Story World: Found on a Druid Man

I want to lie down on the bottom of the boat, taking you to my side. But you don't even have to try to touch or gift me - in a nutshell - I just don't have to cuddle with love.

The story was first created in Gujarati language and it was completed last year. On this occasion, 'Gujarat News' was a unique celebration of the classic stories of famous creators of Gujarat. These treasures of Gujarati stories received a warm response from readers. It is now available to readers of 'Gujarat News' - the glory of the works of the world's first row storytellers ...

"Our memories are a much more real world than the entire universe. It also resurrects people who no longer exist. ” Mopasa

(Latter)

(The flowing story: 'Found by a drowning man': The title of the story begins with the self-expression of a man who has never fallen in love. He further says that to love, one must be blind to one's own self. That is, to be completely surrendered to ourselves, to see nothing, why not? - There is no question that should be raised in the mind. There is no ability, and it is my nature to rebel against any unreasonable dependence. And in the end it says ... and yet, I think I was in love for an hour that day.

I became subject to the impact of the circumstances around me. That was my fool. What else? I was delusional in the muddy morning of that saloon. Would you like me to tell you this short story? Do you want to hear it?

Yes, the river and the boat and the beautiful, enthusiastic little woman who spent a night with me. This meeting, however, would have been more convenient if I had been in one room and one bed, but I had agreed to the proposal for the river and the boat.

It was June. My silvery companion chose the moonlit night, so that a feminine imagination could be well stirred. We had dinner at a restaurant along the river, and then left at night for the number ten. I thought it was a stupid feat, but my partner liked it and so .. I liked it. And so I wasn't particularly worried about it. As I sat in front of him, I took a leap and we set out on the river. I cannot deny that the scene was as beautiful as the pictures.

We passed through the little forest-covered island, where the night-dwelling nightclubs lived, and the stream of water was rapidly pulling us over the silver waves. The screams of big frogs living on the trees on the shore sounded like the screams of small frogs living in the grass above the shore and the sound of the water flowing around us - all these sounds were gathering when my backpack was like a raging commotion, and it seemed as if the mind was awake. Doable And the atmosphere seemed to evoke a faint sensation of a mysterious fear.

The sweet beauty of those warm nights and the sparkling river flowing in the moonlight had pierced us and entered us. Living this way and sliding on the water in this way and so on in the dream and .. and realize that a sympathetic beautiful young girl looks on - aha! It was a pleasant feeling.

I needed a few effects of the atmosphere, I was a little excited. The dim light of the night and the feeling of being close to a beautiful girl were making me forget.

"Come and sit by my side," he said.

I obeyed that command.

It went ahead.

"Tell me a poem."

All this was now becoming more and more. I refused, he held on. In the presence of this whole orchestra of many emotions, from the moon to the poets' poems, it was certain that he wanted to play a game with me. Eventually, I had to overcome his desire. And as if I were joking, I read a little fun poem by Louie Bounlihat, whose last lines are as follows.

'I hate that poet

Which in its tearful eyes

One can count the names of girls by the sound of the stars.

There is no magic in the earth or the sky,

For those who don't see it,

Except if there are any girls who have it.

A poet who sees nothing supernatural in nature,

As far as libido in the eyes of a woman

Shrubs don't build,

Unless the cup of wine is sitting in the grass and drinking it

Such a poet can hardly be considered knowledgeable.

They have different meanings of nature

Sanatan nada Brahman is not heard.

Even in Vanaraaji, this bus is made in the imagination of a woman.

A poet who cannot travel alone in a valley between mountains.

I hate that poet. '

I thought it would scold me for reading such a poem. But none of that happened. A countdown:

"How true!"

I was very surprised. Did he explain the poem?

Our boat was now slowly approaching the shore, and the shoreline of the shrubbery was tangled in the trap, and the pace was slow. I put one hand on my partner's waist and made a delicate attempt to reach his lips as he approached his cock. But he made a sudden, jittery and angry move, and I was shocked.

"Just finished, I'm gonna wipe you! How are you? "

I tried to pull it towards me. He confronted, he took the tree down, the boat began to lighten, and we were both soaked in water. I felt that it was prudent to restrain my demands, my outrage, my impulses.

He said: "Instead of this, I would prefer to drown you. I have a lot of fun I want to dream What a joy it is. "

And then in a few hateful voices he said:

"You just forgot to say those poetic lines right now?"

That was true. I was silent. She kept talking. "Come on now."

And I started to laugh.

I began to think that the night was long and my condition was ridiculous.

My partner told me:

"Will you give me a promise?"

"Yes. What is it? ''

"You will be quiet. If your behavior is good. And if you are careful to speak, I will allow you --- "

"What?" So what do you want to say? "

"If this is what I mean. I want to lie down on the bottom of the boat, taking you to my side. But I refuse. You do not want to interrupt me, I do not even try to gift - in short - I do not have to cuddle with love. "

I promised. He warned:

"I will sink the boat if you move or move."

And then as we slept side by side, our eyes were toward the sky, while the boat was moving very slowly over the water. We were shaking with the lightness of the boat. We were sleeping at the bottom of the boat, and the slower sound of the night was making it even clearer. Sometimes we wonder. And a strange feeling of excitement crept into me. Such an infinite amount of dryness, an unstoppable impulse that I extend my arms and tie it in my arms, open my heart to love it, surrender myself to it, my body, my life, my whole being.

My partner knows something is as if he was dreaming.

"Where are we going? Where are we going? I feel like I'm leaving this earth. What a sweet thing! Ah, if you love me - a little !!! "

My heart started beating. I had no answer for that. I felt like I was falling in love with her. My violent desire was no longer with me. I was just happy to be able to stand beside it, and that was enough for me.

And we stayed there for a very long time, without letting them go. We both are each other

Holding hands, it was such a joyful sight, some kind of force or power that made us absolutely stagnant, some strange power

Who was stronger than us. It was a friendly bond that was sacred, close and complete. We slept close to each other and had fallen for each other. What was this How do I know? Love? Maybe ...

Gradually the dawn clock was counting. It was three in the morning. Light was shining in the sky. The boat collided with Qashq. I got up. We were close to the same little island. But we're falling into depression. This was no magic. This was a no-brainer. The sky in front of us was red, pink, purple. There were clouds that were burning and their humidity was blinking golden. The river was purple and it seemed as if the three houses that were visible on one side were burning or burning.

I turned to my partner. I was going to say, "Oh! If so! "But I stopped the tongue saying, I became a bower, and I didn't see anything except the woman. The flower was pink, its body was pink, there was a dark pink somewhere, where the redness of the sky was falling over it. His hair was pink, his eyes pink, his teeth were pink, his dress, his lace, his smile, it was all pink. That delusion had occupied myself that I had truly believed that the living saloon rider of this day is living out of his body.

She stood up gently and her lips were spread towards me and I turned to her. I was shaking. A temperance, a passion. It was really like I'm going to kiss heaven, I'm kissing with happiness. Today, I will kiss that dream, a dream that is my aspiration as a woman. I will kiss the Imagination Vihar, which stands in front of me in the form of human bones.

And he said: "O, there is a hair in your hair." And ... suddenly I became sad, as if all hopes of my life had crumbled.

That's it, madam. The whole thing is childish, absurd and crazy. But I am certain that after that day it has become impossible for me to love anyone. And yet ... who can say?

The body of a young man was recovered from the Seine River, between Bogival and Marley. When a parishioner who checked his pockets to find out the name of the deceased, he found this paper and brought it to the author.

Creator Introduction

S Mopasa

Born August 8, 9

Died July 7, 9

French writer, storyteller Mopasa's life was short, but fruitful. His story and novel are still a major part of French literature being read around the world today. S Mopasa was rare. Writers who were extremely successful in their time. He aspired to make literature his career, and through his pioneering literature creation he ruled the hearts of the people, but the achievement of that ambition also made him a star. They were also extremely sensitive and discouraged. According to his friend, author Emily Zola, he was the kind of person who was the happiest and the most miserable.

S Mopasa's personal life was colorful. Because of physical relationships with many women in their youth, they became victims of the latent syphilis, and their creativity seemed to eclipse. He died at the age of forty-three. He had already written the text on his grave: 'I love everything. I have never enjoyed any wrong. '