Stories by Arpit

More than 350 years ago, a Jain monk, Shri Yashovijayji Maharaja composed a beautiful stavan (devotional hymn) dedicated to Shri Antriksh Parshwanath, which included the following lines -  कोड़ी देव मिलके न कर सके , एक अँगूठ रूप प्रतिचंद,  ऐसो अद्भुत रूप तिहारो , बरसत मानु अमृत के बून्द ,  जय ! जय ! जय ! जय ! पास जिणंद ,  अंतरिक्ष प्रभु ! त्रिभुवन तारण, भविक कमल उल्लास दिणंद !  Translated, it would mean -  “Even if the aura of a billon celestial beings be combined together, they would not be able to match even an ounce of your beauty!, Witnessing your divine beauty feels as if drops of nectar were falling from the heavens! O Lord Antriksh Parshwanath! Glory be to thee!”  After reading the above lines, one may wonder how beautiful was the idol of Antrikshji Parshwanath, which led Shri Yashovijayji to pen such a beautiful hymn. The divine idol which is said to be so miraculous that it floats mid-air is, however the centrepiece of a lethal dispute between t

It was just 9 in the morning and it already felt as if a heat wave had invaded the city with all its might. The sun seemed to rain burning embers and even in the shadows of high-rises, the heat was unbearable. Sweating profusely, I reluctantly abandoned the shade of a roof and waved my hand signaling the bus to stop. Even though it was pretty difficult to board the already crowded bus originating from Howrah, finding a decent place to stand was a major challenge in itself. I somehow managed to push and jostle my way towards the last row where I finally found some room to stand. Standing next to me was a beautiful young woman, probably in early-thirties, struggling to keep her balance as the driver rode recklessly. After sometime, as the bus crossed Moulali, a passenger next to whom I was standing, vacated his seat which I offered to the lady out of courtesy. Giving me a pleasant smile, she willingly accepted  and made herself comfortable in the cushioned seat.  Dressed