЧ ркнрк▓ે ркоાрк░ા рк╣ોркп, рккркЧркнрк░ ркерк╡ાркиું рк╢િркЦ્ркпો рк╣ું ркЖрккркиા ркеркХી.
ркХркаીркиાркИ ркнрк░્ркпા рккંрке рккрк░ ркбркЧрк▓ા ркоાંркбрк╡ાркиું, рк╢િркЦ્ркпો ркЫું рк╣ું ркЖрккркиા ркеркХી.
ркЖрккркиા ркеркХી ркЬ ркЖрк╡ркб્ркпું ркоркиે,
ркжુ્ઃркЦોркиે рк╣ંрк╕ી ркХાркврк╡ાркиું,
ркХрккрк░ા рк╕ркоркпркоાં рк╣ાрко рк░ાркЦрк╡ાркиું,
рк╡ркбીрк▓ોркиી рк╕ેрк╡ા ркХрк░рк╡ાркиું, рк╢િркЦ્ркпો ркЫું рк╣ું ркЖрккркиા ркеркХી. 

рккા…
ркдркоે рк╣ાркЬрк░ рк╣ркдા ркоાрк░ી рк╕ાркеે,
ркоાрк░ી ркжрк░ેркХ рк╕рклрк│ркдા-ркЕрк╕рклрк│ркдાркоાં,
ркоાрк░ા ркжрк░ેркХ ркЬркп-рккрк░ાркЬркпркоાં,
ркоાрк░ા ркЬીрк╡ркиркиી ркжрк░ેркХ ркХ્рк╖ркгркоાં.

рк╣ું рк╡ркЪрки ркЖрккું ркЫું ркдркоркиે,
ркЬે рк░ીркдે ркиાркирккркгркоાં ркдркоાрк░ો ркЦркнો ркмрки્ркпો рк╣ркдો ркШોркбીркпું ркоાрк░ું,
ркдે ркЬ рк░ીркдે ркЖрккркиા ркШркбрккркгркоાં ркоાрк░ો ркЦркнો ркмркирк╢ે рк▓ાркХркбી ркдркоાрк░ી.
рклોркХ ркирк╣િ ркерк╡ા ркжркЙં ркЖ ркмોрк▓ ркХркжી,
ркХેрко ркХે рк╡ркЪрки рккાрк│рк╡ાркиું рккркг, рк╢િркЦ્ркпો ркЫું рк╣ું ркЖрккркиા ркеркХી.

Wednesday 25 January 2017

рк╡ેрк░ાркпેрк▓ું ркоોркдી - 1


рк╢ૌрк░્ркпркЪркХ્рк░ рк╡િркЬેркдા рк╡ીрк░ 'ркоોрк╣рко્ркоркж рк╕ાркжિркХ' рк╕ાркеે



ркЦрк░ેркЦрк░...
ркЬીркЧрк░ું ркЬોркИркП ркП ркжુрк╢્ркоркиોркиી ркЧોрк│ીркУркиે рк╕ાркоી ркЫાркдીркП ркЭીрк▓рк╡ા ркоાркЯે,

ркЦрк░ેркЦрк░...
ркЬીркЧрк░ું ркЬોркИркП рккોркдાркиા рккрк░િрк╡ાрк░ркиી ркКંркШркиી ркЪિંркдા рки ркХрк░ીркиે ркмીркЬાркиે рк╢ાંркдીркеી рк╕ુрк╡ાркбрк╡ા ркоાркЯે,

ркЦрк░ેркЦрк░...
ркЬીркЧрк░ું ркЬોркИркП ркП рк╡િрк╖рко рккрк░િрк╕્ркеિркдિркУркоાં рккркг ркнૂркЦ્ркпા-ркдрк░рк╕્ркпા ркЯркХી рк░рк╣ેрк╡ા ркоાркЯે,

ркЦрк░ેркЦрк░...
ркЬીркЧрк░ું ркЬોркИркП ркоાркнોрко ркХાркЬે рк╕рк░્рк╡рк╕્рк╡ ркХુрк░ркмાрки ркХрк░рк╡ા ркоાркЯે.

ркЖ ркк્рк░ркЬાрк╕ркд્ркдાркХ ркжિрк╡рк╕ે ркжેрк╢ркиા рк╢рк╣ીркжોркиે 'ркЖркнાрк╕' ркдрк░рклркеી ркПркХ ркиાркиркХркбી ркнેркЯ...

If you wouldn't have been there, may be we wouldn't have been here.

Thank you very much.

Tuesday 24 January 2017

рк▓ેркЦ - рк╕ંркмંркзોркиા ркдાркгાંрк╡ાркгાં

ркпુрк╡ાркиી, рк╢ркм્ркж ркЬ ркХંркИркХ ркЕрк▓ркЧ ркЬૂрк╕્рк╕ા, ркЕрк▓ркЧ ркЙркоંркЧркеી ркнрк░ેрк▓ો ркЫે. ркпુрк╡ાркиી, ркмાрк│ркХો ркоાркЯે ркПркХ рк╕્рк╡ркк્рки ркЫે ркдો рк╡ૃркж્ркзો ркоાркЯે ркХંркИ-ркХેркЯрк▓ીркп ркоીркаી ркпાркжોркиો ркжрк░િркпો! ркпુрк╡ાркиી, ркП ркоркиુрк╖્ркпркЬીрк╡ркиркоાં ркмાрк│рккркг ркЕркиે рк╡ૃркж્ркзાрк╡рк╕્ркеાркиી рк╡ркЪ્ркЪેркиો ркдркмркХ્ркХો ркЫે. ркЬેрко ркоркз્ркпાрк╣્ркиркиા рк╕ૂрк░્ркпркиું ркдેркЬ рк╕ૌркеી рк╡ркзુ рк╣ોркп ркЫે, ркдેрко ркЖ ркпુрк╡ાркиીркиું ркдેркЬ рккркг ркоркиુрк╖્ркпркиા ркЬીрк╡рки рккрк░ рк╕ૌркеી рк╡ркзુ рккркбે ркЫે. ркХાрк░ркг ркХે, ркХાં ркдો ркоркиુрк╖્ркп ркпુрк╡ાркиીркоાં рккોркдાркиા ркоાркдા-рккિркдા, рккрк░િрк╡ાрк░ ркЕркиે ркжેрк╢ ркк્рк░ркд્ркд્ркпેркиી рккોркдાркиી рклрк░ркЬો рккુрк░ી ркХрк░рк╡ાркиું рк╢ીркЦે ркЫે ркЕркерк╡ા ркдો ркдેркиા ркЖ ркдેркЬрк╕્рк╡ી рк╕ૂрк░્ркп рккрк░ рк╡્ркпрк╕рки, рк╡્ркпркнિркЪાрк░ ркЬેрк╡ાં  ркжુрк░્ркЧુркгોркиું ркЧ્рк░рк╣ркг рк▓ાркЧી ркЬાркп ркЫે. ркПркХ рккંркХ્ркдિ ркЫે ркиે ркпુрк╡ાркиો ркоાркЯે ркХે,

    рдЪрдЯ्рдЯाрдиों рд╕े рдЯрдХрд░ाрдпे рд╡рд╣ рддुрдл़ाрди | рддुрдл़ाрдиों рд╕े рдЯрдХрд░ाрдпे рд╡рд╣ рдпुрд╡ाрди ||

ркпુрк╡ાркиીркоાં ркк્рк░рк╡ેрк╢ી рк░рк╣ેрк▓ા рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિркоાં рк╢ાрк░ીрк░િркХ ркЙрккрк░ાંркд ркШркгાં ркоાркирк╕િркХ рклેрк░рклાрк░ો рккркг ркЖрк╡ે ркЫે. ркдેркиી рк░рк╣ેркгી-ркХрк░ркгી, рк╡િркЪાрк░рк╕рк░ркгી, ркжુркиિркпાркиે ркЬોрк╡ાркиો ркдેркиો ркжૃрк╖્ркЯિркХોркг ркмркзું ркЬ ркмркжрк▓ાркп ркЫે. ркЖрко ркЬોрк╡ા ркЬркЗркП ркдો, рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિ ркХ્ркпાрк░ેркп ркПркХрк▓ો ркЬ ркмાрк▓્ркпાрк╡рк╕્ркеાркоાંркеી ркпુрк╡ાркиીркоાં ркк્рк░рк╡ેрк╢ркдો ркиркеી. ркдેркиી рк╕ાркеે ркк્рк░рк╡ેрк╢ે ркЫે ркдેркиા рк╕્рк╡ркк્ркиો, ркдેркиી ркИркЪ્ркЫાркУ, ркХંркИркХ ркХрк░ી ркЫુркЯрк╡ાркиું ркЬોрко; ркЕркиે рк╕ાркеે ркЬ ркк્рк░рк╡ેрк╢ે ркЫે ркЬીрк╡рки ркЬીрк╡рк╡ાркиી рк╕્рк╡ркдંркд્рк░ркдા. ркЖ ркоркиркиી ркЙркоંркЧો, ркдрк░ંркЧોркиું ркЬ рккрк░િркгાрко рк╣ોркп ркЫે ркХે ркЬેркеી рк╢ાрк│ા-ркХૉрк▓ેркЬркоાં ркнркгркдું ркХે ркЖркбોрк╢-рккાркбોрк╢ркоાં рк░рк╣ેркдું ркХોркИ рк╡િркЬાркдીркп рккાркд્рк░ ркЧркорк╡ા рк▓ાркЧે ркЫે; ркЕркиે ркЖ ркпુрк╡ાркиીркоાં ркорк│ркдી рк╕્рк╡ркдંркд્рк░ркдા ркЬ ркЫે, ркЬે ркЖрккркгો ркПркоркиી рк╕ાркеેркиો рк╕ંркмંркз ркиркХ્ркХી ркХрк░ે ркЫે.

рк╕ંркмંркзો. ркоркиુрк╖્ркпркЬીрк╡рки ркжрк░ркоિркпાрки ркЖрккркгે ркХંркИ ркХેркЯрк▓ાંркп рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિркУ рк╕ાркеે рк╕ંркмંркзોркоાં ркЬોркбાркИркП ркЫીркП. ркоાркдા-рккિркдા, ркнાркИ-ркмрк╣ેрки, ркХાркХા-ркХાркХી, ркжાркжા-ркжાркжી, ркоાркоા-ркоાркоી рк╡ркЧેрк░ે ркЬેрк╡ાં ркХૌркЯુંркмિркХ, рк▓ોрк╣ીркиા рк╕ંркмંркзો ркЖрккркгркиે ркЬрки્ркоркдાркиી рк╕ાркеે ркЬ ркорк│ે ркЫે. ркЬ્ркпાрк░ે ркоિркд્рк░ો, ркк્рк░િркпрккાркд્рк░, ркЧુрк░ુркЬркиો рк╕ાркеેркиા рк╕ંркмંркзો ркЖрккркгે ркЖрккркгાં ркЬીрк╡ркиркХાрк│ ркжрк░ркоિркпાрки ркмાંркзીркП ркЫીркП. ркПркоાં рккркг ркпુрк╡ાркиી ркХે ркдрк░ુркгાрк╡рк╕્ркеા ркП ркПрк╡ો ркХાрк│ ркЫે ркХે ркЬેркоાં ркЖрк╡ા рк╕ંркмંркзો рк╕рк░рк│ркдાркеી ркмркиી ркЬાркп ркЫે. рккрк░ંркдું ркЬો ркз્ркпાркиркеી рк╕ાркЪрк╡рк╡ાркоાં рки ркЖрк╡ે ркдો ркЖ рк╕ંркмંркзો ркПркЯрк▓ી ркЬ рк╕рк░рк│ркдાркеી ркдૂркЯી рккркг рк╢ркХે ркЫે. ркЖ ркжрк░ેркХ рк╕ંркмંркз рккрк╣ેрк▓ાં ркдો ркоાркд્рк░ ркПркХ рк▓ркЧાрк╡ ркХે ркПркХ ркЖркХрк░્рк╖ркг ркЬ рк╣ોркп ркЫે. ркЖ ркЖркХрк░્рк╖ркг ркП ркЪાркХркбાં рккрк░ рклрк░ркдાં ркоાркЯીркиા рккીંркбા ркЬેрк╡ું рк╣ોркп ркЫે. ркЬેркиે ркХુંркнાрк░ркиી ркоાрклркХ ркЦૂркм ркиાркЬૂркХркдાркеી ркоркаાрк░ીркиે, рк╕ાркЪрк╡ીркиે, ркШાркЯ ркЖрккрк╡ાркиો рк╣ોркп ркЫે; ркПркХ ркиркХ્ркХрк░ ркШркбાркиું рк╕્рк╡рк░ૂркк ркЖрккрк╡ાркиું рк╣ોркп ркЫે. ркЬેркеી ркПркиા ркж્рк╡ાрк░ા ркЖрккркгે ркЬીрк╡ркирк░рк╕ркиા ркШૂંркЯ рккી рк╢ркХીркП. ркПркЯрк▓ે ркХે ркЖ ркЖркХрк░્рк╖ркг ркХે рк▓ркЧાрк╡ ркЬ рк╣ોркп ркЫે ркЬે ркЖркЧрк│ ркЬркдાં ркЖрккркгો ркПркоркиી рк╕ાркеેркиો ркШркбાрк░ૂрккી рк╕ંркмંркз ркмркиે ркЫે, ркЕркиે ркЕંркЧ્рк░ેркЬીркоાં ркПркХ ркХрк╣ેрк╡ркд ркЫે ркиે, The chain is as strong as its weakest link”. ркП ркк્рк░ркоાркгે ркЖ ркЖркХрк░્рк╖ркгркиી ркоાркд્рк░ા ркП ркЖрккркгાં рк╕ંркмંркзોркиી ркоркЬркмુркдાркИ ркиркХ્ркХી ркХрк░ે ркЫે. ркЬેрко рккાрк░рк╕્рккрк░િркХ рк╕્ркиેрк╣ ркЕркиે рк╕ркоркЬркгркиી ркХркбીркУ ркоркЬркмૂркд ркдેрко рк╕ંркмંркз рккркг ркоркЬркмૂркд.

            ркпુрк╡ાрк╡рк╕્ркеાркоાં ркмાંркзેрк▓ાં рк╕ંркмંркзો ркЬીрк╡рки ркШркбркдрк░ркоાં ркЕркЧркд્ркд્ркпркиો ркнાркЧ ркнркЬрк╡ркдા рк╣ોркп ркЫે. рк╣ોрк╕્ркЯેрк▓ркоાં, ркоાркдા-рккિркдાркиી ркЧેрк░рк╣ાркЬрк░ીркоાં ркЬે ркоિркд્рк░ોркП ркЖрккркгркиે ркжрк░ેркХ рккрк░િрк╕્ркеિркдિркоાં рк╕ાркЪрк╡્ркпો рк╣ોркп ркПрк╡ો ркоિркд્рк░ркдાркиો рк╕ંркмંркз ркХે рккркЫી рк╕્ркХૂрк▓ ркХે ркХૉрк▓ેркЬркиા ркП ркк્рк░િркпрккાркд્рк░ рк╕ાркеેркиો рк╕ંркмંркз ркЬે ркХркжાркЪ ркоિркд્рк░ркдા ркЕркиે ркк્рк░ેркоркиા ркоુркХાркоેркеી ркЖркЧрк│ рк╡ркШીркиે ркЫેрк╡ркЯે рккрк░િркгркпркоાં рккрк░િркгрко્ркпો рк╣ોркп; ркжрк░ેркХркиું рккોркдાркиું ркЖркЧрк╡ું ркорк╣ркд્ркд્рк╡ ркЫે. ркЖ рк╕ંркмંркзો ркЬ рк╣ોркп ркЫે, ркЬે ркЖрккркгાં ркЬીрк╡ркиркиી ркжрк╢ા ркЕркиે ркжિрк╢ા ркиркХ્ркХી ркХрк░ે ркЫે. ркХрк╣ેрк╡ાркп ркЫે ркиે,You are an average of the five people you spend the most time with.

          ркЖрк░ુрк╖ ркЬ્ркпાрк░ે 5 – 7 рк╡рк░્рк╖ркиો рк╣ркдો ркд્ркпાрк░ે ркмрк╣ુ ркк્рк░ркоાркжી рк╣ркдો. ркдેркоркЬ ркПркиું рк╡્ркпрк╡рк╣ાрк░િркХ ркЬ્ркЮાрки рккркг ркУркЫું рк╣ркдું. ркЖркеી ркорко્ркоી-рккркк્рккા ркмંркиે ркдેркиે ркжрк░ેркХ рк╡ાркдркоાં ркЯોркХркдા, рк╕ркоркЬાрк╡ркдા. ркЖрк░ુрк╖ркиે ркП рк╕ркоркпે ркЖ ркмાркмркдркиો ркХોркИ рк╡ાંркзો рккркг рки рк╣ркдો ркХેрко ркХે, ркдેркиે рккોркдાркиી ркиркмрк│ાркИркиી ркЬાркг рк╣ркдી. ркЬ્ркпાрк░ે ркЖрк░ુрк╖ 17 - 18 рк╡рк░્рк╖ркиો ркеркпો ркд્ркпાрк░ે ркПркиો рк╕્рк╡ркнાрк╡ ркмркжрк▓ાркИ ркЪુркХ્ркпો рк╣ркдો, ркЫркд્ркдાં рккркг ркдેркиા ркорко્ркоી-рккркк્рккાркП ркдેркиે рк╕્ркХૂркЯрк░ ркЪрк▓ાрк╡ркдી рк╡ркЦркдે рк╣ેрк▓્ркоેркЯ рккрк╣ેрк░рк╡ું, ркЦрк░ાркм рк╕ંркЧркдિркеી ркмркЪрк╡ા ркЖрк╡ાрк░ા ркоિркд્рк░ોркиા ркмрк╣ુ рк╕ંрккрк░્ркХркоાં рки рк░рк╣ેрк╡ું, ркХૉрк▓ેркЬркоાં рк▓ેркХ્ркЪрк░ ркнрк░рк╡ા рк╡્ркпрк╡рк╕્ркеિркд ркХрккркбાં рккрк╣ેрк░ીркиે ркЬрк╡ું ркЬેрк╡ી ркмાркмાркдોркоાં рк╕рк▓ાрк╣ ркЖрккрк╡ાркиું ркЪાрк▓ું ркЬ рк░ાркЦ્ркпું. ркХાрк░ркг ркХે, ркорко્ркоી-рккркк્рккા ркоાркЯે ркдો ркдેркоркиા рккુркд્рк░ркиી рк╕рк▓ાркоркдી ркЕркиે рк╕ркоાркЬркоાં ркдેркиી ркЫાркк ркорк╣ркд્ркд્рк╡ркиી рк╣ркдી. рккрк░ંркдું ркЖрк░ુрк╖ркиે ркЖ рк╡ાркдркиું ркнાрки рки рк╣ркдું. ркдેркиે ркорки ркдો ркПрк╡ું ркЬ рк╣ркдું ркХે ркдે рк╣рк╡ે ркоોркЯો ркеркИ ркЧркпો ркЫે ркЕркиે рккોркдાркиા ркиિрк░્ркгркпો ркЬાркдે рк▓ркИ рк╢ркХે ркЫે. ркдે ркЖ рк╡ાркдркеી ркЕркЬાркг рк╣ркдો ркХે ркдрк░ુркгાрк╡рк╕્ркеા ркХુркорк│ા ркЫોркб ркЬેрк╡ી ркЬે ркдрк░ркл рк╡ાрк│ો ркПрко рк╡рк│ે ркдેрк╡ી рк╣ોркп ркЫે. ркдે рк░ોркЬ-рк░ોркЬркиા рк╕рк▓ાрк╣-рк╕ૂркЪркиોркеી ркХંркЯાрк│ી ркЧркпો рк╣ркдો. рк░ોркЬркиી ркЯોркХ-ркЯોркХ рк╕ાંркнрк│ркиે ркПркиો ркЕрк╣рко્ ркШрк╡ાркИ рк░рк╣્ркпો рк╣ркдો. ркдેркиા рккોркдાркиા ркорко્ркоી-рккркк્рккા рк╕ાркеેркиા рк╕ંркмંркзો ркжિрк╡рк╕ે-ркжિрк╡рк╕ે ркмркЧркбી рк░рк╣્ркпાં рк╣ркдાં. ркЫેрк╡ркЯે ркПркгે ркиિрк╢્ркЪркп ркХрк░્ркпો ркЕркиે ркШрк░ેркеી ркнાркЧી ркЧркпો.

            ркоિркд્рк░ો, рк╕ркоાркЬркиી ркЕંркжрк░ ркЖрк╡ા ркШркгાં ркмркзાં ркЖрк░ુрк╖ ркЫે, ркЬેркоркиે рккોркдાркиા ркоાркдા-рккિркдાркиી рк╡ાркдે рк╡ાркдે рк╕ркоркЬાрк╡рк╡ાркиી ркЖркжркд рккрк╕ંркж ркиркеી. ркХાрк░ркг ркХે, ркЖркЬркиો ркпુрк╡ાрки рккોркдાркиે ркоોркбрк░્рки рк╕ોрк╕ાркпркЯીркиા ркж્рк░рк╖્ркЯિркХોркгркеી ркЬૂркП ркЫે. рк╣ું ркП ркмркзાં ркпુрк╡ાркУркиે рк╡િркиંркдી ркХрк░ું ркЫું ркХે ркПркХрк╡ાрк░ рккોркдાркиે ркП рк╡ૃркж્ркз ркЖંркЦોркеી рккркг ркЬોркИ рк▓ે, ркЬે ркдેркоркиે ркЬીрк╡ркиркоાં рк╕рклрк│ ркеркдાં ркЬોрк╡ાં ркоાркЯે ркдрк░рк╕ી рк░рк╣ી ркЫે. рккркЫી ркХркжાркЪ ркПркоркиે рккોркдાркиા ркоાркдા-рккિркдાркиી ркнાрк╡ркиાркУркиી ркХркжрк░ ркерк╢ે. ркдેркоркиે рк╕ркоркЬાрк╢ે ркХે ркорко્ркоી-рккркк્рккાркП ркХрк╣ેрк▓ી ркжрк░ેркХ рк╡ાркд ркЖрккркгી ркнрк▓ાркИ ркоાркЯે ркЬ рк╣ોркп ркЫે. ркЕркиે ркЬો ркдેрко ркЫркд્ркдાં рккркг рки рк╕ркоркЬાркп ркдો ркорко્ркоી-рккркк્рккાркиી рк╕рк▓ાрк╣ рккрк░ рккрк╣ેрк▓ાં ркоોં ркЕркиે рккркЫી рк╕ંркмંркз ркмркЧાркбрк╡ાં ркХрк░ркдાં рк╣ા ркорко્ркоીркХેрк╣ા рккркк્рккા ркдો ркХрк╣ી ркЬ рк╢ркХાркп. рк╡ાркд ркд્ркпાંркеી ркЖркЧрк│ рк╡ркзે ркЬ ркирк╣િ ркЕркиે ркоાркдા-рккિркдાркиે рккркг рк╕ંркдોрк╖ ркеાркп ркХે ркжીркХрк░ો / ркжીркХрк░ી ркЖрккркгું ркХрк╣્ркпું рк╕ાંркнрк│ે ркЫે. ркЖ рк╡ાркд рклркХ્ркд ркоાркдા-рккિркдા ркЕркиે рк╕ંркдાркиркиા ркЬ ркирк╣િ, рккрк░ંркдું ркжрк░ેркХ рк╕ંркмંркзркоાં рк╕ркоાрки рк░ીркдે рк▓ાркЧુ рккркбે ркЫે. ркШркгી рк╡ркЦркд ркПрк╡ું ркмркиે ркЫે ркХે рккркдિ-рккркд્ркиી рк╡ркЪ્ркЪે рк╕ાрк╡ ркиાркиી рк╡ાркдркоાં ркеркпેрк▓ો ркЭркШркбો ркмрк╣ુ ркоોркЯું рк╕્рк╡рк░ૂркк ркзાрк░ркг ркХрк░ે ркЫે ркЕркиે рк╡ાркд ркХૉрк░્ркЯ рк╕ુркзી рккрк╣ોંркЪી ркЬાркп ркЫે. ркЖрк╡ે рк╡ркЦркдે ркЬો рккркдિ рккોркдાркиો ркЕрк╣рко્ ркХે рккркд્ркиી рккોркдાркиી ркЬીркж ркЫોркбી ркжેркд, ркдો ркХркжાркЪ рк╡ાркд ркШрк░ркоાં ркЬ рк╢ркоી ркЬાркд. ркоાркЯે ркЖркЬркиા ркпુрк╡ાркиોркиે рк╕ркоркЬрк╡ું ркЬોркИркП ркХે ркХોркИркХрк╡ાрк░ рк╕ાркоેрк╡ાрк│ી рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિркиી ркЦુрк╢ી ркоાркЯે рккркг ркиркоркдું ркЬોркЦી рк▓ેрк╡ાркп. ркЖ рк╡ાркдркиો рккркг ркПркХ ркЕрк▓ркЧ ркЬ ркЖркиંркж ркЫે.

          ркпુрк╡ાркиીркоાં рк╕ૌркеી ркЖрк╣્рк▓ાркжркХ ркЕркиે рк╕ૌркеી рк╡ркзુ рк╡ркЦркд ркмંркзાркдો (ркЕркиે ркдૂркЯркдો!) ркХોркИ рк╕ંркмંркз рк╣ોркп, ркдો ркдે ркк્рк░ેркорк╕ંркмંркз ркЫે! ркк્рк░ેрко, ркЫે ркдો рклркХ્ркд ркЕрквી ркЕркХ્рк╖рк░ркиો рк╢ркм્ркж рккрк░ંркдું рккોркдાркиી ркЕંркжрк░ ркЖркЦું ркЬркЧ рк╕ркоાрк╡ી рк▓ે ркЫે. ркЬેркоркиે рк╕ાркЪો ркк્рк░ેрко ркеркпો ркЫે, ркдેркУ рккркг ркдે рк▓ાркЧркгીркиે рк╢ркм્ркжોркоાં рк╡рк░્ркгрк╡ી рк╢ркХркдાં ркиркеી. ркХાрк░ркг ркХે ркк્рк░ેрко ркХрк░рк╡ો ркХркжાркЪ рк╕рк╣ેрк▓ો ркЫે, рккрк░ંркдું ркиિркнાрк╡рк╡ો ркШркгો ркоુрк╢્ркХેрк▓ ркЫે. ркЖркЬркиા ркоોркЯાркнાркЧркиા ркдрк░ુркгો рклркХ્ркд рк╕ркоркп рккрк╕ાрк░ ркХрк░рк╡ા ркк્рк░ેрко ркХрк░ે ркЫે. ркХркжાркЪ ркПркЯрк▓ે ркЬ ркПркоркиો ркк્рк░ેркорк╕ંркмંркз ркмрк╣ુ ркЯркХркдો ркиркеી. рк╕્ркХૂрк▓ ркХે ркХૉрк▓ેркЬркоાં рклркХ્ркд ркЬોрк╡ાркеી ркХોркИ рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિ ркЧркоી ркЬાркп ркдો ркдેркиે ркк્рк░ેрко рк╕ркоркЬી ркмેрк╕ે ркЫે ркЕркиે ркП рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિркиી ркнાрк╡ркиા ркЬોркпા рк╡િркиા ркПркХрк░ાрк░ рккркг ркХрк░ી ркиાркЦે ркЫે. рк╕ાркоેркеી ркЬો рк╣ા ркЖрк╡ે ркдો ркдો рк╡ાંркзો ркирк╣િ рккрк░ંркдું ркЬો ркиા ркЖрк╡ે ркдો ркмાркЬી ркмркЧркбે ркЫે. ркпુрк╡ાркиીркиા ркЬોрк╢ ркЕркиે ркиાркжાркиીркоાં ркдેркУ рккોркдાркиું ркЕркерк╡ા рк╕ાркоેркиી рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિркиું ркЕрк╣િркд ркХрк░ી ркмેрк╕ે ркЫે. ркЖркЬркиા ркпુрк╡ાркиોркП ркЖ ркмાркмркд рк╕ркоркЬрк╡ી ркЬોркИркП ркХે ркХોркИркиે ркк્рк░ેрко ркХрк░рк╡ો ркЕркиે ркПркеી рккркг рк╡ркзુ ркХોркИркиો ркк્рк░ેрко рккાркорк╡ો ркП рк╕рк╣ેрк▓ી рк╡ાркд ркиркеી. ркПркиા ркоાркЯે ркзૈрк░્ркп ркЕркиે ркЦંркд ркЬોркИркП. рккрк╣ેрк▓ી ркиркЬрк░ркиો ркк્рк░ેрко ркП рклркХ્ркд ркПркХ рк╡્рк╣ેрко ркЬ ркЫે! ркХેрко ркХે, ркПркХ ркЬ ркиркЬрк░ркоાં рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિркиા рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિркд્рк╡ркиું ркЕркиુркоાрки рк▓ркЧાрк╡рк╡ું рк╢ркХ્ркп ркиркеી. ркПркХ ркиркЬрк░ркоાં рклркХ્ркд ркПркиું рк░ૂркк ркиિрк╣ાрк│ી рк╢ркХાркп ркЕркиે рк░ૂркк рк╕ાркеે ркеркпેрк▓ો ркк્рк░ેрко ркоોркЯેркнાркЧે рк░ૂркк рк╕ાркеે ркЬ ркЬркдો рк░рк╣ે ркЫે. рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિркиા рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિркд્рк╡ рк╕ાркеે ркеркпેрк▓ો ркк્рк░ેрко ркЬ рк╕ાркЪો ркк્рк░ેрко ркЫે. ркЕркиે рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિркд્рк╡ ркЬાркгрк╡ા ркоાркЯે рк╕ркоркп ркЬોркИркП. ркПркЯрк▓ે ркХે, ркзીрк░ркЬрк░ૂрккી рккાркгી, рк╣િંркоркдрк░ૂрккી рк╕ૂрк░્ркпркк્рк░ркХાрк╢ ркЕркиે ркпોркЧ્ркп ркоાрк╡ркЬркд рк╡ркбે ркЬ ркирклрк░ркдркнрк░્ркпા ркЖ рк╕ંрк╕ાрк░ркоાં ркк્рк░ેркоркиું рккુрк╖્ркк ркЦીрк▓ી рк╢ркХે ркЫે. рккેрк▓ું ркЧીркд ркЫે ркиે,

                                    ркзીрк░ે ркзીрк░ે рк╕ે ркоેрк░ી ркЬ઼િંркжркЧી ркоેં ркЖркиા... ркзીрк░ે ркзીрк░ે рк╕ે ркжિрк▓ ркХો ркЪુрк░ાркиા...
ркПрко ркЖ ркк્рк░ેркорк╕ંркмંркзોркоાં ркЙркдાрк╡рк│ે ркХાрко рки ркЪાрк▓ે.
            ркЖркХાંркХ્рк╖ા ркЕркиે ркзрк░્рко ркмંркиે рккрк╣ેрк▓ીрк╡ાрк░ ркХૉрк▓ેркЬркоાં ркорк│્ркпા рк╣ркдાં. рк╢рк░ૂркЖркдркоાં ркдો ркмંркиે рклркХ્ркд рк╕ાрк░ા рк╕рк╣рккાркаી ркЬ рк╣ркдાં рккрк░ંркдું ркХૉрк▓ેркЬркиા рк╡ાрк░્рк╖િркХોркд્рк╕рк╡ркиા ркХાрк░્ркпркХ્рк░ркоркоાં ркнркЬрк╡рк╡ાркоાં ркЖрк╡ેрк▓ાં рк░ોркоીркпો - ркЬૂрк▓ીркпркЯркоાં ркмંркиેркП ркоુркЦ્ркп рккાркд્рк░ો ркнркЬрк╡્ркпા ркмાркж ркмંркиે рк╕ાрк░ાં ркоિркд્рк░ો ркмркиી ркЧркпા рк╣ркдાં. рк╣рк╡ે ркдો рк░ોркЬે ркПркХркмીркЬાркиે ркорк│рк╡ાркиું ркеркдું. ркмંркиેркиે ркПркХркмીркЬાркиી рк╕ંркЧркд ркПркЯрк▓ી ркЧркоркдી ркХે ркХૉрк▓ેркЬркоાં рк╣ંркоેрк╢ા ркмંркиે рк╕ાркеે ркЬ ркЬોрк╡ા ркорк│ે ркЕркиે ркЖ ркоિркд્рк░ркдા ркХ્ркпાрк░ે ркк્рк░ેркоркоાં рккрк░િркгркоી ркПркиો ркмંркиેркиે ркЦ્ркпાрк▓ ркЬ рки рк░рк╣્ркпો. ркиાркЯркХркиા рк░ોркоીркпો-ркЬૂрк▓ીркпркЯ рк╣рк╡ે ркЕрк╕рк▓ ркЬિંркжркЧીркоાં рккркг рк░ોркоીркпો-ркЬૂрк▓ીркпркЯ ркмркиી ркЧркпાં рк╣ркдાં. рки ркЖркХાંркХ્рк╖ાркиે ркзрк░્рко рк╡િркиા ркЪાрк▓ркдું ркХે рки ркЬ ркзрк░્ркоркиે ркЖркХાંркХ્рк╖ા рк╡િркиા. ркмંркиેркП рк╕ાркеે ркШркгાં ркмркзાં рк╕્рк╡ркк્ркиો рккркг ркЬોркпા рк╣ркдાં. рккрк░ંркдું ркЬેрко ркЪંркж્рк░ркиે ркЧ્рк░рк╣ркг рк▓ાркЧી ркЬાркп ркПрко ркПркоркиા рк╕ંркмંркзркиે рккркг ркЧ્рк░рк╣ркг рк▓ાркЧી ркЧркпું. ркзрк░્ркоркиી ркиાркирккркгркиી ркоિркд્рк░ ркЕркиે ркдેркиી рккોрк│ркоાં ркЬ рк░рк╣ેркдી ркоૃркгાрк▓િркиી ркдેркиે рккрк╣ેрк▓ેркеી ркЬ ркЪાрк╣ркдી рк╣ркдી. рккрк░ંркдું ркПркгે ркзрк░્рко рк╕ાркеેркиી рккોркдાркиી ркоિркд્рк░ркдા ркдૂркЯી ркЬрк╡ાркиા ркнркпркеી ркХ્ркпાрк░ેркп ркЖ рк╡ાркд ркЬાрк╣ેрк░ ркерк╡ાં ркЬ рки ркжીркзી. ркЖркХાંркХ્рк╖ા ркЕркиે ркзрк░્ркоркиે рк╕ાркеે ркЬોркИркиે ркПркиા ркоркиркоાં ркИрк░્рк╖ા ркЬાркЧી ркЙркаી. ркдે ркХોркИ рккркг ркнોркЧે ркзрк░્ркоркиે рккાркЫો ркоેрк│рк╡рк╡ા ркЗркЪ્ркЫркдી рк╣ркдી. ркдેркеી ркдે рк╣ંркоેрк╢ા ркзрк░્рко ркЕркиે ркЖркХાંркХ્рк╖ાркиે ркХોркИркиે ркХોркИ ркХાрк░ркгોрк╕рк░ ркорк│рк╡ાркеી рк░ોркХркдી. ркзрк░્рко ркзીрк░ે-ркзીрк░ે ркЖркХાંркХ્рк╖ાркеી ркжૂрк░ ркеркИ рк░рк╣્ркпો рк╣ркдો. ркЬ્ркпાрк░ે ркЖркХાંркХ્рк╖ા ркорк│рк╡ા ркоાркЧркдી ркд્ркпાрк░ે ркП ркХોркИркиે ркХોркИ ркмрк╣ાркиું ркмркиાрк╡ી ркжેркдો ркЕркиે ркоૃркгાрк▓િркиી рк╕ાркеે рк╕ркоркп рккрк╕ાрк░ ркХрк░ркдો. ркЖркХાંркХ્рк╖ાркиે ркоૃркгાрк▓િркиીркиા ркЦрк░ાркм ркИрк░ાркжાркУркиી ркЬાркг рк╣ркдી, рккрк░ંркдું ркПркиે рккોркдાркиા ркк્рк░ેрко рккрк░ рк╡િрк╢્рк╡ાрк╕ рк╣ркдો. ркЖ рк╡િрк╢્рк╡ાрк╕ ркд્ркпાрк░ે ркЦોркЯો ркиિрк╡ркб્ркпો ркЬ્ркпાрк░ે ркПркХ ркжિрк╡рк╕ ркЦુркж ркзрк░્ркоркП ркоૃркгાрк▓િркиીркиા ркХрк╣ેрк╡ાркеી ркЖркХાંркХ્рк╖ા рк╕ાркеેркиો рк╕ંркмંркз ркдોркбી ркиાркЦ્ркпો. ркдેркиે ркорки рккેрк▓ાં рк╕્рк╡ркк્ркиોркиી ркХોркИ ркЬ ркХિંркоркд рк░рк╣ી рки рк╣ркдી, ркЬે ркдેркгે ркЖркХાંркХ્рк╖ા рк╕ાркеે ркЬોркпા рк╣ркдાં. рккોркдાркиા рк╕્рк╡ркк્ркиોркиું ркЖрк╡ું ркмાрк│ркорк░ркг ркЬોркИ ркЖркХાંркХ્рк╖ા ркЦૂркм рк░ркбી. ркдેркиે ркЬીрк╡рк╡ાркиી ркИркЪ્ркЫા ркЬ ркирк╣ોркдી рк░рк╣ી. ркдે рккોркдાркиું ркЬીрк╡рки ркЯૂંркХાрк╡ી ркиાркЦрк╡ાркиું ркиркХ્ркХી ркХрк░ે ркЫે. рккрк░ંркдું ркЖркпુрк╖ી, ркЖркХાંркХ્рк╖ાркиી ркиાркирккркгркиી ркЕркиે рк╕ૌркеી ркЦાрк╕ ркоિркд્рк░ ркдેркиે ркЖрко ркХрк░ркдાં рк░ોркХે ркЫે ркЕркиે ркдેркиે ркЬીрк╡рк╡ાркиી ркирк╡ી ркжિрк╢ા ркЖрккે ркЫે.
            ркЙрккрк░ркиી ркЖ ркиાркиркХркбી рк╡ાркдркоાંркеી ркШркгું ркмркзું рк╢ીркЦрк╡ા ркорк│ે ркЫે. рккрк╣ેрк▓ું- ркЬો ркХોркИркиે ркЦрк░ેркЦрк░ ркк્рк░ેрко ркХрк░ркдાં рк╣ોрк╡ ркдો рк╕ркоркпрк╕рк░ ркПркХрк░ાрк░ ркХрк░ી ркиાркЦрк╡ો.ркХોркИрккркг рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિркиે рк╕рк░ркЦી рк░ીркдે ркЬાркг્ркпા – рк╕ркоркЬ્ркпા ркмાркж ркЬો ркдркоાрк░ા ркоркиркоાં ркПркоркиા ркк્рк░ркд્ркпે ркк્рк░ેркоркиી рк▓ાркЧркгી ркЬрки્ркоે ркдો ркПркоркиે ркиિркЦાрк▓рк╕ркдાркеી ркХોркИрккркг ркЖркбી-ркЕрк╡рк│ી рк╣рк░ркХркд ркХрк░્ркпાં рк╡િркиા ркХે ркХોркИрккркг ркЬાркдркиી ркЕрккેркХ્рк╖ા рк░ાркЦ્ркпા рк╡િркиા рк╕ીркзેрк╕ીркзું ркХрк╣ી ркжો. ркХાрк░ркг ркХે ркЬો рк╣ાркиી ркЕрккેркХ્рк╖ા рк░ાркЦрк╢ો ркЕркиે ркиા ркЖрк╡рк╢ે ркдો ркоркиркоાં ркиિрк░ાрк╢ા ркЬрки્ркорк╢ે. ркмીркЬું- ркХોркИркиી рк╕ાркеે ркк્рк░ેркорк╕ંркмંркзркоાં рк╣ોрк╡ ркдો ркПркиે ркжркЧો рки ркЖрккો. ркЖркЬркХાрк▓ркиા ркпુрк╡ાркУркиે ркЖ ркмાркмркд рк╢ીркЦрк╡ાркиી ркЦાрк╕ ркЬрк░ૂрк░ ркЫે. ркХાрк░ркг ркХે ркоેં ркЕркЧાркЙ ркХрк╣્ркпું ркПрко, ркк્рк░ેрко ркП ркХોркИ рк╕ркоркп рккрк╕ાрк░ ркХрк░рк╡ા рк░ркоાркдી рк░ркоркд ркиркеી. рккрк░ંркдું ркЬીрк╡ркирккрк░્ркпંркд ркХોркИрккркг ркЕрккેркХ્рк╖ા рк░ાркЦ્ркпા рк╡િркиા ркиિркнાрк╡ાркдો ркПркХ рк╕ંркмંркз ркЫે. ркЬો рк╕ાркЪો ркк્рк░ેрко ркХрк░્ркпો рк╣ોркп ркдો ркПркХркмીркЬાркиી рккрк╕ંркж-ркиાрккрк╕ંркж ркиે ркЖркжрк░ ркЖрккો. ркПркХркмીркЬાркиી ркЬрк░ૂрк░િркпાркдો рк╕ркоркЬો ркЕркиે ркПркоркиે рккૂрк░ી ркХрк░рк╡ાркиો ркк્рк░ркпркд્рки ркХрк░ો. ркЖрко ркХрк░рк╡ાркеી рк╕ંркмંркз ркоркЬркмૂркд ркмркиે ркЫે. ркд્рк░ીркЬી ркЕркиે рк╕ૌркеી ркорк╣ркд્ркд્рк╡рккૂрк░્ркг рк╡ાркд ркЫે ркХે ркХોркИрккркг рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિ ркХે рк╡рк╕્ркдુ ркЖ ркжુркиિркпાркоાં рк╢ાрк╢્рк╡ркд ркиркеી. ркЖркЬркиા ркоોркЯાркнાркЧркиા ркпુрк╡ાркиો ркЦાрк╕ ркХрк░ીркиે ркЫોркХрк░ાંркУ, ркк્рк░ેркорк╕ંркмંркз ркиિрк╖્рклрк│ ркЬркдાં ркжાрк░ૂ, ркмીркбી ркХે рк╕િркЧાрк░ેркЯркиા рк╡્ркпрк╕ркиી ркмркиી ркЬાркп ркЫે ркЕркерк╡ા ркПрко ркзીркоે-ркзીркоે ркирк╣િ ркдો рк╕ીркзી ркЬ ркЖркд્ркорк╣ркд્ркпા ркХрк░ી рккોркдાркиું ркЬીрк╡рки ркЯૂંркХાрк╡ી ркиાркЦે ркЫે. ркжોрк╕્ркдો, ркнркЧрк╡ાрки рк╢્рк░ીркХૃрк╖્ркгркП рк╢્рк░ીркоркж્ ркнркЧрк╡ркж્ ркЧીркдાркоાં ркХрк╣્ркпું ркЫે:
                     рдЕрд╕ंрд╢рдпं рдорд╣ाрдмाрд╣ो рдордиो рджुрд░्рдиिрдЧ्рд░рд╣ं рдЪрд▓рдо् ।
                     рдЕрдн्рдпाрд╕ेрди рддु рдХौрди्рддेрдп рд╡ैрд░ाрдЧ्рдпेрдг рдЪ рдЧृрд╣्рдпрддे ।।
ркЕрк░્ркеાркд્ рк╣ે ркорк╣ાркмાрк╣ો! ркиિ:рк╕ંркжેрк╣ ркорки ркЪંркЪંрк│ ркдેркоркЬ ркоુрк╢્ркХેрк▓ીркеી рк╡рк╢ ркеркиાрк░ું ркЫે, ркЫркд્ркдાં рккркг рк╣ે ркХુંркдીрккુркд્рк░! ркП ркЕркн્ркпાрк╕ ркЕркиે рк╡ૈрк░ાркЧ્ркп рк╡ркбે рк╡рк╢ркоાં ркеાркп ркЫે.
            ркЬ્ркпાрк░ે рккркг ркк્рк░ેркоркнંркЧ ркеાркп ркд્ркпાрк░ે ркЖ рк╢ркм્ркжો ркпાркж ркХрк░рк╡ા. ркХોркИрккркг ркЦોркЯું рккркЧрк▓ું ркнрк░ркдાં рккрк╣ેрк▓ાં ркП рк╡ાркд ркпાркж ркХрк░рк╡ી ркХે ркорки ркЪંркЪрк│ рк╣ોркп ркЫે. рк╕ાркоેрк╡ાрк│ી рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિ рккોркдાркиું ркЪંркЪрк│ ркорки рк╕ંркнાрк│ી рки рк╢ркХી ркП рк╡ાркдркиી рк╕ркЬા рккોркдાркиે рки ркЖрккрк╡ી ркЕркиે ркП рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિ ркЬો рк╣рк╡ે ркХોркИ ркЕрки્ркп рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિ рк╕ાркеે ркЦુрк╢ ркЫે ркдો ркдેркоркиી рк╡ркЪ્ркЪે ркЕркбркЪркг ркмркиીркиે ркКркнું рккркг рки рк░рк╣ેрк╡ું. ркПрко рк╕ркоркЬрк╡ું ркХે ркдркоાрк░ી ркЬ઼િંркжркЧીркоાં ркП рк╡્ркпркХ્ркдિркиો рк╕ાрке ркЖркЯрк▓ે рк╕ુркзી ркЬ рк╣ркдો. ркЙрк░્ркжૂркоાં ркПркХ рк╢ાркпрк░ી ркЫે ркиે, рд╡ो рдоेрд░े рдмीрдиा рдЦुрд╢ рд╣ै рддो рд╢ीрдХाрдпрдд рдХैрд╕ी? рдЕрдм рдЙрд╕े рдЦुрд╢ рднी рдиा рджेрдЦुँ рддो рдоोрд╣рдм्рдмрдд рдХैрд╕ी?
            ркк્рк░ેркоркнંркЧ ркмાркж ркЙрккрк░ркиા рк╢્рк▓ોркХркоાં ркХрк╣ેрк╡ાркпું ркЫે ркдેрко рккોркдાркиા рк▓ркХ્рк╖્ркп, рккોркдાркиા ркоાркдા-рккિркдા, ркЕрки્ркп ркХુркЯુંркмીркЬркиો, ркЧુрк░ુркЬркиોркиું ркЪિંркдрки ркХрк░ી ркоркиркиે ркЬૂркиી ркпાркжોркеી ркжૂрк░ рк╡ાрк│рк╡ું. ркП ркПркХ рк╕ંркмંркзркиે ркЦાркдрк░ ркмીркЬા ркШркгાંркмркзાં ркорк╣ркд્ркд્рк╡рккૂрк░્ркг рк╕ંркмંркШો ркдૂркЯрк╡ા рки ркжેрк╡ા ркЕркерк╡ા ркдો ркЖркпુрк╖ી ркЬેрк╡ા ркХોркИ ркоિркд્рк░ркиા рк╕ાрки્ркиિркз્ркпркоાં ркЬрк╡ું ркЬે ркдркоркиે ркдркоાрк░ી ркЬ્рк╡ાркмркжાрк░ીркУркиું ркнાрки ркХрк░ાрк╡ી рк╢ркХે ркЕркиે ркЬીрк╡рки ркЬીрк╡рк╡ાркиો ркирк╡ો ркоાрк░્ркЧ ркЪીંркзી ркЖрккે.
            рк╕ંркмંркзોркиા ркдાંркдркгાркУ ркЕркдિркиાркЬૂркХ рк╣ોркп ркЫે ркЕркиે ркХ્ркпાрк░ેркХ ркЖ ркиાркЬુркХ ркдાંркдркгાркУркоાં ркЧૂંркЪ рккркбે ркЫે, рк╕ркЦркд ркЧૂંркЪ рккркбે ркЫે. рккрк░ંркдું ркдેркеી ркдે ркдાркгાрк╡ાркгાркиે ркЙркдાрк╡рк│ркеી ркХાрккી ркиાંркЦрк╡ાркиા рки рк╣ોркп. ркЕрккાрк░ ркзીрк░ркЬ ркЕркиે ркХુрк╢рк│ркдાркеી ркЙркжાрк░ркдાрккૂрк░્рк╡ркХ ркП рк╕ંркмંркзોркоાં рккркбેрк▓ી ркЧૂંркЪркиે ркЙркХેрк▓рк╡ાркиી рк╣ોркп ркЫે, рк░ાрк╣ ркЬોрк╡ાркиી рк╣ોркп ркЫે, ркЬેркеી рк╕્рк╡ркЬркиો рк╕ાркеેркиા рк╕ૂркХોркорк│ рк╕ંркмંркзો ркЕркХркмંркз рк░рк╣ે.
                        рд░рд╣िрдорди рдзाрдЧा рдк्рд░ेрдо рдХा, рдордд рддोрдб़ो рдЪрдЯрдХाрдп ।
                        рддोрдб़े рд╕े рдлिрд░ рдиा рдЬुрдб़े, рдЬुрдб़े рдЧाँрда рдкрдб़ी рдЬाрдп ।।

ркХрк╡િркдા - ркмોрк▓ાрк╡ે...

ркЧોркзૂрк▓િркП ркЧૌркзркиркиે ркоાрк▓ркзાрк░ીркиો рк╕ાркж ркмોрк▓ાрк╡ે, ркЖ ркЖркЧ рк╡рк░рк╕ાрк╡ркдા ркЖркнркиે рк╡рк╕ુંркзрк░ાркиી рклрк░િркпાркж ркмોрк▓ાрк╡ે, ркЪાрк▓ркиે ркнેрк░ું ркП рккેрк▓ે ркоાрк░ркЧ ркдркиે ркдાрк░ાં ркШрк░ркиી...