Hathi Mahal The boy sat in a bright orange shirt amongst the monotonous grey rocky walls of the faded palace. He hung his legs from the edge of the roof and sang on top of his voice. The palace was once called “Hathi Mahal”, or maybe it’s the name that people remembered. It had lost all its colours a long ago and now just stood like a pile of rocks amongst the aged trees and new born grasses. The land around stretched for miles only with different shades of greeneries. The palace stood alone like a lonely old man, tired for so long and yet surviving through another page of history. And the boy? The boy was contradiction to this whole image. He was bright and young, shining in the afternoon’s soft sunlight. And yet his voice vibrating through the empty landscapes, somehow captured the same essence as only a lonely old palace could bring out. His voice reflected the solace of eternity.complete article

Posted by Payel Kundu

A traveler and a dreamer

on September 10, 2017