Story World: John Mortensons Funeral

- The splendor of the story of the world's best creators ...

- Original Creator - Ambrose Bears Introduction-Paresh Vyas

- 'Death is not the end. The claim for the estate is pending.

- Ambrose Bears

For the first time in Gujarati language, 'Varta' was created. It was 100 years old last year. On this occasion, a unique celebration was held by publishing classic stories of famous creators of Gujarat in 'Gujarat Samachar'. A treasure trove of Gujarati stories received a warm response from readers. After that, it is now presented to the readers of 'Gujarat Samachar' - the splendor of the works of the world's foremost storytellers ...

If Han Mortenson is dead in a noble tragic play called 'Man', he has spoken all the dialogues that came his way and then he left the theater of life forever and started his endless journey.

His perishable body lay comfortably in a beautiful reddish brown mahogany wooden coffin with a lid made of transparent glass. All arrangements for the postmortem were very carefully planned. So nice that if the dead man had known about it, he too would have stamped his approval on the system. The face of the dead man, visible from the glass lid of the coffin, did not seem to be disliked.

At two o'clock in the afternoon his friends were to gather there to pay their last respects and thus pay their respects to the dead, for a man who no longer needed friends or honor. Now that the rest of the surviving members of the family were in large numbers, they spent a few minutes at the coffin and saw the typical face of a man lying peacefully under a glass, and they wept and moved on. Doing so did not benefit him in any way, nor did it make the deceased John Mortenson feel any better.

The arrival of friends began at about two o'clock in the afternoon, and according to the etiquette or propriety of the occasion, they consoled the relatives of the deceased, and then, with their important presence in the funeral procession and the consequent addition of consciousness, they took their place in the room. Then came the clergy, and their impressive presence overshadowed all these less important ones. After the priest's entry, the deceased's wife entered behind them, and the widow's cry filled the room with mourning. She walked over to the coffin and leaned against the glass cover for a moment, then was led lightly into the chair next to where her daughter was sitting. The representative of God began to sing the praises of the dying in a light and melancholy tone, and their mournful voices mingled with the light duskas coming from the room. That it is coming and going, like the sounds of an angry sea. As they spoke, the gloomy day grew darker, a cloud of clouds spread across the sky, and a few raindrops fell on the ground in an audible manner. It was as if nature itself was weeping over the death of John Mortenson.

The pastor completed his discourse on the dead with a final prayer, as soon as the audience began to sing hymns, and the anonymous ones took their place around the coffin. As the last line of the hymn was being completed, the widow of the deceased rushed towards the coffin, clung to the coffin, and wept bitterly. However, she later calmed down, admitting that she had been persuaded not to do so, and while the pastor was instructing her to leave, the widow's eyes kept begging him to look at her dead husband, who was under the glass. He stretched out his arms to hold the coffin, and with a faint shriek he fainted and fell down.

Relatives of the deceased approached the coffin, followed by friends, and when the clock struck three at the fireplace, all present were looking at John Mortenson's face.

They turned back, became restless and restless and even fainted. A man fell so hard on the coffin in the air of escaping from the horrible scene that one of the foundations on which the coffin was placed collapsed. The coffin was knocked down and shattered, and the glass above the coffin was shattered in the collision. John Mortenson's cat came out of the cavity, lazily jumped on the floor, sat down, very quietly wiped his crimson nose and mouth with his front paws and proudly walked into the room.

(Finished)

Introduction to the Creator

Ambrose Bears

Born June 9, 19

Died some one day in 1917

Ambrose Gwyneth Paltrow was an American short story writer, journalist, and poet. His book, The Devil's Dictionary, is considered one of the 100 greatest masterpieces of American literature. A prolific writer, he has written extensively. He is considered one of the original creators of realistic fiction.

He was born into a family that came to America from England. They were ten out of thirteen children. Each child's name began with the letter 'A'. Her parents were financially normal but had a special interest in literature and literary creation. At the age of fifteen, he left home to work as an apprentice in a printing press. He then served as a soldier in the American Civil War. The actual experience of that battlefield is inherent in his literary creation. Many films were made based on their stories. Three films have been made based on a story 'An Advent on the Creek Bridge'. Critic essayist Clifton Fediman writes: "Beers has never been a great writer. Their cheap imagination and slang flaws were sad but their wonderful writing style and their unquenchable aversion to the human race will keep them alive forever. '

In 1917, Beers told reporters that he was going to Mexico to experience the Mexican movement, but it is believed that he did not go there and disappeared. It is also believed that he committed suicide in the Grand Canyon and that is why his death date is not fixed.