My Small Stories

IM BACK

2024-06-25T09:21:00.000-07:00

Hi,

I'm Devanshika and I'm back. Sorry for not posting anything after 2018 as I was busy studying. Soon you all will know what I was studying and from where. Hope you all will enjoy my journey.

Devanshika

To The Family of 121b

2018-03-01T09:28:00.003-08:00

A chronicle following a family during the Harlem Renaissance. Updated weekly.

Chapter 3: Is That Who I Think It Is?

The young man strides out of the flowershop purposefully, leaving the door swinging shut behind him. He decides to take a little trip to the florist down the block. It’s not like I’m welcome at home right now, anyway, he reasons. Squinting into the sunlight, he grins widely at one of his acquaintances, a Joseph Felman, who’s walking toward him on the opposite pavement. Next thing he knows, Joseph’s trademark blue baseball cap has turned around and appears to be moving past at an astonishing speed. Wonder what train he has to catch. The young man shakes his head as he turns and tries to get a better look at the figure, Maybe it wasn’t him. It’s far too sunny to see properly anyway; it couldn’t have been Jos, or he would’ve come up and had a conversation. Gloated about winning Sunday night’s game, at least. Hmmph. Not giving it much more thought, the young man continues on his way. What reason could anyone have to avoid him, anyway? Soon, he can see the brightly painted flowerboxes and even brighter plants that are characteristic of Mrs. LeWane’s flower shop. He fervently hopes that her husband, Mr LeWane (his eleventh grade teacher) isn’t helping out at the shop today. If he is, then the young man will certainly be on the receiving end of a lecture on ‘not letting prospects go in favour of vain hopes or prejudice’.

It’s too early in the morning for deep thoughts and ‘soul-searching’ speeches. Should I just turn around? Lila can go without flowers…But looking at sixty-five cents and the remembrance that things at home weren’t exactly peachy right then, he pushes on. Sacrifices must be made sometimes, and Lila does love her namesake flowers. I hope the lilacs are in stock...The bell tinkles as he pushes the glass door, leaving an arc on dusty floor- apparently they hadn’t gotten around to this week’s dusting yet.

Mrs LeWane, peppy as ever, bounces slightly on the balls of her feet as she stands behind a rack of blazing red poppies. She’s a petite little thing, and her glasses hang on a red chain around her neck, bright in contrast to the dull grey overalls she has on. Underneath she wears a long tunic-like silk ensemble, topped off with strangely-shaped slippers and earrings such a bright blue that they wouldn’t have looked out of place in the 100^th street church’s stained glass skylight. The young man’s loud throat clearing brings her attention away from the clipboard she’s studying, and she gives him a warm grin.

Lilacs for your Lila again? She asks with a giggle.

He answers in affirmative, and she hops away, holding the flowers and searching for pretty purple ribbon, which was ‘perfect for your little bouquet and just came in this morning’. He snickers to himself as he compares her to a little furry bunny jumping about a field of flowers, the simile becoming alarmingly accurate as the woman reappears, nose twitching something horrible, white silk outfit sliding across the floor and creating scuff marks in the thin coat of dust. She explains her twitching nose to be a result of extreme allergies- to what, she doesn’t specify, only saying that they are plant related. Why are you a florist, in that case? He thinks, offering Mrs LeWane a beaming smile of gratitude and a few coins, which she takes and cheerily writes up in her little brown logbook. She’s lucky to have a nice young man like you, that Lila! Mrs LeWane’s tinny voice calls, as he steps out of the shop. The sentiment makes him smile, genuinely this time, at the thought of Lila sticking the smallest lilac into her braid, characteristic orange nail polish glinting in the harsh streetlights. Spinning around on his heel, he begins to amble back up the road, hoping that the situation at 121B has improved by now. He hears the whirr of an engine and whips around to see a black Duisenberg coming toward him, gravel crunching under its magnificent wheels.

Wow. What’s one of these doing down here on 128^th street? Surely it doesn’t belong to anyone who lives here…He stops, waiting for it to come closer so he can study it in all its glory. As it comes closer, he can make out two figures sitting in it: one the driver in a plaid newsboy cap over curly red hair, the other looking quite familiar.

Is that Lila? No, it couldn’t be. Why would she be in a car with some rich fella? It must be one of her sisters; I did hear that Edna was dating a Manhattan man. Of course Lila would never…His thoughts are cut short by the car’s sudden change in speed: it suddenly zips past him, allowing him a split-second view of the girl on the left.

She has her dark hair in an intricate braid, and her hand, with its orange-painted nails, is entwined with driver’s. The car cruises down the lane, fading to dark shadow in the strong 8 ‘o’ clock sun.

That was Lila, wasn’t it? Who else braids her hair that way, anyway? It was her. Who is that guy? What’s Lila doing with a guy who owns a spanking Model X? No, no, it probably wasn’t her, because she’s ‘with’ me. She can’t hold hands with some rich guy if she’s with me… can she? I buy her lilacs and everythin’, I do, she loves them lilacs. I doubt it’s her. It’s damned terrible of me, outright wrong really, to doubt Li-Li like this! I need to stop. I trust her, I do, I do- I gotta trust her. Shaking his head, literally, free of all such outlandish thoughts, he makes his way back home.

He clutches the lilacs tightly in his now-sweaty fingers, and just as he climbs the first step, the door swings open. His sister tiptoes out, schoolbag on shoulder and frizzy hair in a yellow bow. She’s startled slightly when she sees him, and comes quickly down the steps, her polished black shoes making tapping noises on the wood.

Mom and Pop are still…arguing. I’d stay clear of the kitchen if I were you, she says conspiratorially.

Her brother raises his eyebrows coolly and steps around her. They aren’t on talking terms; forget conspiratorial terms, and haven’t been for a while now.

There’s some violent stuff going on in there, she calls over her shoulder, so watch out. Wouldn’t want poor Lila’s pretty flowers damaged, would we? There’s an acerbic tinge to her voice, one that is apparent every time his beloved, beloved girl is mentioned.

The young man ignores his sister pointedly, stiffening and stomping up the steps. She just laughs and skips away, ponytail swinging.

What on earth does she have against poor Li-Li? We’ve been arguing ever since I started dating Lila, really, but she’s a silly teenager and Lila is…Lila, the most gorgeous girl on the block. Well, my silly sister is going to have to live with it. I love Li-Li, and she’s mine- all mine. He clenches his jaw and marches into 121B.

That night at dinner, there is a stony silence at the table. Their parents seem to have reached an impassé, and neither will speak till the other gives in. They pick at their food in quietude, and much is left over- unusual, with this family. The girl collapses on her bed, swearing to go shopping for an appropriate dress for her intended sojourn to Delaro’s.

To the Family of 121b

2018-02-20T08:01:00.002-08:00

A chronicle following a family during the Harlem Renaissance. Updated weekly.

Chapter 2: Lilacs for Lila

While his sister pictures shiny possibilities under neon lights, the young man of 121B has been sauntering down the other side of the street, money in tanned palm and loafers on tapping feet. He whistles his way past the butcher’s, past the Jones’s crumbling bungalow, and finally reaches the corner store. Inside, he gives the young man on duty a curt nod, receiving a wide blue-eyed gaze in return. Newbies, he rolls his eyes. He’d once worked here, as an assistant back when the LaBerres had actually kept the shop themselves.

“It’s a family institution, this place, one of the last of its kind. And a family institution it’ll stay!” he could hear Mr LaBerre, the aging patriarch, booming in his gravelly voice, ringing the bell for one of the assistants to come by with his tea. LaBerre had had two sons one of whom had immigrated to Chicago to find work. Something to do with telephones; he’d trained to be. Goodness knows he’d made money, though. Joined the mob up there, his mother had always predicted darkly. Maybe he had- but the bottom line is, when old Mr LaBerre passed from kidney disease, his eldest and Chicago-living son sold the store and gave his younger brother a job in the Windy City, too. A job in the company he owned, it seemed. Again, 121B’s matriarch had shaken her head. Al Capone’s company, more like, had been her only response when he’d informed her of the entire LaBerre family moving. They’d given him and all the other assistants recompense: a handsome sum of six dollars, and the opportunity to keep working for the new owners. His mother had sternly declined that offer: no son of hers would work for strangers, thank you very much. That too, strangers from all the way uptown! She’d shuddered at the very proposition. Stay home for all I care, she’d huffed, and wait till you turn 20 so you can join your father. But you’re not working there, for those…people.

So it was with great pompousness and an air of disdain that any family member, or even any neighbourhood resident, came to LaBerre’s anymore. Thank the Lord that the new people kept the name and the sign intact, the young man chuckles in his head, or there would’ve been riots. He places his order with an appropriately wrinkled nose, and the bewildered young fellow at the counter scuttles to find the stamps, blonde fringe falling across his sweaty forehead. Finally placing a handful of stamps on the glass counter between them, he stares up at his customer, who very carefully and after much deliberation, chooses three of them. The customer then proceeds to ask how much they were for, and sniffs at the price before handing over a few cents. He has a fairly large sum left over, and the assistant awaits his next request. I’ll spend what’s left on a gift to give Lila tonight, and I ain’t finding that here, the customer smirks, ordering for a bag to carry the inch-sized sheets of paper. The ever-helpful blonde behind the counter hands him a paper bag for them, even packing them in with shaky fingers and knitted eyebrows. The young man of 121B considers berating the poor boy for crumpling his stamps, but decides against it. He has places to be, gifts to buy and girlfriends to meet, after all.

His sister has also taken her decision. Tonight, she will sneak out to Delaro’s- she knows exactly where it is, having wistfully gazed at the ‘cool’ crowd in their feathers and bow ties duck under the neon sign quite often. Who says it’s only for the ‘cool’ kids? She tosses her hair in a sudden, foreign, burst of confidence and struts back to her own door. She looks at the shimmering metal 121B, so bright in the sun that it almost hurts her eyes, and back down at the ticket. It has a pretty girl, with her short and presumably straightened charcoal hair falling dramatically down the sides of her face, a red-feathered hat on her head and heels that seem as tall as the buildings over on Manhattan island. She wears a glittery dress, so sequinned that it seems like all the stars of the night sky had somehow fallen to earth as glimmering red-plastic circles and been stuck on the silk that is draped across this picture-girl’s body. The dress is indeed short- short enough that, had her mother seen anyone in it, she would have gasped and averted her eyes before lecturing her daughter on ‘scandalous clothes’.

Does everyone dress like this for jazz night? A sudden shadow of doubt falls across the girl’s mind. I have nothing like this to wear. My best dress is twice as long and nowhere near as glittery. Perhaps a trip to Millie’s Boutique is in order.

Her best dress is a below the knee, ‘sensible’ (in her mother’s words) ‘old-lady’ (in her brother’s opinion) pinstriped green dress. It has a turtleneck that her father had deemed ‘gorgeous’ upon purchase, but she suspects that was because it had been her mother’s choice, and her mother had been standing right there with her infamously stern glare on full force at the time. Millie’s Boutique over on Lenox Avenue- where Josie Canard, the most popular girl in Machesney High School, shopped- did stock pieces of clothing similar to the one on the glossy ticket. I’ll go shopping tomorrow, the girl decides. When will I ever get another chance to see the high life like this? Maybe I’ll even meet Josie and her crowd, and once they see I’ve been invited to Delaro’s they might even talk to me properly, or even…

Her mind wanders off into perfect scenarios, taking place under the disco lights inside Delaro’s, which would forever change her place on the social ladder. Snapping out of her daydream to knock on the door, she realizes it’s open and walks across the newly- waxed linoleum to the kitchen- only to see a her father clenching his jaw and nursing his left hand, while her mother, turned pointedly to the stove, clutches a spatula. The daughter doesn’t even want to think about what happened here, and trudges back to her room.

To the Family of 121B

2018-02-14T04:54:00.001-08:00

A chronicle following a family during the Harlem Renaissance. Updated weekly.

Chapter 1: Guess What's Coming to Dinner?

The sun sets over the rickety roofs of Harlem, streaks of orange and pink across the sky as though a painter had haphazardly run his brush along it. People whistle as they jog down the cobbled pavements, work caps being pulled off rumpled heads as men make their ways home. In nondescript building after nondescript building, women push meatloaves and pies in and out of ovens. Children squeal in their runs up and down the gravel roads. All is as it should be, and in 128^th Street’s redbrick building, in ground floor apartment 121B, it seems like a normal evening.

If you stood on the peeling mint-green wood of the porch and looked in through the floral-curtained window, you would only see a family settling down to dinner. Not an unusual sight anywhere in the world: four people sitting around their oaken dining table. The father sits at the head of the table, as is customary, and the mother; pulling an apple pie out of the rusty oven, laughs at something her daughter says. The son is helping himself to hearty servings of mashed potatoes, and now the husband is digging into the chicken placed before him with a ferocity that is attributed to men on battlefields. Piling her hair up onto her head and shrugging off her calico apron, the mother finally takes her seat at the table. Dinner conversation is casual, uneventful. Slowly, members of the family excuse themselves- the son goes off to write ‘meaningful’ poems for his girl, the daughter runs to her room and pulls out her sheets of music. The mother produces a stack of mail that they should sort through, but her husband tells her they’ll handle it tomorrow, because it’s Thursday and all such boring things are done on Thursdays- or so he insists. They head upstairs, arm-in-arm, and all seems right with the world. Across the street, a woman pulls her shawl up over her greying curls. She shuts the curtains of her own dusty window, wrinkly caramel hands shaking, just after the lights in 121B flicker off. She smiles contentedly before her eyes begin drooping shut, her teak chair still rocking in the dark.

The next day, as the ships begin to toot their horns in the harbour across the river, and orange begins to swallow up the darkness above them, the residents of 121B awaken. Not all of them, of course- the son lies in his room, snoring into his magenta bedspread. The girl is awake: she puts on her makeup, careful not to make it obvious enough for her parents to catch on, and rummages through her wardrobe. What should I wear to school today? She thinks.

Back in the dining room, her father is rubbing his bleary eyes vigorously, earning himself a tut-tut from his wife as he struggles to comprehend what is being said in the pile of letters before him. Placing a ceramic plate of steaming bacon on the table, the woman wipes her hands on her apron and takes a seat next to him. Opening, reading and sorting envelopes, she works at a mechanical pace- and her husband chews on his bacon thoughtfully as he watches her. Their son comes out of his bedroom, quietly closing the door and placing a tiny lock on the door. The mother seems to have a problem with this, asking him what secrets he keeps that entail locking the door to his bedroom. What’s in there that the rest of your family can’t see? Is her stern question.

The son rolls his eyes and turns the key pointedly. His mother takes a deep breath, ready to let out another torrent of words, when she hears a gasp next to her. The husband is staring at one of the letters, eyes wider than she’d thought they could even be. She asks him what the matter is, and even the son is curious enough to stop his tantrum and find out. Just as the man of the house opens his mouth, a door slams elsewhere in the house. The daughter saunters into the living room, hair done and dress smoothed out, evidently and understandably unaware of the mounting tension in the room.

Their father continues speaking, detailing the offer he’s received in the letter before him. Their mother is unable to hide her surprise despite expressing a sudden interest in cleaning the stove. The daughter’s eyebrows go higher and higher up her forehead as she, undoing the style she’d spent thirty minutes on, scrapes her hair into a comfortable ponytail. The son just stands agape, his early-morning brain trying to take in this information, trying to grasp what this entails. His mother is apparently trying to scrub the stove into nonexistence, while his sister resumes her indifferent attitude and grabs a plate from the shelf. The husband meets his wife’s eyes and immediately asks his son to get him some stamps.

At this time in the morning? His son yawns. Yes, the father replies, handing him three quarters and telling him to get whatever he wants with the change. The son laughs and says he can take a hint, stomping out the door without a second word. The mother turns to the daughter, handing her a casserole, and telling her to take it to the neighbours. The daughter dazedly pulls on her slippers and follows her brother, waving goodbye to her parents as she steps out into the sunlight.

She strolls onto the street, shoe soles slapping the warm pavement. She smiles at the street vendor, selling his trinkets with aplomb, hat pulled low over his dark eyes. She waves at the woman who lives opposite, receiving a faint shake of a wrinkly hand in return; and finally knocks on the red-orange wood of the neighbours’ front door. The brass knocker shines in the sun, and the girl shakes out her hair, all practicality forgotten- she must look presentable. The woman opening the door takes the casserole from her and thanks her profusely. This woman’s husband lost his job yesterday, and the apparently all-knowing woman of the house next door had thus sent her a token of support. Times are hard; the woman mumbles in gratitude, and I thank the Lord for people like your mother.

Overcome with emotion, she grasps the girl’s hand in her own worn ones. She blesses her, her mother, her brother, her entire family and insists that God will be good to them. She takes a bracelet off her own wrist, insisting on ‘repayment’. The girl insists that she requires no recompense, and that her mother would be quite unhappy if the girl took back anything other her neighbour’s happiness. The woman seems to understand, and sadly waves goodbye. Just as the girl turns off the step, the door creaks open again, peeling flakes of wood blowing off it in the morning wind. The woman hands her a piece of paper.

For a young girl like you, she smiles shyly. I was going to go, but as you can see…you should take it. Have a good time, all right? She impulsively hugs the girl, enveloping her in paisley-print cotton and sweaty skin, before stepping back in and shutting her door. The girl turns away and jogs quickly down the front steps, as if scared the door will open again. She studies the sheet, which upon closer inspection seems to be a ticket of some sort. FREE ENTRY INTO DELARO’S JAZZ NIGHT it reads. ONE DRINK AND AS MANY SONGS AS YOU PLEASE. AMATEUR NIGHT ON FRIDAYS- COME BELT OUT YOUR TUNES! The girl almost laughs.

As if she would go to one of these…’jazz bars’. The cooler crowd from her school went to these, and ‘invitees-only’ attended the best of these shows. She had apparently been handed such an invitation- one that could immensely improve her social life. Should she take the chance? Her mother frowned upon such frivolity, claiming these places were just ‘money-sucking pits’ that made you pay exorbitantly for mediocre acts. She wondered if her mother spoke from experience because of how vehemently she condemned these places. But it’s free, she thinks, so what could be wrong in it? It can’t ‘suck my money away’ if it doesn’t cost anything, can it? I hear these things are the berries!* The girl has sort-of made up her mind now. She takes a deep breath, catching the eye of the woman across the road and smiling politely- what would her neighbours think if they saw her dressed like this, headed to a place like this? The girl makes up her mind, and tucks the flyer into her pocket.

Burial

2018-02-13T09:00:00.000-08:00

A poem from the point of view of a Jewish child born in hiding during the Holocaust.

There’s so many things

Of which I could tell

Dark and depressed

Tales of hell.

But I choose to bury

Those words inside

My mind’s a grave

And these are the bodies I hide.

The world outside,

It’s all at war.

“Stay in here,”

My mother says

“Away from all the blood and gore.”

So I’m caged,

A docile pet.

A lion that should be out hunting

But is eating vegetables instead.

“They’ll kill you!”

The voices on the outside whisper.

The monsters they speak of

Prowl on the outside,

Uniformed and stiff

Looking for my people

And if they find us,

Horrors, they will upon us inflict

The ones who help,

Our saviours out in the light-

I know not who they are,

And my family says

We shouldn’t;

We should pretend they don’t exist.

I was born down here,

I’ve never seen the bright:

The only thing I can count on,

That’s constant here, aside from the dark

Is when they open that door

In will reach fingers

Handing us all plates

Then the hands which feed me

Disappear

Swallowed by the effervescence

From which they appeared;

Leaving my family

To decay here

Trapped within our abyss of fear.

“At least it’s safe here for everyone,”

My relatives insist,

More to reassure themselves

Than the rest of us.

But when all’s said and done,

I wonder if we’ll ever leave

Even after

The war’s been won.

ROBBEN ISLAND

2013-07-14T09:19:00.002-07:00

An island that has withstood the shifting sands, or should I say waves of time and history- adapting from vegetable patch to prison to asylum and hospital, just a few of the various roles it has served in World History. Robben Island is a tiny rocky outcrop measuring 9.3 km, just off the Cape of Good Hope. These are stories from the points of view of different people, all having passed or lived on Robben Island, and describe the island’s past vividly.

Are they real people? Does it really matter to you, as long as they tell a real story, because after all- the island, or it’s rocks or lighthouse or buildings or even people wouldn’t be known unless they told a story, would they? Would any historical site be anything unless it had a story, of who built it why, or how?

Where did I get these excerpts from…now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?

Excerpts from the diary of Ambròsio Ferreirâ, 1498-1527.

6^th June 1498

Good Day. This ‘diary’ as Captain Barthomolew Diaz, leader of our fleet says, will help me to keep my thoughts in order and write down exactly what I do and see here, to tell dear Mama and Papa when I am home in Porto, Portugal. To begin, let me write who I am lest a stranger read this diary.

I am Ambròsio Ferreirâ, First mate on this ship the São Cristóvão, the lead ship of Captain Barthomolew Diaz, great explorer’s fleet. We are supposed to reach India on the Spice Route and bring spices, silk and other such commodities back home. If we do this, we will be hugely rewarded by the King- or so the Captain says.

Anyway, soon we should be reaching India, our first stop on the route.

7^th June 1498

It has been many days since I last wrote. This is for various reasons including the fact that many shipmates were sick and I had to do extra duty. To continue, many are disgruntled at the Captain- he promised we would be there soon, but it has been 11 days and he insists we aren’t even a quarter through the journey. We will be fast running out of food unless we make a stop at one of the fishing ports on our way…

25^th June 1498

7 days later and my prediction has come true! We are running out of food. Many have already got the first symptoms of scurvy and unless the Captain swallows his pride, admits his calculations are wrong and stops at a port, many will be in Davy Jones Locker!

30^th June 1498

The Captain has finally decided to let us stop at a port due to ‘our great inability to survive in un-luxurious conditions which will lead us to our doom in India’. Whatever he says! But by now no more ports are in sight…God help us!

31^st June 1498

Praise be to the Lord! One of the Second Mates went ashore on a tiny island and discovered there was extremely fertile land! We decided to plant our leftover seeds so we could get some food on our way back, and fished quite a bit to last us on the rest of our journey, as well as killed some animals for meat and took a few eggs.

3^rd July 1498

We will reach India soon. Now, thanks to us, ships travelling to Spice Lands will have food, water and shelter as we have set up base in a cave*, where rations have been stored for our way back.

6^th June 1527

Today is the same day, though 58 years later, that we set out from this very harbor to India and when I began my diary. It has been so many years since I wrote in this diary. Someday I will give this diary to my children…then they will see how much their forefathers have done for them-my son is also a sailor, and he stops at that very island we discovered…this is the last entry I will make in this diary before leaving it to my son. This will help future generations realize the past has a large effect on the present, even though my son writes that the island may soon be conquered by the Dutch…

*However, the cave no longer exists.

Excerpts from the diary of Wilhelm Van Ryjn 1676-1735 and Frederik Van Ryjn, 1735-1795.

6^th June 1676

This is to keep record of what happens on this island, if the General Riebeeck should ever need a report. Lest a stranger read this afterwards, I will put down a little bit about myself so it should go down in history.

I am Wilhelm Van Ryjn, of Lutzenberg, Deutschland*. I am part of the expedition led by Jan Van Riebeeck and we have claimed this area in a land they call ‘Africa’. We were supposed to be home in 3 months, but when we went home, the King ordered all the men back to this godforsaken place along with their families to live there! Yes, live here and build a city for him, to send him fresh produce, meat and other materials from here as well as take care of the prisoners he deports here. And who got the prison supervisor’s job? Yours truly. And I am not even on the mainland! We are on this island covered in Rob- the English call them seals. The men call this island Robben Island due to the seals. And by men, I mean the criminals whom I have to supervise as they cut stone and burn seashells for lime to send to the mainland to build the Cape Town they are settling. The only problems appear to be the natives (the slaves), also transported here from other parts of conquered Africa. They stay away from the other men, but….

I will write more tomorrow.

*Holland, genius!

9^th June 1676

The criminals and slaves were doing fine! But now Captain Jan insists we need even more stone and lime-yes, I agree they are criminals and all, but this is inhuman! Even they cannot work all day with just single meal at night! But I am afraid I may become one of them if I protest, for the Captain is ruthless- even to me, his right hand man. They will have to keep working…I cannot help but wonder what has been told to the King, for I am sure His Majesty would not allow this…at least I do not think so. However, the natives have been coming closer and closer lately- I do hope they do not attempt to attack us. I would hate to see them slaughtered as has occurred on the mainland. Another reason the men are displeased is that the natives do no work- all us officers are a little nervous of them.

15^th June 1676

Why me? Why did I have to be sent for this duty while the others are on mainland? What of my family and my son? The other children go to school on the mainland…yet there are no boats to take my son to and from this godforsaken island each day. Without education, what will he grow up to be? I suppose the next Island Warden. Will my whole family be trapped here? I hope not! The men are working fine, but I can see the discontentment in their eyes growing each day. I do hope there are no riots. The slaves are coming even closer and I can even see the patterns of their war-paint: none of them are alike in the least. How undisciplined. Also, why didn’t the war-paint wear off yet? I wonder…

18^th July 1676

Oh dear! The natives made some whooping noises. The disgruntled men attacked, and of course the natives fought back! Just the excuse they were looking for to attack us, wasn’t it? I am writing this with a bloody nose from one of the native’s arms. I have no choice but to write to Captain Riebeeck for reinforcements…

21^st July 1676

Good Lord! The reinforcements are doing their best to control them, but no luck! There is still fighting, many men are unable to work. And the Captain wants even more limestone and burnt seashells as well as sending MORE tribals! This is really pushing it to the limit…

6^th June 1735

Papa managed to teach me how to read and write, as I couldn’t go to school. Yes, I am the son of Wilhelm Van Ryjn, great Dutch ~~culoniel~~ colonial officer. I am Frederik Van Ryjn, and just as Papa predicted, I am also Island Warden here on Robben Island.

But things are better now than before. The natives have been disciplined and the men do less, but equal work. Captain Jan Van Riebeeck is still around, but I suppose old age softened his attitude toward the men and their work. Papa gave me this diary to continue, though I doubt the Captain will ever need a report now…

10^th June 1775

Papa died yesterday. And Captain Riebeeck came around to give his ~~condolunses~~ condolences as well as to tell us that after all these years of peace and quiet, the British are planning to invade! Now you wouldn’t catch me saying this out loud, but I’m glad ! At last I see some real action around these parts…

1^st August 1795

The news: ( it’s good and bad) the British invaded! The sort of bad news: They won. The worst news: I still have this crummy job! They kept me on as Warden, but now I have to look after British as well as the existing Dutch prisoners! Ugh…Also, I couldn’t write for so long because of the war and all.

3^rd December 1795

Oh, great! Now I have to control riots between the British and Dutch, the British and Natives, the Natives and the Dutch! As if it wasn’t enough already, the British have ordered for them to build an Anglican Church. (they have no more use for the lime and stone, I think, because the city looks quite complete to me since the last time I went there….)

1^st Januaru 1796

GOOD NEWS!! We can go home! Ah, I do hope Oma and Opa, my grandparents, recognize me and my family…We will finally see the Great Lighthouse and all the other places Papa always spoke of! I do believe this is the last time I shall write this diary…there will be no more reports to give, back home, so I will leave this in ~~the lighthouse storage room’s~~ secret compartment, which I made them build especially for this purpose. I suppose being Island Warden has its good points…

(Yes, I edited it for obvious purposes already stated in the introduction! Can we please get back to the story now?)

Excerpts from the diary of Kelly O’Hara, 1867-1931

6^th June 1863

Good Day. I’m Kelly O’Hara, and I am the daughter of Thomas O’Hara, doctor on Robben Island, also called Leper Island. I’m 13 years old. My Mathair* is Ginny O’Hara, one of the nurses. We (my parents) moved here from Cork, Ireland, before I was born. I’m 11 now. We live on ‘Robben’ Island, or the island of seals, as they call it. Or at least that’s what Mrs. Doyle, the oldest lady on the island, says. She used to be a nurse, but now her children work at the hospital. But why they call it a hospital, I don’t know- I thought in a hospital people were free to go back home whenever they wanted to? Here, they’re locked up- all the people with leprosy (Mr. Doyle calls them lepers and says they have a HORRIBLE disease and if they lived free and touched other people, they would all get the disease and die!). Anyway, this island is where the people who are mad, the lepers and the REALLY ill are sent, and doctors like my Athair** try and cure them. There are also various other ill people that the British Government does not want on mainland for some reason. I feel sad for them as they are neither ill and nor have they done anything wrong! Many of them are black natives and such races.

The lepers occupy two buildings, the sick one and the mad about one and a half. The other buildings

Now Mathair wants me for some chores… I will write some more later.

*Mother

**Father

11^th June 1863

Athair insists that the lepers are not infectious and should be sent to a Mainland hospital to get better, but he doesn’t dare say so to the authorities, of course. Then he would be arrested! No one says things like that, let alone thinks them. But Athair is a very different thinker, or so Mathair says...

Anyway, Athair gave me this diary to let my imagination loose in- this is where I also can be a free thinker like him but Mathair wouldn’t find out and tell me to stop being silly as she always does! Right now, both my parents are at work and my brother, Brian, is at his friend, Patrick Doyle’s house. Patrick is the grandson of the Mrs. Doyle I was talking about…Athair says that more lepers will come to the island soon. I think that is just sad- imagine their families back on mainland, not knowing whether they are even alive or not and never meeting them again! The mentally ill have been making even more noises lately. As for the really ill, well what could they be doing anyway- most of them can’t even get up from their beds!

20^th August 1863

Sometimes I feel terribly sad for the lepers and the patients…most doctors, unlike Athair, treat them horribly! The lepers are probably the best off- and even those poor things have to stay days without clean beds or water, and sometimes the food is stale and days old. As for those who are really sick…well, they just exist. Sometimes people forget to give them their medicine, and they die because for most of them, that medicine is what keeps them alive. One missed dose and that’s it. The mad ones are worst. They bang and scream and yell all day long. Most of the nurses and doctors are afraid to go near and as a result, they hardly get ANY food. Many are even insane killers and the other day, one of the murderers stabbed another to death! Oh dear, Mathair wants me to fetch something…

1^st January 1864

The Lighthouse has been built! Now no more ships will crash on the rocks. Mrs. Doyle’s third son and Patrick’s father, Edward Doyle, is lighthouse keeper! I do hope he will let us look around…I must get ready for the Doyle’s New Year Party.

15^th September 1867

Good news! Athair says that the government has built new hospitals for the mad and very sick, and soon they will be transferred! Brian and me were most relieved while Mathair just snorted. I cannot understand how she is so unfeeling! Anyway, the poor old lepers will have to stay…Athair also says that this means most of the lepers on mainland will now be sent here- I do not know if this is good or bad. On one hand, the others get to be closer to their families, but more lepers come even farther away from home! I do not suppose it matters to the lepers as anyway no one comes to visit them for fear they may get the disease…So now at least the crazy and ‘chronically ill’ as Athair calls them, will be taken better care of, which also means the doctors will have more time, money and space for the lepers! Ah, thank the lord. I think he finally heard my prayers for those unfortunate beings….Mr. Doyle finally let us visit the lighthouse. I can see as far as the mainland from the top! I saw the huge mountain that surrounds the Cape Town. It looks very beautiful!

6^th December 1868

More and more lepers arrive each week…I do believe we have at least 500! More families destroyed, more distance between loved ones…I wish it would end! I wish people believed Athair about ~~leprusie~~ leprosy not infecting others! But then that’s what gives my parents employment and lets us live in comfort. More lepers are arriving! I will go ask Athair how many we have.

10^th January 1875

Oh Lord! When will you end this cruelty? We have 1000 inmates- that sounds more appropriate and prison worthy rather than patients- as I wrote in my very first entry, in hospitals they would be free to go, and here they are locked up! The government has decided that they need to do some work. Athair and the other doctors will decide what they should build and send a report to the mainland. Athair says that will take a few years just to be agreed on, approved and designed.

11^th February 1885

They have finally agreed on and approved a plan for the lepers to build a Church for themselves. It will be called the Church of the Good Shepherd and will be designed by the British ~~arkitekt~~ architect, Sir Herbert Baker. At last something new happens on this island! But more news- I am moving to the mainland! Yes, it has been 20 Years since I began this diary, and Athair has found work for me on mainland, and I must move on. But I will keep writing…

6^th August 1890

They have started building the Church! They say it will finish in 2 years, but who knows? You can never believe these architect people, or so Athair said in his last letter.

7^th December 1892

Hah! So much for it finishing in 2 years- they haven’t even built the second tower yet, let alone the insides of the Church, which should have taken the last six months to hand paint and carve. Well, work on that island is as slow as ever!

8^th January 1894

They’ve finished the building at last! Mathair said so in her last letter. Now they must hand paint the inner stained glass and the statues and relics will be sent from the mainland once everything is over- the wood carved seats and altar, the painted walls as well as the stained glass- will take a year, I believe, though they say 6 months! Mathair told me all this in her last letter.

1^st January 1895

I am here for New Years Eve, and they have finished the church at last! I must admit it looks beautiful- a shame we cannot go in there to pray, it is only for the lepers…

1st January 1931

It has been many years since I began this diary- and now, at last, the torture and horror of Robben Island comes to an end- they have finally listened to Athairs’ and his fellow doctors’ claims as to leprosy NOT being contagious! The lepers are being moved to hospitals inland. And since this diary was about that terrible time, I have decided to end it here. Yes, this is my last entry in a diary almost 60 years old…

Excerpts from the diary of Harry Matthews, 1936-1959

5^th January 1936

Hitler has declared World War 2. For all us soldiers, it means leaving home again. But for where, no one knows! We may be shifted again, I hope- they’ve stuck me and about a hundred others on this desolate place called the Cape. I’ve heard of the British colonies near the Cape and the Cape itself, but when they told me I was assigned to Cape Town, mother was excited as I would probably not be on the front line with a risk of being killed- but it is pointless then, isn’t it? Leaving our cozy home in Chelsea and coming all the way here, then not even fighting. Here I doubt I’ll even be doing anything to help- as Main Defense for Cape Town. What is so important to protect this godforsaken tiny town, I will never understand. Like it will ever enter Hitler’s head to attack one of Britain’s colonies that simply exists for the sake of existing- there is NOTHING, and I mean ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to defend here! The General Smuts will give us our orders tomorrow…

6^th January 1936

The General says that the HMS Erebus will be used as Offshore Defense. I doubt it will survive this choppy water- but who am I to say anything? It will be positioned between that little island that was a leper colony and that the Government wanted to turn into a holiday spot before WW2. ‘Robben’ Island, the locals call it. Anyway, the others believe we will be sent aboard the Erebus- but I will not count my chickens before they hatch like the others…

15^th December 1936

It has been almost a year! And what of the HMS Erebus? NOTHING! It will not survive the waters, mark my words! Look at the gun size. One shot from those and watch the Bay destroyed…

19^th December 1938

They have finally come to their senses! The Erebus is being sent back and now they need a new point of defence- I think they will decide upon the little island!

7^th January 1939

I am being sent along with a few others and the SAEC (South African Engineering Corporation) to survey the island and figure out HOW exactly we will fit 3,000 soldiers and those HUGE new weapons on that island.

6^th June 1939

They have begun the building at last! Now it will have barracks, gun batteries and drill areas. There will be two gun batteries at the north and south ends of the island respectively- Cornelia (6 inch) and Robben (9.2 inch). All with the help of yours truly! I now realize why they needed to protect Cape Town- Gen. Smuts says it will be the main trading point for supplies through the Suez Canal to Britain. That’s why they need so much protection for it. They are also building a new Murray’s Harbor- the tiny jetty on the island stands no chance against the 30 ton guns it will soon be transporting.

7th August 1940

I am one of the first few to be drafted to this island as the batteries are fully operational. As it is doubtful for the Germans to attack, this island is becoming a training center for the time being.

5^th October 1942

The Coastal Artillery School has many trainees- but the batteries are being ruined due to frequent use…The Germans have almost severed our route to the middle east with their U-Boats! One even came within hailing distance and surveyed our harbor defenses before submerging again. THE NERVE!!!! They are sinking ships all around the Cape Waters- we shouldn’t stand for this!

12^th December 1942

The cunning Germans sank 21 of our ships!

We are all being withdrawn from this island and the batteries are being placed under maintenance- what did they expect with so much use??

7^th February 1945

Men from the Cape Corps (us, now) are being stationed at the island once again! Let us see what they have done to that desolate bit of rock now.

19^th August 1945

Ugh, this place has become HORRIBLE. Our uniforms don’t fit, there is nothing even faintly resembling a mess, and less pay. I hate this place- I think I will go back home! WORST OF ALL, we can’t be promoted above warrant officers, and so no matter what we do, neither our pay nor our ranks will be increased.

17^th December 1945

Thank the gods! All personnel can leave the island, and mark my words I will be the first. HOME SWEET ENGLAND, at last!!!!

6^th June 1946

I’m now a free man. All troops have been deployed from Robben Island. This is my final entry in this diary. I’m now a civilian and I plan to work as an engineer or start my own business…and have no need of this little book now that I’m home to the fog, rain and fish and chips of good ol’ England! But I sometimes miss that godforsaken rocky place- the freedom, the chirping of the seagulls each morning, falling asleep to the sound of waves. But I don’t miss the place’s climate and our jobs. I guess you win some, you lose some.

In the years to come, Robben Island served as a prison for political prisoners- namely those who stood up against racism and apartheid, the most famous of which being none other than the President of the South African Republic, Nelson Mandela.

He started a famous pile of rock there. A rock pile, you think. It’s made of stones from the limestone quarry where he and his fellow ex-prisoners worked. When they came back for a reunion, he picked up a rock and placed it in front of the lime quarry in which they once worked long hours. His fellow prisoners picked up different stones and placed them on top, creating a pile of stones that represents the different races, castes and creeds of humankind.

That’s a time everyone’s heard of. These, I doubt anyone has, unless you’ve been to the island. Tell me, did you? That’s why I wrote this.

To show the world the history of a tiny rocky outcrop off the Cape of Good Hope, that’s just a tiny dot on a map of the world- but holds a special place in people’s hearts, as the one place on Earth that truly celebrates the triumph of the human spirit- Robben Island.

THE BON SLIME

2013-07-14T08:02:00.001-07:00

THE BON SLIME

Have you ever seen the giant three tongued rhino under your bed? The four eyed spider in the cupboard below the stairs, and of course the really big snake with fingers in your attic? No? They aren’t there? What is wrong with you- I myself have met them- and yes, they told me to deliver food to your house address! You don’t believe in monsters- are you kidding me?

Well if you don’t… too bad. I do. I have to- running a bakery for monsters! It’s called the Bon Slime, by the way. Did you just say what nonsense that is? Of course it exists. And no, I haven’t escaped from an asylum or something. Then who am I ? Oh, I can’t tell you that. You would look me up in the address book and report me to the police- or worse, actually manage to visit my bakery! No, no that would be horrible for business, all the monsters would run away.

Will you let me continue? I am trying to say something here…stop with the unbelieving, ‘are you mad’, ‘what nonsense’ question. Seriously.

My Restaurant and Bakery , the Bon Slime, as I was saying, is somewhere in this city. Can’t tell you where for previously mentioned reasons. Why am I telling you this? You humans have to believe in those poor monsters! They might look creepy, might be man-eaters, might have powers like killer eyes and poison spraying ears, but they’re harmless. Believe me! If you don’t believe in them, they might fade away…and by that I mean become extinct. Good riddance, you say? Oh, you hypocrites! You do so much abut your random exotic species which are becoming extinct….don’t let me start on that.

To keep going (finally, after your interruptions), the Bon Slime is one of the most popular monster bakeries and restaurants (Yes, there are others). It’s one of the top 5 in the one of the world’s top food magazines, Monsters & Munches. I get all kinds of monsters- tiny laser ants, to 1,000 ton Lizzisnaikes

( A Lizard, Snake, Pike crossbreed, you silly person. Sometimes I do think some monsters are smarter than humans…)

I make a new menu every month- wanna see this month’s?

MENU (APRIL-MARCH)

ITALIAN & MEXICAN CUISINE (EUROPEAN):

Medusa-hair pasta

Pike Tail Pizza

Crunchy Beetle Ravioli in Stewed Cat Hair

Blue Glue Gnocchi

Double decker taco- Eagle Beak and Bedbug with Blood Salsa

Elephant Tail Tortillas

Bat Spit Cheese and Squirrel Tail Nachos.

INDIAN & CHINESE CUISINE (ASIAN) :

HERBED FINGER CURRY WITH TANDOORI ROASTED NAIL NAAN

EARWAX PULAO

TIGER CLAWNAIL FRIED RICE

CRUNCHY LADYBUGS IN SCHEZWAN SAUCE

BUTTERFLY TORSO NOODLES

BAKERY & DESSERT MENU

DESSERTS:

Caramelized Ant Pie

Chocolate Lizard Tail Fantasy

Please check counter for other delicacies!

SAVOURY BAKERY ITEMS

Spicy Dragonfly Puff

Fly & Mosquito Toast

Oh dear! I think I lost the next page… and the American one in the middle…. You’re fine without it? Alright. So, what do you think of my bakery? It’s rather crazy? You’re right…you should’ve seen the other day when that Transylvanian Bat Coven of a 100 came and protested about my use of bat blood! I assured them that we only used bat skin and showed them my METM (Monsters for the Ethical Treatment of Monsters) certificate, which certifies our animal product suppliers that they only took dead animal products. They were fine after that, but ordered one hundred Double Decker Tacos and Nachos with Extra Blood Salsa- you should’ve seen the madness in the kitchen!

Oh My God, look at the time! I must be off- Goodbye and thanks for listening…What? Oh, you want to know how I appeared in your living room without you opening the locked front door? That’s a story for another day…I’ll tell you next time I come around, and don’t forget to tell the Spider Sam (The four eyed spider in the cupboard under the stairs) and Fingered Snake from the attic and of course Toby- the three tongued rhino from under your bed- that I said hi!

The Strange Creature

2013-03-16T14:07:00.000-07:00

The Strange Creature

Rumpled head,

A shiny nose

Pointy little furry toes!

Beady eyes,

A bright pink tongue

Chewing a biscuit, this creature lies!

Is it a monster?

Did it just roar?

What on earth is the thing coming through the door?

It eyes me across the room-

A twisted tail,

Paws with many a sharp nail,

Heaven, save me from this creature of doom!

My hands tremble

As from it’s throat comes a rumble…

I get so scared I take a tumble-

Falling onto a chair, making my room shambles.

Mamma appears like an angel of grace-

“Look at our new dog!

Isn’t he cute, just look at that darling face!”

I almost faint in surprise at the thought,

As the ‘dog’ chases a mouse,

Could that awful creature have been brought

To stay in my house?

It stared at me through chocolate eyes,

I thought, ‘I wish I was saying to it my goodbyes!’

Mother stroked it’s furry skin,

And opened for it a pet food tin.

How on earth could she find that cute?

It jumped and growled,

And put it’s muddy paw on my precious flute!

In the anger to retrieve it,

I stepped close to the creature, yes, next to it!

It nuzzled against me and licked my ear,

I almost jumped out of my skin in fear.

It pounced on me with a little whine-

It’s shiny little ears so pristine!

Then it looked at me like it was trying to say,

“Can we be friends? If anyone harms you I’ll make ‘em pay!”

I hugged him and whispered,

“I think we may be friends- and now I won’t mind if you stay!”

THE PARROT AND THE PEA

2013-03-09T14:06:00.000-08:00

THE PARROT AND THE PEA

You’ve heard of the princess and her famous pea?
Well, this is the true tale of the Parrot and the Pea,
Green and squawky as you can see!

The parrot was always speaking-
Talking, squawking, gawking and commenting-

He rolled his eyes at the Prince in his unflattering yellow shirt,
‘NOT Charmed, I’m sure,’
He sighed as the Queen wore to dinner her stained green skirt,
‘Dear, Oh, Dear!”
He scorned the king and his new law,
‘Oh, what a bore!’
He laughed when the carpenter’s new invention had a flaw,
‘Throw this out the door!’
He smirked when the butler wore a pink polka-dotted tie,
‘That doesn’t even match, I fear!’
He sneered when the cook put in the stew Mozzarella instead of Brie,
‘This I cannot endure!’
He grinned as off came the dressmakers’ wig,
‘ So funny, at it, I cannot peer!’
He giggled as the armorer gave the king a butter knife to test,
‘That won’t please the king, it is clear!”

So when the palace writer wished to write a tale on the pea,
It was agreed by everyone to cut off the parrot, you see,
So to do this they did conspire,
Oh, a thing so dire!
For before the parrot came as you can see,
No one had heard of the pea!
And from the parrot only had they heard,
That the pea existed and was a vegetable, not bird!
It was the parrot who flew in with a pea's sample
Which the kingdom now grew and traded in ample!
So to cut off the parrot himself how could they dare?

Don’t you agree that it is unfair?

So out went the critical parrot,

As agreed by the whole lot,

And in came a Princess,

With pretty cloaks and silken dresses,

With flowers in her long golden tresses,

Do you know what the parrot said?

When he heard of the princess and the supposed pea she felt in her bed?

‘Oh dearie me! Out of perfectly good stories, they do make such messes!’

BAT DUCK AND THE PERILIOUS PYRAMIDS

2013-01-28T10:20:00.002-08:00

BAT DUCK AND THE PERILIOUS PYRAMIDS

“Bat Duck! Piggy! Move it, I want coffee; will you sneak into the farmers’ kitchen for powder? The future blend powder seems to have finished,” said a brown and white bull to a white duck and a pig that were lying on the grass in Farmer Maddock’s farm in Auroville, India.

“Grunt,” said the pig.

However, these animals were not ordinary farm animals. They were special and Bat Duck and the Professor, but not piggy, could speak, however not in any human language. They were Super heroes- Duck had a special Quack that could push anything away from her and Piggy, if he wagged his snout, had a smell that could drive any one out of a room in a second. They had been chosen and recruited specially by the time travelling organization, the HSH or Historical Super Heroes, from the future. The HSH mainly worked to stop the evil HHH or Haters of Historical Heroes from trying to take over the world by going back in time and weakening it then, so that they could rule the world. The brown and white bull was in fact named Professor Boofey and had invented a time machine that was actually his shed. His friends were Bat Duck, a super hero and her friend and sidekick, Piggy. Bat Duck and her friends, however, appeared quite normal to humans like us. That particular morning, they had been sitting on the grass in the farm, but the Professor, who loved to drink coffee, had asked Bat Duck and Piggy to get some coffee powder from the Farmer’s kitchen, as Dave Bull, the director of the HSH’s reward for their last mission, future blend coffee powder for the Professor, seemed to have finished. The Professor had made himself a coffee machine (which he kept in the shed) out of parts stolen from the Farmer’s nephew, Sid, who lived in the farm and was an engineer and inventor.

“Molly’s in the kitchen!” shouted bat Duck. Molly Maddock was the farmer’s niece and hated the animals because of the work they made her do. It was Molly’s job to give the animals food and clean the stalls and sheds.

“Oh, all right, I’ll manage without coffee for another day,” said the Professor dismally, trudging back to the shed. Suddenly, a big duck appeared, clutching a hexagon shaped piece of machinery with buttons on it. He had a badge on his lapel:

“What on earth- “PROFESSOR! DUCK!” yelled Bat Duck, as the duck tried to kick the Professor. The Professor sidestepped him and he fell right over. Bat Duck lost no time in jumping on him, and punching every inch of him, while Piggy bit him. The Professor grabbed his time machine in the ruckus.

“S-s-stop,” wheezed the duck, one of the HHH’s top agents.

“Prof- pass the extra strong rope. Piggy, tie him up and I want your best, tightest knots like the ones you tie on old Molly’s apron so she can’t untie it!” said Bat Duck. Piggy and Professor obeyed.

“That’s good. He’s all trussed up. Now, what do we-?

That was when an alarm rang. “It’s a Arabica alert! That means a very serious matter,” said the Professor, now sprinting towards the shed. The other animals all assumed it was a sound from the road outside and the farmhouse was too far away for molly or the Farmer to hear anything. They got in, Bat Duck dragging in the captive, and the Professor flicked on a switch with his hoof to make a row of controls appear, while Piggy pressed a button on the rafters to make a screen unfold, and Bat Duck pushed something that looked like a cupboard out from behind a bale of hay. It was actually the Time Outfitter 1500, a latest invention of the Professor, called the TO 1500 for short. The minute anyone stepped in, it would scan him or her. Then you had to type in place and date, and clothes would pop out of a hatch in the side, and then you had to put them on, and then make up, if needed, and an accessory, like a cane for Victorian times, if needed. The Professor pressed another button and the screen flickered to life. It showed a black bull wearing dark glasses with a HSH badge pinned on his lapel.

“Hey, Dave!” said the Professor.

“Morning, agents, How’s it-” Dave was cut short by Bat Duck.

“Dave! We were attacked by the HHH but we got their agent all tied up! Should we send him over?” she cried.

“Well, I called to warn you about this very thing, but you were to quick for me! Get over here, bringing the bad guy along. Prof, you know the coordinates right?” said Dave, switching off the screen. The Professor quickly typed in the coordinates, and Bat Duck and piggy held tight to their captive as the shed spun into the future. They arrived in front of a glistening white building, stepped out, hauling the HHH agent, scanned their retinas and IDs, and went in, to the lab where all the HSH agents worked. Waving hi to the agents who all stared at Enema X, they stepped into Dave’s office.

“Well, hello, everyone. Except you, that is,” said Dave, glaring at Enema. Bat Duck and the Professor narrated the tale, and Dave began chortling when they reached the bit where Piggy bit Enema and BD punched him.

“You three have proved a match for the smartest of the HHH- a Zuck, Enema X. (The HHH have code names and ID numbers for each agent, classes from A-Z, Z being elite and A being the beginners. So there were Aucks and Bows, then Cucks and Dows, and so on till Xows and Zucks)

“I met him myself a few years ago, and couldn’t get him myself. It proves the saying, ‘Two heads are better then one,’ or in this case, Three,” said Dave, still smiling.

“Thanks, Dave,” said Professor.

“And now, let’s get to the Questioning Room and talk to Star,” said Dave, getting up and giving Enema a nasty look. Star was a HSH agent and had been with the threesome on a previous adventure. She had a daughter, Nina, and a twin named Sky who worked for the HHH. They entered a room, as white as the rest of the building, where a cow with wearing a HSH badge stood looking at a panel of screens.

“Hello, Bat Duck, Professor, Piggy and of course Dave,” said Star, turning around and grinning.

“Hiya. We have a guest,” said Dave grimly, gesturing to Enema, who was being held by Bat Duck. Star’s expression turned grim.

“Stick him in the chair, will you?” asked Star. Bat Duck obliged. The chair had a belt which fastened itself around Enema X. Bat Duck released his legs and hands as now it was impossible for him to get up from the chair, let alone escape.

“Now, listen carefully. What-are –your-plans?” said Dave, slowly and clearly but sternly.

“I won’t tell,” said Enema firmly.

“Fine. Then, Where –are –you- doing- this-plan?” asked Dave, again.

“Why should I tell you?’ asked Enema X, defiantly.

‘We’re the ones asking questions here, not you,” said Dave, now getting slightly irritated.

“Oh, yeah?” said Enema X insolently.

“You’re not in a position to negotiate,” said Dave dangerously.

“Aren’t I?” said Enema X, in the same insolent way.

“NOW I’m-

“Hold it, Dave,” said the Professor, cutting short Dave’s angry exclamation.

“These HHH are not worth bothering about, I tell you! They don’t even have a new plan, they were so badly defeated last time,”’ said the Professor.

“Hah! You can’t get me with that trick!” said Enema X, annoyingly.

“Well, anyway, now, I’d like to have a private talk with Enema X. Please? Even you, Piggy and Prof,” said Bat Duck suddenly. Enema looked as puzzled as the rest.

“Enema- I’m a secret HHH agent! Don’t tell those idiots- they’ll stick me in jail with you!” said Bat Duck to Enema, with an air of secrecy, as the others moved away.

“Well, OK. But where’s the real Bat Duck?” asked Enema.

“She’s hidden in a barn down the lane. Now, Enema, please, tell me, where do we go next to achieve the glory that the HHH deserves? This time these HSH will not defeat us, as I’m sabotaging them from inside,” said Bat Duck.

“Aha? Well, it’s

Egypt

. 1479 AD, When Hatshepsut was supposed to ascend the throne. Supposed to, geddit? Harm. R is there, masquerading as the most powerful man in

Egypt

. That’s it. Now, when’ll you free me?” asked Enema, suddenly businesslike. Bat Duck looked at him.

“Professor? He’s told me the next location and what they are planning to do there. D can lock him up, now. People, saddle up! We’re on our way to

Egypt

…. 1479 AD, when Hat-

“Hatshepsut ascended to the throne after the death of Thutmose II. So, what’s the problem?” interrupted the Professor excitedly.

“Umm… He didn’t exactly tell me. He just said, ‘When Hatshepsut was supposed to succeed to the throne. Supposed to, geddit?’ He also said Harm R was there as the most powerful man in

Egypt

. What could he mean by that?” wondered Bat Duck, curiously. Enema was grinding his teeth at her as he was led away.

‘Hmm… Strange, indeed… This looks like an extremely dangerous mission. How about I come with you?” asked Dave.

“The director himself? Uh-huh? Seriously?” said the professor disbelievingly.

“D, Can you get here to read this report and handwriting sample from our time spy in.” called someone.

“D! We’ve got the fingerprinting from 1567, come check…”

“Well, not this time. However, how about another agent come along with you?” said D, shrugging at the office.

“Who?” asked BD.

“Come here, BUI,” called D. A cow wearing a pair of purple sunglasses and a pink beret appeared, holding some sort of gadget.

“Yes, D?” she asked.

“Well, meet three agents of ours- Bat Duck, Professor Boofey and Piggy. You’ll need to go with them on a mission, now, all right?” explained D.

“A mission? But I just- All right, fine,” said the cow, catching D’s stern look.

“Agents, meet BUI, or Brilliant Undercover Investigator. BUI or Bui for short.” D introduced. Bui waved.

“And where are we going? Another trip to Victorian England and I’ll-

“

Egypt

. Time of Queen Hatshepsut,” interrupted Bat Duck.

“Oh. Sorry for being so grumpy, I just wanted to finish my latest gadget, but…” Bui said, glaring at D.

“Go on, sis. I can’t go myself... Good Luck! Oh yeah, Prof, would be good if you arrived two or three days before the death of Thutmose II. ” said D, striding off, his cloak billowing out behind him.

“Sis? Are you his sister?” asked Bat Duck curiously. The Professor glared at her. She fell silent at once.

“Yep. Younger sister, in fact. Anyway, let’s get going, I’ll go get my time machine from the gadget room, OK?” said Bui, starting to leave.

“No, we have a time machine, it’s our shed, in fact, on the farm where we live. It has a disguise machine and everything!” said BD, excited again at the thought of going back in time. They entered the shed. “Now, we need… hmm… OK. Are you guys ready?” asked Professor, filling in the time-place data.

“Yep. Continue, Prof,” said Bat Duck. The Professor pressed a button.

The time shed spun through time and landed with a bump. Out the window, bat Duck spied a long, winding river in the distance with a few triangle shaped structures in the distance in the early morning. Closer, there was a field growing rice. , And the only living beings in site were a few kingfishers.

“Well, here we are, everyone. Let’s get our disguises and blenders on, OK? Fast!” the Professor said impatiently, waiting to get out.

They walked into the disguiser, the professor first, then BD and Piggy, and last of all Bui. The professor emerged looking like a middle aged Egyptian nobleman, with a black wig, gold jewelry and a linen robe. Bat Duck was a young Egyptian girl, with black eye shadow, rouge, a linen robe and gold jewelry. Piggy simply wore a gold collar. Bui was an Egyptian girl like Bat Duck. When they wore their ring blenders, gadgets, which transformed them from animal to human and Piggy into a cat, they stepped into the sunshine, and began walking to the fields, passing three farmers who bowed down to them.

“Hey Prof, why are they doing this?” asked BD curiously.

“In

Egypt

they worship the cat, so they are bowing to Piggy,” said the Professor knowledgeably.

Bat Duck nodded, Piggy puffed out his chest and Bui smiled.

They soon reached the marketplace.

“I’ll ask around to see what’s happening in politics,” said the Professor. Ring blenders enabled them to speak the language of the time.

The Professor walked up to a group of sleepy young men in linen robes.

“Hey! So… You like your pharaoh?”

“Umm… yes! Don’t you?”

“Well, I’m from another land, so just wondering…”

“Yeah, he’s fine… bit silly and weak, but OK,” was their opinion.

“Some say he’s in danger?” the professor inquired.

“Yes- his wife’s much smarter than him, but he’s OK. It’s the vizier, Anzeti, who’s probably the brains behind the throne, nice enough- but these days he’s a bit grumpy- the whole royal family and court is,” one of them said, shrugging.

The Professor nodded and walked back to BD and the rest.

“Apparently there’s something wrong with the royal family- sound suspicious?” he told them.

Just then a conch horn blew. A man beat drums and shouted,

“PREPARE FOR THE ARRIVAL OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, GOD QUEEN HATSHEPSUT AND THE ROYAL VIZIER, ANZETI!”

A gold chariot drew up, containing a stern looking hawk nosed man in a linen robe wearing what seemed like tons of gold jewelry, clutching five or six papyrus scrolls- the vizier Anzeti. A lady in a linen robe with gold edges and black eyes lined with kohl, expensive blue eye shadow made of minerals, and bangles, a necklace and a headdress, the divine queen, Hatshepsut.

“I can see more of jewelry than Hatshepsut herself!” Bui exclaimed.

“I know!” BD replied.

Anzeti opened a scroll and read,

“Owing to the divine ruler, son of Ra, being indisposed, our great queen and I shall be announcing the news and messages from our Pharaoh, the honorable Thutmose II,” he paused.

“For one, the Festival of Rain, when we pray to Lord Amen for prosperity, is approaching! We shall be beginning preparations today, so all ministers, butchers and priests are to report to the Palace today from 8-10 am. The second thing is the work on our dear Pharaoh’s tomb is almost finished, so all painters are to report to the Palace at 10 after the butchers and ministers leave. That will be all the important things for now. The town crier shall announce the rest,” finished Hatshepsut. The chariot turned and they sped away, robes flowing in the wind.

“So Thutmose was sick before his death? Interesting!” the professor mused.

“That’s right,” said Bui.

“So, what do you say? We go as foreign messengers to him? Get him a couple of gifts that he likes, we’ll get D to send us some (fake) gold jewelry and other things they haven’t seen- maybe ivory?” the professor suggested.

Everyone agreed, so they headed to the time shed and video called D.

“Well, I must say that’s a good idea- but for one thing. If you are foreign messengers, and you get to the palace, and the HHH agent there spots you, what will we do?” he questioned.

“That’s- we’ll- we will- you’ll- frankly, D, I don’t know! We’ll just have to go with it on the spot. I’m sure we’ll manage, though,” the Professor assured D.

“Fine, Annie, get some fake gold jewelry, Egyptian if you have it. And what did Egyptians consider valuable?” D called to a duck wearing a cowboy hat with black curly hair and a pair of cowboy boots.

“Erm…. Ivory, paper, bronze, precious stones, spices, silk, threa-

“Err… Annie, that’s quite enough! Give us some silk, bronze, paper and gold- that should be enough,” D said hurriedly, nodding at the Professor.

“I’m sending it through the time carrier, and BD, you remember the Detector 3000 that I sent you? Well, use it to detect members of the HHH!” D said as the screen switched off.

BD pulled out a little device with a button in the center. She put it on and put it in her pocket.

“It will beep if any of the HHH is around a distance of 40 miles or 1 time period away, by detecting their blenders,” BD explained to Bui.

Professor collected all the things, which were in a linen roll, and they started off toward the palace, where a burly guard stopped them.

“Who are you and what do you want?” the guard frowned.

“We are messengers from a foreign land. We are here with a message for the king from our king,” was the reply.

“All right. You may go in- but first your scrolls of admission?”

“Sc-scro-scrolls? Err… We did not know we had to get any! Sorry!” The professor said and hurriedly pushed past him.

When they entered a large court lined with palm trees and chairs upon which ministers sat, they saw a tall man with a large serpent crown and dark patches under his eyes sitting regally on a gold throne. Next to him sat Queen Hatshepsut, and directly at their feet, Anzeti.

In the corner stood different messengers with scrolls and bags in their hands, most of which were mostly empty or unrolled.

‘Yes, and who are you? Where are you from?”

“We are from the land of India, and our king, D, has sent you some gifts as tokens of appreciation, we kindly beseech you to accept them,” the Professor said.

Anzeti gave them a dazed look.

“You may leave- and you are to be accommodated in the VIP Guest palace- Senet, escort them there,” The pharaoh said.

A dark eyed girl came forward and led them down winding brick paths and gardens of sweet smelling flowers. They reached the building and were shown their rooms, and the girl handed them Imperial Passes that hung on lengths of rope like materials and proclaimed:

The holder of the following is entitled to privileges enjoyed by all Egyptian nobles- including immunity to checking, and free entry to monuments. They are also given access to all royal buildings and off limits areas.

SIGNED:

THE PHARAOH

Thutmose 11.

Sene had just left when BD pulled out her device, which had been beeping all along.

“There is no member of the HHH here…” BUI said suspiciously.

“ A disguise?” Everyone’s eye’s fell on a bush that stood in the corner of the passage in a brass pot filled with mud. BUI walked over and simply pulled off the plant to reveal an astonished HHH agent.

A cow in front of an empty pulled his black shades on top of his head. He looked at the HSH with a look of utmost contempt. He pulled out a golden rectangle and began typing something on the keypad. His impeccable black suit and ironed white pants were covered in twigs and leaves and his badge proudly proclaimed him as Shiver Z.

“Shiver Z?” a bewildered Professor asked.

“Yes? Oh, that silly bush was supposed to be detector proof…” he replied muttering to himself.

“Err… why were you spying on us?” BD asked him.

“Du-uh! Do you HSH take pills everyday to stay so stupid? Looking at what you were up to, of course!” Shiver Z replied.

“What? But we were here to check out HHH activity here!” BUI cried.

“Huh? No way!” said Shiver, suddenly surprised, blowing his cool demeanor.

“Gotcha!” said BUI jumping on him and tying him up with some rope from her pocket.

“But I was telling the truth- we are here to see you are here for!” BUI continued.

“That is strange- we’re here to do the same! That means…” Shiver looked surprised.

“Something serious. Come with us to out time machine, we’ll call up our director, D.” the Professor said.

“And that’s an order, not a request!’ BD glared at Shiver, dragging him behind her. They flashed their imperial passes to the guards, who turned back to their tea and did not even notice Shiver. They reached the shed, passing empty squares and fields and getting burnt from the scorching sun, and stepped in, shutting the doors. Prof Boofey pushed a button causing the screen to unfold. He typed something into a keypad. Soon the Duck in the cowboy outfit picked up.

“Hello!” she said.

“Can you get D?”

“Well, he’s in a conference with –

“Just get him, tell him it’s terribly important!”

Soon an irritated D appeared.

“Yes?”

“Well, D, look at this…”said BD displaying a groaning shiver.

“So?”

“Well, here’s the funny thing- He was here to see what we were doing in

Egypt

, and we here to do vice versa! But the Egyptian court is a bit weird – the people are almost hypnotized! So that means that another group is at work here…”

“Hmm…well, come over here. We will see what to do and maybe Enema X will talk with his colleague.” D said thoughtfully.

“ But the Egyptian court?” asked BUI worriedly.

“Err… all right. Fix that!”

“How, D? And about this Shiver guy?”

“Tie him up and leave him there. As for the court, well… I don’t really know! Why don’t you each start by shadowing each one of the royal family?” D said helplessly.

“Can you send us some invisibility devices?”

“Invisibility? I’ll have to check with the inventions department… Hey, Ella? Call Ben here, will you? Ask him to bring the invention logbook with her!” D called to a surprised duck that nodded and scuttled off, proud to have been addressed by the director.

Soon, a blond haired duck appeared behind D.

“Um… yes, D. We do have a range of invisibility things… cloaks (very harry potter, I suppose) masks, etc., but our latest one is an invisible walkie-talkie bracelet! You can speak into it and it will connect to headquarters here and to others!” Ben said.

“So, what do you want?”

“What is the technology you use in the walkie-talkie bracelet to encrypt it to code 9AF causing B43 to react resulting in invisibility?” asked a very interested Professor.

“Ah, that’s the secret- the opposite! 943B is encrypted to BA5 to 57% at angle AT, making invisibility through reaction possible with speaking code VFT0+H68P,” replied a proud Ben.

“And what about 6OIS and HR0X with-

“Err professor, back to the subject, I think we’ll take the invisibility bracelets, 4, as they have walkie talkies, even though BD and Piggy have invisibility powers. Good Luck!” D said hurriedly, pressing a button to end the conversation before the Professor and Ben launched into another technical talk. The courier machine beeped and BD pulled out a parcel, which contained black bracelets with mikes and invisibility buttons. These were put on, on their capes.

“Let’s go! I and Piggy will do the pharaoh, BUI will do Hatshepsut, and the Prof will do Anzeti!” BD declared. They found their way back to the VIP guest house, flashed their passes at the guards again, and entered the guest house and found their way back to the palace, where the day as nearing an end- the courtiers headed home in their chariots, the messengers headed to the guest house, and the court wound up. The Pharaoh, and Hatshepsut headed into the fanciest of the chariots. BUI, Piggy, Professor and BD pressed invisibility buttons and ran up to the chariot, climbing onto the helm. Anzeti headed, in a different chariot, behind them. They separated when Hatshepsut stepped out into a palace of sandstone, the pharaoh into one of red brick and Anzeti into a much smaller one of marble.

They each shadowed their respective persons into the different palaces…

Hatshepsut and Anzeti were heading to the Pharaoh’s palace, where Thutmose sat awaiting them on his golden throne. They entered his meeting hall. Veneni, the pharaoh’s trusted butler, poured them juice of the finest pomegranates in the country and sent it out with some bread in the hands of the new servant, Senet, carefully tasting each glass with a spoon and tearing a piece of each bit of bread. In the meeting hall, the three most important people in

Egypt

sat discussing, watched by their invisible observers. Senet appeared and placed each bamboo tray on a table next to the persons. The pharaoh, Hatshepsut and Anzeti were too busy to see something and their shadowers did- Senet smirked as she sprinkled something out of a little packet into their drinks. The professor caught it as Senet dropped it into a pocket, but missed. He sniffed it.

“Belladonna. Fast acting poison. We have to stop them taking it!”

BD leapt into action. She appeared in front of them in visible form.

“Stop! Don’t drink that!” She cried.

“A-What!” pharaoh cried.

Senet jumped. She faced BD, glowering.

“GO AWAY! STOP RUINING OUR PLAN!” Senet screamed.

“You’re not really Senet, are you?” asked BD.

“NO! I am Shiver Z!” she cried.

“T-then who is the one we left captive in the shed?”

“He? He’s Never X Me- a Bow, but good at acting! Fools, you HSH- we defeated and will defeat you again!” Shiver said scornfully.

“I knew it! All that stuff about a third group and blah bleh was nonsense, wasn’t it? It was just you the HHH up to your tricks- but now you’re finished- we foiled your plan!” The Professor cried, ignoring the stunned looks on the Pharaoh, Vizier and Hatshepsut’s faces.

“Hah! We’ll do it even now… all I have to do is splash this stuff over these idiots and the HHH will rule history in glory!” Shiver cried hysterically.

BUI picked up Hatshepsut’s glass.

“I will throw this on you unless you tell us your exact plan and what you did till now here.” BUI said calmly.

Shiver glared at her and began.

“Well, I was sent here to hypnotize this lot to make me heir to the throne. When that didn’t work, we worked out this plan yesterday- I would poison them, and hypnotize the others just for a while to make me pharaoh- the HHH would have controlled all the gold of the priceless treasury! And along came you people- spoiling a perfectly good plan!” Shiver, AKA Senet scowled.

“This is about to end badly for you, Sene-I mean Shiver. It wasn’t Never X Me that set off the alarm; you were the one who led us to our room’s right? And come quietly or I will throw this onto you. BD, tie her up, and Piggy, knots tight, huh?” BUI said as they tied up a glowering Shiver, leading her back.

“Here’s a deal- I give you this gold necklace that I stole and you let me go- after all, I am only a Bow!” said Never X Me when they got back.

“Egyptian gold? Let me see!” the professor cried.

“Nuh-huh! Not happening- set me free and you get the gold!” Never X smirked.

“It’s real and its examination will reveal countless mineral stones used then! Let’s set him free!” the Professor said excitedly.

As Bat Duck untied Never X Me’s ropes, Shiver smiled sweetly at Never X Me.

‘Aren’t you going to untie me or at least bargain for my release, you little Bow?” she asked him.

Never X Me took one look at her and said,

“You were the meanest trainer anyone could have and sadly, I would rather go free than rescue you. So say goodbye to your chances of escaping-for now the decision of rescuing you rests in a little, insignificant Bow’s hands… and I choose to leave you here. I’m sure the HSH will take care of you, Shiver Ma’am!” He said with sarcasm.

He was let loose when suddenly he jumped, cut Shiver’s ropes with a knife and ran out the door. Shiver followed him, and ran out the door.

“So much for the Bow’s moving speech! At least we foiled their plans…” Bat Duck said dejectedly.

“But look what they left behind!” cried the professor, getting the Time shed into gear and setting co ordinates back to the present.

“What?” cried BUI eagerly?

“A time tracker- we can now track Shiver, and through her, the HHH- their movements and teleport to their exact location! I better send this to D to be analyzed at the HSH lab…” said the professor, holding out a little black object. He began writing a note to D on his special grass scented paper, which D had gifted him from the future-

D-

Shiver and Shiver’s double- Never X me- (I will explain the whole thing later) escaped, giving us as parting gifts, a very moving speech and this- I am sure you know what it is!

Sorry about the escape but you still have Enema…

-Prof Boofey, Bat Duck, and Piggy.

PS- we solved the problem at the Egyptian court- involving an assassination attempt just like in an Agatha Christie and a brave rescue by yours truly, the Prof and Piggy… The Professor says the note is getting long enough to be a letter, So bye! See ya…

-Bat Duck and Piggy. (I know we already signed but I like signing my name!)

The Professor attached it to the device and sent it through Time Courier just as they reached the present. They stepped out as Molly Maddock stepped out the house in a bright pink frilly dress with green lace and yellow gems, carrying a large black suitcase.

“Molly the Monster’s going on holiday!” the professor cried in joy.

“Yippee, yippee, yay! Party time!” Cried Bat Duck. She snuck into the kitchen and came back with a handful of chocolates. The Professor was delighted to receive future blend coffee powder in two different flavors- normal and orange! BD a duplicate keys to the larder to grab all the food from the farm plus a new pink mask. Piggy had a duplicate key to the fodder barn! And so ended another happy adventure that began and ended on a sleepy day in the Maddock farm- the most normal and boring farm you could imagine!

Chicken Run

2013-01-06T05:37:00.000-08:00

Chicken Run

They tore my wings out,

Threw me about,

My legs broke, part by part.

My beak drooped,

My eyes swollen,

Around my neck,

a chain was looped.

We were trapped in a cage-

As I saw my siblings pulled out of their rack,

Never to come back,

Burned inside me unquenchable rage!

I knew one day,

My time would come,

That, I hoped,

Would never come!

I was terrified when the PETA came,

But they took me out of the horrible place,

though I was hurt and lame.

They helped me become the strong chick I am today,

I thank the almighty, every day,

That I was saved from the slaughter cart.

I’m happy now-

But still, somehow,

The chicken factory broke my heart.

Healing Paws

2012-12-30T05:36:00.000-08:00

Healing Paws

Jenny is my cat,

She’s black and brown,

With a cute pink nose and little frown.

I was ill when she came-

From a little shelter down the lane.

Her mum was dead so they took him in,

Her family died, he was the last of his kin!

When mum and dad brought her home,

I took 20 medicines every morn!

As I hugged her and kissed her

And kept her with me,

Doctor brought my medicines down to fifteen!

As I stroked her and petted her,

And gave her biskies again and again,

Doc brought the no. down to ten!

As I trained Jenny to sit

And let her give me licks,

Doctor said medicines I could take just six!

As I took Jenny with me

On a trip to the sea,

She must have healed my flu,

For medicines I then took just two!

Slowly and Surely,

I took just one,

Jenny and I kept having fun,

And then I had to take none!

I and Jenny are still BFFs,

But medicines I have to take not one!

Eyes on Paws.

I was born without sight,

And I and my parents were all of a fright.

Till my darling dog came along

His name’s Coco, and he’s very strong!

I and Coco became great friends,

He safely took me places,

And I gave him treats and with him had races.

He was on a leash all the time when we walked-

But at home he was unleashed,

And I hugged him and to him, talked.

Coco helped me to do many things-

Meet new people,

Feel new sights.

He put my life to rights!

Coco’s still here,

Showing me the right way-

And to thank him I must say-

‘Give me a human, Give me a cat,

But I’ll take Coco for a friend any day!

A DOG’S LAMENT

2012-12-23T05:16:00.000-08:00

A DOG’S LAMENT

Sometimes, I feel bad for other animals like me,

For I have a home and loving family,

I meet my friend the seagull sometimes,

And he tells of forests and beaches, mountains and mines,

Where dogs die of hunger,

The deer haven’t any trees to live under,

And I felt that somehow, some way, help man should,

For I know he could.

But men have hearts of stone- give to fellow beings, they never would.

He tells me of places where-

Cats miaow in pitiful thirst,

In the sea, polluted water spoils the clean in bursts.

Seagull says that is because of man’s great waste-

The plastic they dispose of in haste.

Many of seagulls bird friends have died-

Through eating of plastic or having it around them tied.

Chicks are eaten,

Cows beaten,

And I pray to heaven,

Lord please save our earth, our haven!

I look at you humans with shame in my eyes,

How could you to do this to Earth’s creatures,

The same ones that she so lovingly nurtures?

It’s not too late to stop-

You can still turn back the clock,

It’s not that late,

Evil hasn’t fully breached our gates,

You can repent-

Stop using and abusing!

A Lab Rabbit’s Tale

The lab coats were white,

As they pulled out a knife,

I watched in fright!

They placed me on a table,

And stared at me as they sharpened the knife,

I prayed to god,

To not let them take my life!

They took a yellow liquid filled bottle,

And sliced it open with the knife.

A rope and cloth were pulled out,

And I hoped it wasn’t me they were about to throttle!

All of a sudden,

The liquid was thrown at me,

My mouth was burning, my eyes blinking,

When they threw some more at me!

The doctor took notes in glee,

As my fur fell off and my paws turned black,

The wonderful people arrived at my back.

They came with big blue badges and said,

“This is illegal! You must stop!”

And away with them we had to hop.

They nursed us,

Helped us,

Till we were fine

And they put us on a bus-

Back home to the wild!

A Day In The Forest

2012-12-16T05:15:00.000-08:00

A Day In The Forest

The woods were green,

The glass glowed with sheen

The tree trunks are brown,

And the only noise is from a nearby town.

Yet,

The tigers crouch alert in the shade,

The grass doesn't quiver, not even a blade,

The deer’s nervous hooves hustle,

Making dry autumn leaves rustle.

The birds have stopped chirping

They all sense evil close by lurking.

Suddenly an Engine roars,

Into the blue sky a frightened bird soars,

The animals spy,

Somewhere nearby,

A groups of humans with yellow helmets,

The animals begin to fret.

A week late, the first tree is cut down,

The animals watch with a frown.

Five, twenty five, fifty, hundred,

The number rises each day, and so does the money they gain, they said.

What did the animals do,,

To have this ado,

To put their lives in turmoil-

Their homes uprooted from the soil?

An Assorted Collection of Animal Rights Poems.

2012-12-09T05:12:00.000-08:00

A WORD FROM A DOLPHIN…

Fished out of the water,

Dragged for our skin-

Just to make pretty clothes,

this happens to my kin!

We are caught by nets

At the edge of the water,

Pulled out and lured,

Soon to be sent for slaughter.

Dolphin Leather Bags

Our skin, I hear, makes nice bags-

But do those buy them know,

What we go through,

Just for the nice dresses with big price tags?

Our home, the water,

Transforms into a place of slaughter-

As our throats are bled,

The beautiful blue water turns bright red!

As my friends’ bodies shudder,

With their last breaths,

I think what harm we did to humans,

To be victims of this slaughter and death?

Watch This Video

"Dolphin Slaughter in Denmark"

Its a very shocking and saddest thing to see.

UNTIL EVERY CAGE IS EMPTY

2012-11-19T08:09:00.002-08:00

UNTIL EVERY CAGE IS EMPTY……

Until Every Cage is Empty,

We shan’t stop-

Till out of laboratories rabbits hop,

Till chickens stop going for the chop,

Till frogs aren’t cut on tabletops,

Till animal skin isn’t used as a prop,

Till birds out of cages fly up,

Till all animal abuse we don’t crop,

We won’t, shan’t, can’t stop!

All cages should be empty,

All living beings happy,

No dogs starving on streets,

No horses being beat,

To give animals rights is a great feat!

Till there are no cats being tested for cream,

Till no pigs in the slaughterhouse scream,

We shan’t stop-

For we all dream,

The same dream-

Of being able to live free,

To happily, contentedly roam-

To have a loving and safe home,

Let’s all live it,

Once every cage is empty!

Chocolate- an amazing journey

2012-11-01T05:03:00.000-07:00

CHOCOLATE

Chocolate is something we all eat! Me, you, any random person on the street; you ask anybody; they would have eaten chocolate, except for perhaps the poor chocolate workers in African cocoa farms who are sometimes not even paid a cent and made to work like slaves… but that’s another story…

There are a million brands- Cadbury, Snickers, Mars, and Maltesers to name a few. The slightly higher end hand crafted ones are Lindt and Sprungli. Some brands are so big, they have their own amusement parks and activities, a bit like a chocolate Disney World. Hershey’s Chocolate World, Pennsylvania, is one of them. It has it’s own town, called, quite unimaginatively, Hershey. And believe me, two days there and you will be so sick of chocolate that you won’t eat it for at least a week (that’s a long time for a chocolate lover like me!). It’s common all over the world, from India to America. But did you ever imagine as you bit into a bar of luscious, creamy Dairy Milk, where it had come from? Who invented it? Who made the yummy, crunchy square in your hand? Now you’re going to be thinking, ‘Well, obviously not! I was concentrating on eating and enjoying it wasn’t I?’ That’s probably what I would have said, till ,one day, I read a book on the Aztecs…

Aztecs and chocolate?? The words have no connection, you think? Wrong! They have a very strong link…

Maybe you’ve heard of the cacao bean (the thing that makes chocolate, silly! Did you think it was made of thin air?) being discovered by some tribals on a remote island? The ‘tribals’ were the Aztecs, and Mayans before them. They were actually quite a civilized and smart culture (unless you count their human sacrifices to the sun). They discovered the Cacao in their homeland of Mexico.

Besides paying priests to build large golden pyramids, sacrificing a citizen now and again, and strolling through Cuzco-the capital of the Aztec Empire- the Aztec Emperor would look through new inventions and discoveries. That’s how he noticed the Cacao bean. It had been found and eaten as a powder by the citizens of an Aztec village unknown to the rest of the Aztecs until a messenger from the Emperor passed through and told the Emperor of the ‘bitter, strange fruit’.

The emperor from then on would mix it in milk and eat it (the Aztecs had no sugar) and for flavor would sometimes even add in cornmeal and chili peppers. This bitter drink could only be drunk by the nobles and Royal Family. Thus began the legend that the head god, Quetzalcoatl, had brought down a sacred Cocoa Tree from heaven for the kings who were considered incarnations of God. The Cacao Bean was even used as a thanksgiving sacrifice to the gods. After the Aztec empire reached Guatemala, the Aztecs began spreading out into South America. Slowly, trade with other cultures caused it to become the common man’s drink. And over time it became popular in the Spanish conquistador societies; which had now reached South America. Here is the tale of a certain Father Jóse Paulo, a Spanish priest…

Father Jóse Paulo, called Paulo by the Aztecs, was one of the only whites to befriend them. He came as the priest on a Spanish ship of conquistadors, which ran aground, making him wash up unconscious on the beaches of Colombia clutching a rosary. The Aztecs found him, and rescued him, even though he was a ‘white Yaotl’ or (in plain English) ‘white warrior enemy’. He, over the years, befriended them and become almost one of them. They, in turn, revealed to him their secrets- the Cacao bean and their golden temple treasures. The Cacao was indeed a strange bean to Father Paulo. His Aztec friends were the brewers of the chocolate drink sent to the Emperor each day, (it was called xcolacotl, meaning hot bitter water in Nahuatl the Aztec language) and they had let the Father taste it in secret. To the Father the taste was most disagreeable, yet he believed his friends and swore to protect their secret. They would use a golden, sacred, three-pronged instrument like a fork- called a tuning fork, to froth the cacao and make it creamy. It was the size of a normal fork; but plated in gold.

Life passed pleasantly for four years with his friends, when another ship of Conquistadors- led by Francisco Pizarro- appeared on the coast. The Father was scared; he knew what the Spanish planned to do. Despite his warnings, the Aztecs invited in the Europeans and traded with them. On discovering Father Paulo, the Spanish began to speak to him in his native tongue of Spanish, to the Father’s great joy. Yet, as the Spanish began to loot and plunder the village the Father had learned to call home, Father Jóse felt a sense of hate. How could his own countrymen kill unfeelingly those who had welcomed them warmly, and moreover, helped him, a poor, shipwrecked man of no use to them, out of the goodness of their hearts? The conquistadors tried to get Father Paulo to their side; asking him to give up the secrets he swore never to reveal.

Late one evening, the Aztec Head Cacao Brewer, Centehua, Father Jóse’s special friend, pulled him to a dark corner of the brewery…

“Father. I know we have foolishly not heeded your excellent advice on the other white Yaotl. I deeply regret it. However, what is done is done. They have begun looting and plundering, killing and massacring! They may kill me; but they will never kill you, one of their brothers and countrymen. I would let them capture Cuzco, our capital and steal all the wealth- but there is one thing they must never find!” He led the Father to a jeweled box. He opened it and there lay the instrument they called a Tuning Fork, and a bolt of silver inlaid with sapphires.

“Paulo! Promise me! Promise me this, in return for our brotherhood and friendship of five years. Promise me that you will never, ever let this fall into the hands of evil! This bolt locks the Brewery. I know they will break it down eventually; yet, please, if anything happens to me- the first thing you must do is bolt this building with this magic bolt and take the Fork away with you. Get away from here! Go to your homeland with them. But never leave the Fork, Paulo! Give me your solemn word- please, brother!’ Centehua pleaded in desperation.

Father Jóse took a deep breath. He agreed.

The minute Centehua stepped out; a Spanish bullet hit him in the head. He fell backwards, clutching Paulo.

“P-p-paul-lo! K-ke-keep your pr-pr-promi-” Centehua drew his last breath. Paulo looked up at his friend’s assailant, trying to hide the tears that fell from his eyes in grief.

“Wh-what?” Paulo cried, half in anger, half in grief.

“Leave this barbarian alone. Come home with us, Father Jóse. Leave this stupid land of barbarians with us and we shall give you the treasure we have,” the soldier said.

Paulo almost screamed at the soldier in rage at his cruelty, but he was bound by a dying mans last words. He remembered his promise and told the soldier.

“I will be at the ship once I pack my things.”

The soldier nodded and turned to shoot a brewery worker. Father Paulo could not bear to watch and turned inside.

He picked up the jeweled box and hid it under his robes till her reached his hut, which was connected to the brewery. He opened the jeweled box and took out the fork and the magic bolt. In his room he had an old grey cloth bag. In it he put his rosary, a handful of cacao beans and a drawing of the brewery and the Head Brewer, Centehua. He could not bear to look at Centehua’s picture and shoved it into the bottom of the bag. The tuning fork he put in the secret pocket in the side of the bag. He bolted the door outside, bolted his hut’s entrance and ran to the ship, turning back with tears in his eyes at the thought of saying goodbye to the land he had known and loved for 5 years. In awe he watched as the brewery seemed to explode! Almost as if it had been hit by lightning! He turned around and gave a steely gaze to the ship. Someday, Father Jóse Paulo swore, the Spanish would be paid back. He no longer felt any love or longing to go back to his homeland, now that he had realized his fellow Spaniard’s cruelty. He cursed himself, for he would have been part of such happenings back in his original expedition. He thanked god for helping him meet and befriend such truly selfless beings as the Aztecs. But now, they were gone- the people, their monuments, their houses, their food, their land- all had been swallowed up by the monster of Spain, leaving no trace of their existence. Father Paulo felt burning hatred; a desire to kill all the Spaniards on the ship, who had wiped off not only a culture but also an influence on the world. He walked to the Captain’s cabin, declared his arrival and stepped into his cabin. He had been given a wooden box for coins. He placed in it the bag with the tuning Fork and covered it with coins as he received his share of the treasure. Though day upon day Francisco pressurized him to give up his Aztec brothers’ secrets, Father Paulo had a will of iron. He had sworn to the Aztecs that he would not give away what they had told him; and that was what he intended to do. Even when they tried to make him homesick and loyal to Spain, Jóse did not crack. He had a burning hatred for his country and it’s citizens in him now- and never would it stop. He looked out into the horizon as the ship set sail at last, saying goodbye to what he felt was his only true home, a distant continent halfway across the world from his country- the Aztec Empire, where his only true friends and brothers had once lived….

They seemed to have bad luck with the sea though. The ship ran aground in the ocean; though most others made it out, Father Jóse Paulo went down with the ship and his precious Tuning Fork. But, perhaps, he actually had good luck with the sea; for in his original voyage he ran aground to meet his friends, the Aztecs and the second time, had he landed in Spain, his fellow Spaniards may have discovered his treasure, but by letting it float away, he ensured that no one would find it for millennia…

Who knows? Maybe the Tuning Fork of the Aztecs is still out there… somewhere still at the bottom of the sea in a decaying box? So if you ever find an old battered box with strange symbols washed up on the beach, check inside to see whether the treasure countless Aztecs and Father Jóse Paulo gave up their lives to protect is inside; a two pronged, solid gold and diamond inlaid fork. Just don’t use it to eat dinner; your food might turn frothy and creamy! (That’s actually not a bad idea- it might make food taste better!)

Later ships of Conquistadors found cacao beans and took them to Europe. These slowly evolved from ‘xcolacotl’ to Swiss Handcrafted Chocolate to the Mars and Hershey bars we know today.

Chocolate has had an amazing journey… from a bitter drink made by tuning forks… an ancient promise to protect it… to bars and cake. It has spanned the centuries and delighted many. Now goodbye… as I turn to munch on a Hershey! .... (Sound of chocolate wrapper being ripped open)…(munch)… (Crunch)… hey, stop staring and get your own chocolate!

The Strange Creature

2012-11-01T04:51:00.001-07:00

The Strange Creature

Rumpled head,

A shiny nose

Pointy little furry toes!

Beady eyes,

A bright pink tongue

Chewing a biscuit, this creature lies!

Is it a monster?

Did it just roar?

What on earth is the thing coming through the door?

It eyes me across the room-

A twisted tail,

Paws with many a sharp nail,

Heaven, save me from this creature of doom!

My hands tremble

As from it’s throat comes a rumble…

I get so scared I take a tumble-

Falling onto a chair, making my room shambles.

Mamma appears like an angel of grace-

“Look at our new dog!

Isn’t he cute, just look at that darling face!”

I almost faint in surprise at the thought,

As the ‘dog’ chases a mouse,

Could that awful creature have been brought

To stay in my house?

It stared at me through chocolate eyes,

I thought, ‘I wish I was saying to it my goodbyes!’

Mother stroked it’s furry skin,

And opened for it a pet food tin.

How on earth could she find that cute?

It jumped and growled,

And put it’s muddy paw on my precious flute!

In the anger to retrieve it,

I stepped close to the creature, yes, next to it!

It nuzzled against me and licked my ear,

I almost jumped out of my skin in fear.

It pounced on me with a little whine-

It’s shiny little ears so pristine!

Then it looked at me like it was trying to say,

“Can we be friends? If anyone harms you I’ll make ‘em pay!”

I hugged him and whispered,

“I think we may be friends- and now I won’t mind if you stay!”

THE CRAZY KINGS OF ROME

2012-05-01T09:51:00.002-07:00

THE CRAZY KINGS OF ROME

Caligula was mad

Perhaps he was bad,

But he did make the Romans sad.

One fine day,

Caligula went to the Roman army to say:

“My warriors! You see,

Neptune, the god of the sea,

Has waged war on we!

So north we will go,

And stop the sea’s flow,

By stabbing the waves,

Where they hit the rocks and caves!”

So the army’s legions

Marched across many regions,

And reached the northern bay,

Where they stabbed in dismay,

At the ocean!

This happened many a day,

Till a general could say,

“ Let it be heard:

We have been stabbing for hours,

and now finally, victory is ours!”

At which the soldiers cheered.

However back home they couldn’t go,

For to march triumphantly to Rome,

They must have a trophy to show!

So, to go back home,

They each found,

By searching miles around,

A single sea shell,

And finally marched home to the ringing of a bell!

However, Caligula, was still intent

In making his horse a senator

As you can imagine, the other senators were not content!

A few days later, causing much disorder,

Happened Caligula’s murder!

So next came Nero,

Who thought himself a hero!

But, to make the Romans happy, failed even Nero-

When the fire of Rome

Was destroying houses, pillars and domes,

He sat singing and playing his lyre

While Rome burned like a funeral pyre.

Well, he may or may not have been a hero,

But he did succeed in letting Rome burn to zero!

A few years later, Domitian came along,

But even he didn’t succeed in pleasing the Roman throng.

He built himself a palace with a great big dome,

So he could invite lots of guests home !

However, this invitation was a deadly one!

Why?

Because, after all the feasting and fun was done,

And all the guests were in their beds,

In the morning, they saw,

A guest was dead!

And Domitian had cut off and displayed his head,

All gory, bloody, and red!

As the guests cowered in fear,

Or shed a tear,

Domitian gave an evil sneer!

Domitian may or may not have been right,

But he did give his guests a fright!

-Devanshika Bajpai

DAWN

2012-04-08T00:46:00.001-07:00

DAWN

Swirls of fog,

Misty sky,

Birds a-fly.

A beautiful morning,

The nightingale is singing,

A splash,

And a crash.

From the water jumps a fish,

Which a fisherman sticks on a dish

Then the sun appears,

The clouds disappear!

The morning dew,

Seen by few,

Except for the ant crew,

Walking in a line,

Working even on a morning so fine.

A foot comes near,

The ants disperse quickly in fear!

A lotus in bloom,

In the water’s gloom,

The leaves sway,

The wind showing them the way.

The squirrels join in the fray,

Squeaking and creaking,

Tapping and slapping,

Their nuts in their paws,

Which they silently gnaw,

In the corner sits a fawn,

On the bright green lawn,

Watching, like us, the beauty of dawn!

-Devanshika Bajpai

JESS IN A MESS !

2012-03-10T01:11:00.000-08:00

JESS IN A MESS !

(Which animal can i be?)

Jess was always in a mess-

The sparrows thought she was a pest,

always messing with their nest.

The monkeys thought she was mad,

The lions thought she was bad.

So what animal could she be?

So Jess decided to see,

which animal was she.

So she travelled far and wide,

saw mountains and ocean tide,

she saw swiss cows chewing cud,

‘But,” she thought, “I don’t roll in mud,”

then she saw a crow,

flying to and fro.

“But,” she thought, “I can’t fly, Oh, no!”

“I’ll never find out which animal am I!

It, I believe, is hopeless to try!”

So she wandered,

thought, and pondered,

“Hey! Want some Hay?”

said a horse, speaking norse.

“but,” she thought, “I cannot eat hay! Nay!”

So she went on, looking remorse, till,

she came to a white pelican with a big bill

sitting on a window ledge,

“But,” she thought, ‘I cannot sit on a window sill!”

So Jess wandered past a hedge,

a waterfall,

and a shopping mall,

till she reached a building,

In front of which stood a man holding,

Creatures which looked like her,

with a snout, ears and fur!

They ate her favorite food-

Big white bones!

“Oh!” she thought , “Perhaps I could,

be with them and stay in their homes.”

Suddenly, the man caught her,

tied her and brought her,

to a big room with animals like her,

even with the same colored fur!

“Well,” she asked, “Where can I be?”

“In our home,” said the others.

“Look out the window, you will see!”

so Jess looked and saw,

“What? There’s only a marshy bog, surrounded by fog!”

“Really? Anyway, you are a dog!”

“A dog?”

“Can I stay with you?” asked Jess

“Yes, for we are few!” they replied.

“Yes!” Jess cried

And so she stayed,

for the rest of her days,

With the other dogs in the house in the fog

In the middle of a marshy bog.

-Devanshika Bajpai

CAKE

2012-03-02T06:08:00.001-08:00

CAKE

‘Cake’ is a word that almost the whole world knows. From delicate French pastries to New York Cheesecake, from the English Sponge Cakes to Mississippi Mud Pies, cake is something that has a variation in almost every part of the world. The story of how this came into being, however, is known by few….

Once, in an old Neolithic village, a young girl named Lee-Nara watched her mother make their food from oat, grains and other plain things. Suddenly, her younger brother began to wail.

“Watch the food till I come back,” instructed her mother. The girl watched the hot stone on which her mother cooked. She picked up the grains and dropped them on the hot stone, trying to cook like her mother. Her mother took the grains, dipped them in a strange thing which she called Water, and put them on the stone. Then mother took them off and put them on a flat rock with a white powder they got from the sea to eat. Lee-Nara picked up another handful, crushing the grains by mistake.

“Uh-oh!” she thought, rolling it into a ball like the other children did with the lumps of some thing their parents got for them to make models. It looked like mud and they were always teasing her as she was the only child in the village who did not have it.

“Well, I’ll make models with grains and eat them too!” she thought, adding the white powder to the ball. Then she pressed the ball onto the hot stone, and waited. When it finally got baked, her mother was back. She offered her a bite.

“Why! This tastes good!” said her mother, and then the girl taught her to make it. They called all the villagers, and even the other children were in awe of her. She stood proudly, giving everybody the dish she had made.

“What’s it called?” asked someone. Then she realized she hadn’t even named it.

“It’s called Kaka, after the grains that made it!” she said after a while. This was the first salty ‘cake’.

Years later, the Greeks made a new discovery. A young boy named Icharius was eating honey and dates in his villa’s kitchen while his mother made satura, balls made from oats. She kept putting them on a plate. Icharius picked up the plate with his honey covered hands, splattering honey on all the balls and flattening them.

“Really! This is very careless of you! You are now going to get no more, go and eat these if you are hungry!” scolded his mother. Icharius meekly picked up one and began to eat it. Surprisingly, it tasted amazing!

“Mater, try one!” he said. His mother gave him a suspicious look but bit into one of them.

“This tastes excellent! We shall have these for the great feast tonight! Get the honey and date jars!” she exclaimed. He smiled, and ran to get the jars.

“Mater, what shall we call it?” he asked.

“How about plakous, as they are flat?” suggested his mother (obviously, ‘plakous’ is greek for flat!).

“Perfect!” Icharius grinned….

When the Romans took over Greece, they also added their part to the history of cake.

They used to give fruits, flowers and meat as offerings to their gods. One year, there was a terrible drought and people were dying. The emperor made offerings every day, but nothing happened, till one day, one of the priests, who was a Greek, had an idea.

“You’re Highness? If you don’t mind may I suggest something?” asked the priest one morning as the worried looking Emperor made his daily offering.

“Not at all. What is it?” replied the weary Emperor.

“Sire, perhaps the gods are tired of your offerings!” he suggested.

“That is a good theory, but what else can we give them?” sighed the Emperor.

“If I may suggest, a Greek dish named Plakous?” said the priest.

“Call my cooks! You will teach them to make this Plakous of yours, and then we shall see,” said the Emperor, clapping his hands.

So the priest was taken to the palace kitchens, where he made the Plakous.

“Ah, but may I add something from our country?” asked the Roman cook.

“Sure!” said the priest. The Roman made a pastry base and placed the Plakous on top.

When it was finished, the Emperor used it for his evening offering, and priest watched nervously. The next day, miraculously, the River Tiber flooded, bringing much needed water. The priest and cook were famous! That dish, was called libum, and was like a modern cheese cake.

The medieval English, of course, were not to be left behind…

It was early morning in the castle, and King Henry the Eighth had ordered a great feast that evening. So the kitchen was in chaos, as a young girl, named Anne, about 3, sat at a table eating breakfast as her mother, the dessert cook, made fruit salad and milk bread pudding while chatting with her friend, the baker, who was making loaves of bread to be eaten with soup. She was eating some of the uncooked bread batter and milk pudding. She dipped one hand in the bread and another in the sugar and milk mixture for the pudding, putting both in her mouth at the same time.

“Mum, how many salads do you have to make?” she asked thoughtfully

“Two hundred, dear! Now finish eating and help me soon!” smiled her mother.

The girl liked the taste of the mixture of bread and milk, and decided to mix both. She poured the sugar and the milk into the bread batter and picked an interesting looking powder and poured it in. Then she mixed it and ran to help her mother. The baker, who had not noticed all the mixing going on behind her back, simply poured the mixture into the bread tin, and set it to bake. Later, at the feast, when the ambassador from the Holy Roman Empire took a piece and bit into it, the baker watched nervously.

“Why, Henry! Your cooks have grown in their culinary discoveries. They have made this interesting sweet bread. Tell me, is this a traditional English secret recipe?” he asked.

“Sweet Bread? Why, I have never heard of such a thing!” The King cried in surprise, placing one slice in his mouth.

“BAKER!” King Henry bellowed the moment he chewed it.

“Y-yes, you’re Majesty?” stammered the baker.

“Where did you get this recipe from?” asked the King.

“Your Highness, I did not make it. I made the bread batter, kept it on the kitchen table and began to clear up. I suppose someone mixed sugar in as I was cleaning, sire! Goodness knows who it was, but it was not me!” said the Baker.

“Well, then one of you must have seen someone taking some sugar!” the king bellowed at the cooks and maids.

“Your Highness, I had made the Milk and sugar topping for the bread pudding and left it on the table as I made the base along with the bread batter. Perhaps someone mixed them both,” said the cook.

“Who was it? Own up!” said the king.

“You’re Majesty? It was me!” said the dessert cook’s daughter, Anne.

“Dear, don’t irritate the king-“

“SILENCE! LET THE CHILD SPEAK!” shouted the king.

“I thought it would taste good, and mixed them both with some powder I noticed lying on the table, your highness,” said Anne boldly.

“It was you? Then this proves how irresponsible my kitchen staff are, to let someone add something to the food without them noticing!” called the King. The Dessert Cook and the Baker looked at each other, frightened.

“However, this young girl has made a culinary discovery! She has converted normal bread into and extraordinary creation! I would like everyone here to applaud for her new dish!” said the king, standing up and clapping.

“Thank you! Now, what should we call this?” asked the King after everyone had finished clapping. There was a volley of suggestions.

“Sweet Bread!”

“Sugared Bread!”

“Baked Sweet Dish!”

“Sugary Flour!”

“STOP!” bellowed King Henry.

“Let the girl decide!” said the king, turning to her.

“Sire, if I may interrupt, can I make a suggestion?” said the Royal Historian.

“Go on,” said the king patiently.

“We could call it cake, after the first bread ever made, perhaps?” said the Historian.

“I think it is a great idea!” said Anne, before the king could say anything.

“ALL RIGHT! I HEREBY NAME THIS DISH “CAKE”. DOES ANYONE OPPOSE?” shouted the King. No one moved.

“THEN IT IS SETTLED. THIS DISH IS NAMED CAKE!” shouted the king, as everyone burst into applause.

Nowadays, baking powder and baking soda are used as raising agents in cake instead of yeast. Cake can be chocolate, vanilla, iced, or not iced, a cupcake or a muffin, a layer cake or a plain cake. It can be any shape size, or color. Now, it can be eaten by anyone, rich or poor, but in earlier times, only the king could eat it and it was expensive to make.

During World War 2, cakes were made with crushed chestnut and other nuts as substitutes for flour, just as the first cake was made, thousands of years ago. Cake has been made in many ways- the Mexican wedding cakes, as small as toffees, or the huge layered cakes of Europe. Every region has it’s own variety of cake, and cake, whether it is called Tiramisu or Gateau, is still made basically the way the little Tudor girl mixed it all those years ago- with Flour, eggs, butter, milk and sugar! Cake is a term that is almost universally known by everyone, whether it is sweet chocolate brownie or the spicy Tofu- Jalapeño cakes……

Bat Duck Episode 3- Return of the Bat Duck

2012-01-25T21:54:00.000-08:00

Bat Duck – Episode 3

Return of the Bat Duck

It was a lazy afternoon on Farmer Maddock’s farm, in Auroville, India. In the cow shed an alarm blared suddenly!

“Bat Duck, Piggy!” called a black and brown cow wearing glasses.

“Coming, Professor Boofey!” called a duck, running towards the cow with a piglet hurtling along behind her. These were historical heroes- Bat Duck, with her super sonic quack which could drive anything away from her, and Piggy, with his nose, which when wagged, produced a smell that made people run away from him. Prof. Boofey was their friend and helper, and the maker of the time machine they used to travel back in time and save history. They worked for an organization called as the HSH- Historical Super heroes, from a hundred years in the future, who worked to stop their rival organization, HHH- Haters of Historical heroes, from destroying history and taking over the world.

Just then, they were running to the unused cow shed that was their time machine.

“Prof, what is it?” asked Bat Duck.

“It’s me, that’s what it is!” called a voice from the video screen. It was Dave bull, CEO of the HSH, AKA D.

“I’ve got a new mission for you lot, if you’ll accept it…” he said, grinning.

“Of course we will, D. So what is the mission?” asked the Professor.

“Well, the HHH have been sending agents to Provence,

France

, on 9^th August, 1944. We’ve already sent an agent there, I’ll send the coordinates to your time machine to land where she is- she will be helping you. Prof, the HHH are helping the French resistance and the Nazis, both.” He shrugged and the screen blinked off.

“Here are the coordinates. Ok, Bat Duck and Piggy get ready, because we are going to

France

in the middle of the Second World War!” smiled the professor and they were whipped back in time.

“Here we are. Now, to get our disguises on…” said BD. Walking to the disguise closet. She pulled out a black dress with a white jacket, white hat, and black gloves. There were also rubber shoes.

“Well, Prof, give me my Blender, will you? And put it in flower mode- I’ll wear it on my hat. And why did they wear such boring shoes in this time?” She said, pulling on her clothes, and the HSH badge which enabled her to change to Super Hero mode. She stuck her blender on her hat and turned to the professor, who was wearing a khaki suit, a white shirt, a black bowler hat, and black shoes and socks. He was wearing his blender as a khaki colored tie. The blender was a device which allowed them to look human (hence the name-‘blender’).

“Well, they were taking all the wood for the war, so obviously there were no heels or wooden shoes. And they didn’t use so much plastic at that time” said the professor. Piggy had transformed into a cat and was wearing his blender as a collar and his HSH badge as a tag on the collar reading ‘Paws’. They walked out of the shed when a lady who obviously owned the building whose garden they had landed in, as she was wearing a badge that read “Owner” with a logo that matched the one on the building, a star with ‘Star’s bakery’ below it walked up to them; with a little girl, presumably her daughter, trotting behind her. She was wearing a blue dress with an apron over it. The apron’s pocket held a spoon and a whisk, and she was wearing a white chef’s hat with a smiley badge on it.

“What are you doing here-“

“Mommy, they’re wearing the same badge as you! See!” cried the little girl interrupting her mother.

“Oh. Are you Professor Boofey, Bat Duck and Piggy?” she asked, pulling off the smiley faced button. She changed on the spot to another of the HSH agents, as she had an HSH badge.

“Good Morning. I’m Star and this is my daughter Nina,” she said, adjusting her daughter’s hair clip. “D sent me here to find out what the HHH are doing. I’m running the bakery as a cover- my hobby is baking. Just call me Fleur in front of my customers- they don’t know that I’m an HSH agent, obviously. And the invasion of Provence, which is this town, by the British is planned 6 days from now. The HHH are helping the French Resistance, and the Allies, but also the Nazis. I think they plan to make both sides invincible so that finally when they are tired of fighting and start getting weak, the HHH can take over Europe.” She finished.

“Whoa. What a plan…” sighed the Professor. Meanwhile, Nina was tickling Piggy.

“Mommy, look what a cute little cat! Can we keep it?” she asked.

“No, dear, see, it belongs to the Professor and Bat Duck.” said Star gently.

“She can play with him if she like” said Bat Duck kindly. Just then, the phone rang inside the bakery.

“Nina, go see who it is” said Star. Nina ran into the garden, and ran down the pathway which went to the back door.

“She likes the longer way around the house” smiled Star. After a while, they began to wonder where she was. As they went towards the house to investigate, she called, “Mommy, its D. He wants to speak to you.” Star went off and there were muffled sounds and she came back out.

“He just wanted to see if you reached safely” said Star.

“Star, why did you change your Blender? It’s a pin now” asked Bat Duck curiously.

“Oh-uh, just for a change, you know? Come on, we need to get going to the Nazi fortress. Nina, stay here!” called Star as she walked down the path.

“Are we walking all the way?” groaned Prof. Boofey.

“It’s very close, so we are walking as a vehicle may make noise” replied Star. Soon they saw giant grey walls with spikes, surrounding a grim, grey building with almost no windows.

“How are we going to get in? I and Piggy can fly in superhero mode, but you and the Professor?” Bat Duck asked Star.

“Oh, I have a pass to get in” said Star, flashing a square piece of paper at a guard.

“Huh? But won’t they see that we’re HSH agents?” asked the Professor.

“No. they are too stupid to realize that!” said Star airily. Bat Duck and the Professor exchanged glances. Star led them towards the door and then down a staircase.

“Star, where are we going?” asked Prof. Boofey.

“Oh, to the dungeons” replied Star.

“Why the dungeons?” asked Bat Duck, puzzled.

“To imprison you, and keep you from getting in our way, you stupid HSH agents!” she said turning around.

“Quit joking, Star, we’re on a serious mission. Where are we going really?” said the Professor sternly.

“Oh, but I am serious, we are really going to the dungeon. GUARDS!” she clapped her hands thrice.

“Star, are you crazy? You’ll get us imprisoned!” said Bat Duck, trying to pull her and run as they heard footsteps.

“Oh, but that is exactly what I want. And by the way, a correction to your sentence. I am going to get you imprisoned, not myself!” said Star. Then blue uniformed guards pushed open the doors and grabbed Piggy, Prof. Boofey and bat Duck!

“Take them away and lock them in the deepest dungeon!” commanded Star.

“Star? You’re a double agent?” said Bat Duck unbelievingly.

“What more proof do you want? Guards, take them away!” cackled Star, turning and walking off. The guards grabbed them ad took them to an underground corridor where there were jail cells on either side. The guards locked them in a large, grey room with one tiny window in the side. There were three beds of straw, and a table, and a door in the side to a bathroom. The Guard grabbed they’re blenders.

“These will go to the storage room. Right. Carl, get me the chores list!” the guard called to another one, who ran and gave him a long piece of paper. “Names?” asked the guard.

“Bat Duck, Prof. Boofey, Piggy” replied Bat Duck. The guard wrote them down.

“Now, each of you have one chore to do. You there, duck; you will clean the windows on this floor. And the pig, you will clean the walls of your cell. And you, cow, will clean the floor in this corridor. And its wood, covered in wax, so clean properly. Your chore time starts in 10 mins and you have 45 minutes to do it!” the guard said, walking off. A guard pushed them into the cell and locked the door. The Professor groaned.

“To think the HSH had a double agent! I must tell D as he may send more agents and they shall also be caught in this manner!” he sighed. “Six days from now, the British shall invade, and the Nazis will fight back. They shall keep fighting, however, as the HHH have made them both invincible! Then the HHH will take over and the world shall be doomed!” sighed Bat Duck. Then a guard came and opened their door.

“Chore time starts now!” called someone. He handed bat Duck a cloth, soap and water, and piggy got the same. The Professor got a mop and a bucket of water. Soon they finished their chores and went into their cells. Piggy looked out the window and the Professor and Bat Duck played 20 questions. After a while, it became dark and a voice called. “Lights out!” and everyone lay down on their straw beds, shut their eyes and almost immediately fell asleep. Later in the night, the Professor awoke to strange tapping sounds on the wall. He put his ear to the wall.

“Hmmm… Long, long, short, long… Morse code! It says, ‘Robert Cahill Henderson.’ Oh, yes! Now we can escape! I understood!” murmured the Professor, grinning. He tapped back a thank you in Morse code on the wall and went back to sleep. The next morning, he woke Bat Duck. “We are going to escape! It will take around 3 days, but we’ll manage.” He said happily.

“How?” Bat Duck said puzzled. The Professor told her about the Morse code message.

“Robert Cahill Henderson? How does that help?” said Bat duck, still puzzled.

“Well, you see, I read about him in a book. This guy got imprisoned for trying to assassinate Mark Twain in the 1800s. In jail, he got the same duty as me- cleaning floors. Every day, he scraped a little wax off the floor. After he had enough wax, he made the impression of the key of his jail cell on the wax and used it to escape!” said the Professor.

“Excellent! But who sent you that message?” asked Bat Duck.

“I don’t know but we’ll free them the night we escape. And when we’re free we’ll take a trip to their experiment room and try to stop the HHH!” finished the Professor. So for the next few days the Professor scraped wax off the floor every chore time. After three days, he felt he had enough wax.

“But how to get the key for the impression?” he mused to Bat Duck.

“I have a plan. See, you keep talking to the guard while piggy goes around the back and gets the key!” she replied.

“All right!” said the Professor. Bat Duck whispered the plan to Piggy, who agreed. As the guard came their way on his rounds, the Professor went up to him.

“I’ve heard the Nazis have amazing technology and weapons! Is it true you have weapons to destroy a million people at a time?” asked the professor.

“No, but….” Soon the Professor and the guard were engaged in conversation. Then piggy went towards the guard. He grabbed the key off a hook and winked at the professor, which was the signal that he had got the key. Then he passed Bat Duck the key behind his back. Bat Duck made the impression and passed the key to piggy again, who put it back on the guard’s hook and winked at the professor twice. This was the signal for the professor to stop talking.

“Thanks for the information! It was very interesting to know all of that!” said the Professor.

“Any time!” said the guard, continuing on his rounds.

“That was great! And I learned that they keep their weapons in a shed in the south corner of the fortress grounds” said the Professor, high fiving Bat Duck. They finished their chores and at night, used the key to open the door of the cell.

“Freedom!” cried Bat Duck as they tiptoed into the corridor. They walked towards the next cell. And pushed open the door...

“You!” cried the Professor.

“Yes, me...” said the voice. A figure moved into the light.

“Star! So they imprisoned you, too! Professor, lock her back in!” said Bat Duck angrily.

“Wait! Listen to me! I am Star! The one who made them imprison you is my twin, Sky! She is part of the HHH and is identical to me. The day you came here, when Nina ran into the house, they kidnapped her and replaced her with Sky’s daughter in disguise. When I went in to check on her, they grabbed me also and got us here. Then they locked us up, and sent Sky to lure you here so they could imprison you too. I saw you coming in and saw the guard giving the professor floor cleaning duty. Then I sent you the Morse message. And you did follow the instructions?” finished Star.

“Yes. Now come on, we need to destroy the HHH’s plans here once and for all!” said Bat Duck.

“For the HSH!” they cried, running out the door of the fortress, which, surprisingly, was open. They ran into the shed, which was huge. The door of the shed also was open and it seemed empty. As they walked in, a voice came out of the darkness.

“Ah, HSH agents! You have fallen into my trap! Didn’t you think that the great doors of the Nazi fortress would have at least some security? No? And then the shed where the most powerful weapons ever made are stored and from where a whole fortress is controlled would simply be left empty and unguarded? You are stupid, HSH, and now we HHH shall rule the world from this point in time onwards!” said the voice, laughing. Then the lights suddenly came on and there, in plain sight, sat a large bull with a purple shawl and a badge reading: ‘Codename: Kill M, Rank: Xow. Code: 002KMX.’ The Xows were the HHH’s most high ranking operatives, the Xows and Zucks.

“Well? Hah! The HSH’s agents caught and at the mercy of the HHH! Tell me your director D’s plans and you may live!” commanded Kill M, sneering.

“Never! You evil HHH shall never rule the world!” said Bat Duck loudly.

“And you will be first to die, insolent Duck!” shouted Kill M, raising his sword. Then, suddenly in a lightning movement, Nina ran forward and knocked Kill M’s sword out of his hands.

“Mommy! Get his sword!” she cried, running away.

“You little-“Here!” Star grabbed the sword and threw it to Bat Duck and Kill M was cut short. Bat Duck threw the sword at a big red button in the controls where Kill M had been sitting.

“NO! THAT WAS THE SELF DESTRUCT BUTTON! THIS FORTRESS AND SHED WILL EXPLODE IN 18 SECONDS!” cried Kill M. He started to run out the door and block up the entrance, but the Professor was too quick for him. He caught Kill M.

“RUN!” he cried and pulled everyone out of the door and through the gate. “Bat Duck! Use your Quack! Get everyone away from the shed! Piggy, you get everyone out of the fortress with your smell!” shouted the Professor. So as people ran out of the fortress, Kill M was trampled in the rush of soldiers and guards running out of the building. The prisoners had been freed and were running, too, as a large red alarm was blaring: “SELF DESTRUCT!” Everyone soon ran out of the gate, including Kill M. Then the whole building and the shed blew up and there were only ashes left. Kill M tried to run away, but Star caught him.

“You are gong straight to the future, to D!” and she pressed something on a remote she had. Soon, everything was quiet again and the professor, piggy and Bat Duck were on their way home again.

“What about you, Star? Should we drop you home?” asked Bat Duck.

“Oh, I have my own time machine! I’ll be fine! Bye!” said Star, waving along with Nina. Then they were swept away and landed up in the Farm again, and the video screen blinked on.

“Good work, agents! You stopped the HHH once again! Prof, I’ll be sending over your future blend coffee. Star is also back, safe and sound along with Nina. Sorry about Sky and getting imprisoned and all that… Also, I’ll be sending your rewards over! And, today’s date and time will be the same as when you left- time in the present freezes for you when you go back in time. See you next time, I hope!” said D, and started to switch the screen off.

“Hang on, D! You’ll need to send us new blenders- ours got burned down in the fortress!” said the Professor.

“All right! Good Work once again, agents!” said D and the screen blinked off. A flap opened below the screen and deposited 3 boxes, each labeled with one of their names. “Ah! D has sent first rate coffee powder this time!” said the Professor, smelling the powder. He also pulled out a blender.

“Great! D has sent me a cool gadget! It’s a round button which can detect any other agents of the HHH or HSH around!” said Bat Duck. “It’s called the Detector3000!” she added. Peggy’s gift was a coupon for a lifetime supply of Pig Feed from the nearby department store. He snuck into the kitchen and planted the coupon where Molly Maddock, Farmer Maddock’s niece, who fed the animals, would surely see it. Soon, Piggy had a trough full of feed and was munching on it happily. Professor Boofey had made his coffee on a coffee machine hidden in time machine, which was his cow shed. He had made the machine himself, so that whenever he wanted coffee he wouldn’t have to sneak into the kitchen of the farmhouse for it.

“Here’s to many more exciting missions like this ahead of us and to future blend coffee!” said Professor Boofey, raising his coffee mug.

“Yes! And to may more defeats of the HHH by the HSH like today’s!” agreed Bat Duck. And so continued another lazy afternoon at Farmer Maddock’s farm……

Green Earth

2012-01-06T22:11:00.000-08:00

GREEN EARTH

Heya! I’m Candy.

I’m a Chestnut, with a white mane and tail and I live in Green Earth Riding school, Pondicherry, India! Oh, Come on, obviously I’m a horse, don’t be silly! So, want to know more? Well, I’ll tell you an interesting story, or maybe some interesting stories, but for that, you have to meet our gang. So, let me tell you about Green Earth. It’s owned by Jackie Lanes, she’s Swiss, and she’s won the National Dressage competition of India on her horse, Caliph, who’s very nice, but we don’t see a lot of him- he lives separately in a special stable. Then theres Brigette, she’s a trainer from France, and owns some of the horses. Her Daughter Rita is a rider, she rides the most cunning and snooty horse in the stable, Lazark. His rider is also cunning and snooty; you’ll see just how cunning and snooty, as she is in this story. There’s also an English trainer, Anne. So those are the people around here. Then there are some of my buddies’ owners, some of the horses here are owned by other people, but stay here and are taken care of by the people here, and their owners come only to ride them and sometimes give them treats like sugar and carrots, and only the owners can ride them. I’m not privately owned though, I’m a school horse, I belong to Jackie, and anyone can ride me. I was born here, so I’m one of the oldest horses around.

So let’s get going, to my buddies. There are 36 horses in Green Earth, and the stables are square, with the saddle and changing rooms in the middle, so six horses per side. I live at the end of one, so on my left are the brothers, Dollar and Euro, my best mates. Dollar is a bay; dark brown, almost black with a black mane and tail, and a white star on his forehead, and his left hind sock is white. His owner is Devika, she and her dad come every Sunday and Thursday, and Dollar sure looks forward to them, mainly for the treats! Euro is the same as Dollar, but with no star, and his right front sock is white! His owner is Isha, she comes every Thursday and sometimes Saturday. Next to them is Wet Wicket, the only horse in the stable who loves getting wet. He’s a bay with a black mane and tail, and a black star on his forehead. He’s not owned by Shruti , but is almost always ridden by her. His best mate is Magic, aChestnut like me with a black mane and tail and a white star on his forehead. He’s the most stubborn horse in the stable, but the only rider he likes is Alex. He loves jumping with Alex. Then there’s the last horse on this side, the beautiful Zara Zara, who’s twin is next to her, Zindagi, but on the next side. They are both identical, Black with white in places, and the same Black and white streaked tails. The only difference is Zara Zara is darker and Zindagi is a little lighter. Then the last member of our gang, Estagon, whom everyone says is the most beautiful horse in the stable. He’s pure white with a white mane and tail, he’s a great dressage horse, he can do the side trot an everything! So, now you know the gang.

Oh, also, you should know the Rita’s sidekicks, Caroline and Cathleen. They both are from France and go to Rita’s school. Caroline rides Nuclear, he’s as snooty as Lazark, and Cathleen rides Rocket, Nuclear’s brother. Nuclear and rocket are grey and have black socks and white manes and tails, but Nuclear has a Black star and Rocket has a white star. So now, finally, we begin the story…

The gang was chomping grass in a peaceful place in the Lake Grazing ground, far away from everyone else.

“So, tomorrow’s the competition. That Lazark reckons that Rita’s going to win the fun round for kids again! The nerve! Isha and Devika are much better at canter, she bounces in her seat!” snorted Euro.

“And he’s always going on about the fact that he’s taller than all of us!” said Magic.

“But, listen to this- I know the plan for the fun races- First the rider has to trot over poles and go around barrels, then they have to- this is the funniest bit- eat a piece of biscuit which will be hung on a string, still seated on their horse! Then they dismount, do the activities, then mount again, and go as fast as possible past the finish line- even canter! Now do you get how Lazark’s going to lose?” said Wet Wicket. We were puzzled.

“How, WW? That makes no sense!” said Zara Zara.

WW grinned. “Oh yes it does. You see, the contestants will be timed, and whoever does it fastest, wins the first prize, then the second fastest, gets the second prize. And so everyone will canter past the finish line, right? And Rita bounces in canter, so he does not like canter, and so he will probably do a fast trot- get it? It will slow him down. And then comes the biscuit part. As he is tall, Rita will take time leaning back or lying down on Lazark to get the biscuit, as she will be too high to get the biscuit if she sits normally. But, as Lazark himself says, we are shorter- So, we will take less time and win the prizes. Good, eh?” he finished, out of breath, and started on some grass

“Good one, WW. Now this will be fine as long as that Rita doesn’t try any tricks. Who’s going to be riding you, Candy? I’m being ridden by Tara.” Asked Zara Zara.

“Me? Oh, I think it’s Tasha.” I said vaguely.

And so we continued chomping grass and playing tag till they took us back to Green Earth. We were pretty confident that one of us, atleast, would win the next day.

The next day, Isha, Devika and Shruti arrived. Rita also walked in with Cathleen and Caroline, and her brother, Pinkesh, who was always eating something. Today it was a packet of chips.

“I’m going to eat the low biscuits, and we don’t even have to lean back on our horses to get the biscuits!” said Isha.

“Hey, you lot? Don’t you know? The lower ones are for the kids on ponies, and you’ll have to try for the higher ones, maybe stand on your teeny toes if your little horses are too short! Right Pinkesh?” said Rita.

“ Umm…. Yeah. Whatever you say, Rita!” said Pinkesh, staring into his packet. Devika and Isha looked at each other.

“Oh god, now what?” sighed Devika.

“Whatever. We’ll manage. Maybe Dollar and Euro will eat them for us!” joked Isha. I looked at WW, who looked angry.

“That Rita’s lying! There was no such rule when Anne was reading out the rules to Brigette yesterday when I heard!” he hissed.

“Now what? Devika, Isha and Shruti are going to be trying for the bigger ones, we’ll lose, as they are the first in the line, so they can’t even watch the people ahead!” groaned Dollar.

“Oh no. But at least Tara and Tasha will win something?” said Estagon.

“No, Devika and Isha will probably tell them too, or Isha will!” sighed Euro.

“Now what are we going to do ??”,moaned Magic.

“Hello, young horses. I couldn’t help hearing your conversation, and I believe I have a solution.” Said a voice, And a stallion whiter than Estagon and more beautiful than Zara Zara and Zindagi, stepped in front of our stalls. It was Caliph.

“Hello, sir. You’re my hero, I’ve heard so much about you.” Said Dollar.

“An honor to meet you young folks. I hope you are participating in dressage and will live up to the name of Green Earth?” smiled Caliph.

“Oh, yes sir. A-At least I believe we are.” Said WW.

“So, to the problem. The solution was in your owners’ conversation. Think about it.” He said calmly.

I could tell Dollar was really thinking hard because he was stamping his hooves, Euro appeared to be gazing into space, Magic was flicking his tail back and forth and Zara Zara and Zindagi were pacing their stalls. Finally, WW spoke.

“Sir, I think none of us know. Would you tell us?” Caliph looked around.

“ Fine. Do you remember, Isha said, “Maybe Dollar and Euro will eat them for us?” So, you follow their advice. Simple.” Said Caliph.

“Y-You mean, s-s-sir, that you want us to eat the biscuit?” said Dollar unbelievingly.

“Why, yes.” Was Caliph’s simple reply as he trotted off, then he turned.

“Good Luck, youngsters! Beat the rival riding schools and live up to Green Earth’s name.” And he walked back towards his special stable.

That afternoon, we were all nervous. Euro and Isha were first in line. Euro winked at us.

“Hope the plan works!” he winked as he trotted into the Ring.

When they reached the Biscuit rope, we all held our breaths. But, no one noticed him and not Isha eating the Biscuit! All they saw was him bucking. Isha saw and just pretended to munch on something, and the crowd was fooled. Devika caught on and let Dollar do the same thing. Soon all of us had finished, I felt, very well. And then it was snooty Lazark and Rita’s turn. Lazark had seen us, and bucked up like us, but as I told you earlier, Rita wasn’t as good a rider as Devika or Isha and Shruti, so she fell off but Lazark ate the biscuit. The crowd saw him eating the biscuit, too! So Rita had to really race through the rest, but even I have to say, she did pretty well. Devika and Isha were still worried about the fact that she might beat them. Rita came up after the competition, towards us.

“My mom knows the results, but she can’t tell you what they are till the announcement. The fun prize has gone to… well, I won’t say!” she said with a smirk .

She looked at Pinkesh, who was now clutching a bag of nachos. He was too busy eating, Finally Cathleen nudged him.

“What? I’m not giving you any nachos if that’s-

“You idiot, what are you supposed to say?” whispered Rita, but we horses have good hearing, I heard. Pinkesh looked up.

“Oh, Yeah. Mum said it’s Rita who’s won.” He said, and went back to his nachos. Isha caught Pinkesh by the collar.

“Which Prize? In what section?” she asked him.

“Umm… The…” he said uncertainly.

“Fun, stupid!” whispered Rita. “Oh. Fun!” he said.

“And what do you do in the Fun competition?” asked Devika.

“Umm.. Eat? Because I think that’s the most fun thing ever… You can eat all you want! That’s it, right?” he said confidently.

Devika and Isha started to giggle. Rita pulled him away.

“Huh! She’s lying! She is- of course she can’t have won.” Said Devika, slightly uncertainly, as if to assure herself. Then Anne went on Stage and took the mike.

“And the Winners for the Intermediate Dressage competition are Shaira Sharma, Green Earth 1st , Mina Bhatt, Chennai Central, 2nd, Asha Salodia, Bangalore Official, 3rd . Beginner’s Dressage- Liza Fulton……..” she went on, handing a gold medal and a gift to 1st, A silver medal and a gift to 2nd , and just a bronze medal to 3rd. Rita won 2nd in the Beginner’s Jumping, for which even Isha, Devika and Shruti cheered, as she was the only competitor for Green Earth in that section. Then, the Fun Section was announced. First the adults fun section was announced. When the Kid’s section came, Jackie took the mike.

“This section had many excellent competitors. So, we have decided, that as there were too many good riders to change the number of prizes. We have changed the parameters you were marked on, making it easier for us to decide the winners.” She said looking around at all the kids.

“So, let me tell you. In this section, we give awards to……” That five seconds for which she paused were tense. So tense you could feel the pressure in the air - even us horses! Caliph trotted up behind the stage, too. He smiled knowingly at us.

“…ALL OF YOU!!! We decided that all of you were extremely good. However-” Jackie was drowned out in the cheers of what seemed like a thousand kids, all shouting, yelling, whistling, clapping, jumping, cheering, hugging each other- The usual stuff people do when they are happy- also known as going mad with happiness, which certainly fits what happened there. Isha, Devika and Shruti were jumping, cheering, screaming, and we horses couldn’t stop smiling. Caliph looked happy. He came a bit towards us. Rita, Caroline and Cathleen were the only ones simply standing there, looking slightly disappointed. Even Jackie stopped, as she could not be heard any more, and she started smiling. Brigette and Anne gave her thumbs ups, and the Chennai Central and Bangalore Official trainers were grinning. Jackie’s eyes looked a little wet .

“ATTENTION!” she fnally said after about 5 minutes of the hullabaloo.

Everyone turned back to her.

“However, We would like to give some Honorable mentions- The first being Isha Srivastav, Green Earth !”

Isha, blushing, went up on stage for her certificate. Euro was stamping his hooves.

“Next, Rita Shastri, Green Earthe, who managed the time limit though she fell off her horse at the 3rd obstacle!” and so Rita walked up on stage. Lazark smirked, too.

“Masha Mandela, Chennai Central!” and a girl walked up on stage.

“Devika Vajpai, Green Earth!” Devika went up on stage, blushing. Dollar was stamping his hooves like Euro now.

“Laura Olster, Bangalore Official!” And another girl, whom I recognized as the one in line behind Shruti, walked on stage.

“Tasha Ruhia, Green Earth!” and my rider walked on stage.

“Shruti Rathodia, Green Earth!” And WW Reared up in joy!

The next day, we all ended up back in the orchard.

“That was good, eh?” grinned Estagon.

“Yeah, and we beat Lazark, kind of, and it was-“

“No, I was talking about the grass!” said Estagon, interrupting Euro. Everyone grinned. “But seriously, it was-“

“Fantastic!”

“Awesome!”

“Great!”

“Wicked!” and half a dozen other exclamations of delight interrupted Dollar! And yes, our adventure, at least by horse standards, was all those things and more!

Niagara Falls Facts

2011-08-04T10:48:00.000-07:00

THE MAID OF THE MIST

The meaning of Niagara is “thundering water”. Many people have tried to cross the thundering waters, but few have survived. Long, long ago, near the Niagara Falls and in the place where the town of Buffalo, New York, now is, there lived a tribe of red Indians known as the Ongiaras. They told many stories and legends, out of which the most famous of all is still known. So now listen carefully, because I am about to tell you the story of Lelawala, the Maid of the Mist…

Among the Ongiaras, it was believed that The Thunder Gods lived behind the Niagara Falls. These gods were the gods of weather and sent rain, thunder, hail and snow whenever they were displeased. Lelawala was the most beautiful girl in the whole tribe. Her father married her to the Old Chief of the tribe. But the Chief of the Thunder Gods, He-No, called to her to join him. So, on her Wedding Night, Lelawala ran away quietly to the Niagara Falls. She heard He-No calling out to her from the falls, so she stole a canoe, and paddled down the Niagara Falls.

Soon she was caught in the powerful current, tossing and turning, as her little canoe was buffeted by the forces of the mighty Niagara River. Finally she fell over the falls! He-No caught her and took her into his cave. She became on of the Thunder beings whose voices can be heard in the thundering of the Falls even today. She became a part of the local legends of Niagara and was henceforth called “the Maid of the Mist”.

Even today, the boat tour of Niagara is called Maid of the Mist. Many people have tried to cross the Falls; few have succeeded like…

The first person to go over the Niagara Falls in a barrel and return alive, she was a school teacher from Auburn, New York. On October 24, 1901, her 63rd birthday, her barrel was set adrift from a rowboat, south of Goat Island, after Annie had climbed in with her lucky heart shaped pillow. The currents carried it over to Canadian Horseshoe falls, and took the plunge down. Rescuers reached her barrel shortly after this. Her trip took 20 minutes.

Jean Francois Blondin

This tight rope walker strung a tightrope from the gorge, over to the Rainbow bridge, and successfully walked across and returned alive.

Steve Trotter

He was the first American to cross the Niagara Falls in a barrel in 25 years and the youngest, only 22 years old.

John David Munday

The first person to survive going over the Niagara Falls two times.