Blood Lines

The night is coming to a city wrapped in fear of war. The sirens scream, telling me it is time to hide. I hurriedly closed my shop and placed a small curse on the rune-lock. Thieves are prospering, using these blackouts as their cloak. If someone chooses to break the lock, he shall suffer from a sudden outburst of explosive diarrhea. That will deter the malevolent  parties for the time being. 

 I watched for the wandering eyes and wink at the beggar sitting on the opposite side of this narrow Bazar Road. He keeps an eye on my shop in exchange for an anna or two, and I can sleep at night with relative peace. Despite the ersatz appearance, my shop has become a site of attraction, particularly to the troops from the faraway lands. Not because I sell ginseng at the cheapest rate in the entire Calcutta, not because I sell untraceable opium, but because [আরো পড়ুন]

Tags: Short Story, Soham Guha, সপ্তম বর্ষ তৃতীয় সংখ্যা
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Collateral Damage

“I name you Baqir Iftikhar; my son. Baqir because you are my beloved and Iftikar because you fill me with pride,” exulted the new father Intaj Iqtidar Raza, better known as Barq Bhai in the Indian underworld.

His name, Barq, had evolved because he struck like lightning. Like lightning, no one knew where he would strike and he struck with equally devastating effect and swiftness. Yet, Intaj was also a devoted family man and Noor Banu, his wife, closed her eyes for the last time secure in the knowledge that he would give their new-born every luxury the world had to offer. 


Diwakar Dighe, Intaj’s right-hand man for over three decades wiped his eyes. “I told you; Baba listen to me. Do not buy Baqir a Lamborghini Aventador for his seventeenth birthday. Our roads are not ready for it. I begged you, Baba, listen to me.”

The writing was on the wall.

Baqir Iftekhar and his Lamborghini Aventador were both “totalled.” 

The doctors said as much about their seventeen-year-old patient.

[আরো পড়ুন]

Tags: Dr. Sukanya Datta, Short Story, সপ্তম বর্ষ তৃতীয় সংখ্যা
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Ben was sitting alone on a creaky wooden stool at the edge of the river, one hand idly swinging his fishing net into the almost still waters and the other stroking his beloved Labrador, Daphne. The lone eyes wandered far into the misty shadowed horizon, searching for nothing.

This very usual day seemed strangely unusual to Ben in many ways. He was a lone person in his early fifties, living far away from the hustle and bustle of the city in his own secluded cottage house. Otherwise content in his farming and reading books, the only passion he loved to indulge in was gazing out into the distant planets, trying to fathom its finiteness in the infinity. Not that he was an astrophysicist or even a stargazer. But he felt he could feel a signal now and then as if expecting something, though none of his neighbors could fathom what.

‘Bizarre Ben,’ they would call him. He had no friends save his much-adored pet. Together they went out on strolls and occasionally on a fishing spree.

[আরো পড়ুন]

Tags: Abanti Pal, kalpabiswa y7n1, Ronin, science fiction
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Sand of Time


The class was over. She was supposed to go now. To home. To that place where a man thinks he is the king. That he can do anything, he wants. And the woman who shared the home with him was only his slave. A toy, which was compelled to do anything he wished. And be his punching bag when he was angry. He was the breadwinner, right? Who brings food to the table? Him! She should be thankful. Those three brilliant daughters of her, whose blood does they carry? His! She couldn’t even write ABCD, for God’s sake! And if he brings a few other women home, it is SHE who is to be blamed. That boring woman! Always nagging about not having enough money to run the family. If he brings a few others home, it is SHE who is to be blamed. A man has needs, doesn’t he? Needs she is too old to fulfil.

Yes, she has to get back to that home. That man loves him. That man loves his blood. [আরো পড়ুন]

Tags: Jaya Thakur, kalpabiswa y7n1, Ronin, science fiction
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