Story World: The Little Matchgirl

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

- Original Creator: Hans Andersen Presentation: Paresh Vyas

- The little girl stretched her legs so that the heat of the lamp could reach there, but the little flame went out.

- Last year, it was 100 years since 'Varta' was created for the first time in Gujarati language. On this occasion, a unique celebration was held by publishing classic stories of famous writers of Gujarat in 'Gujarat Samachar'. This treasure of Gujarati stories received a warm response from the readers. Then now presents to the readers of 'Gujarat Samachar'-a magnificence of the works of the world's foremost storytellers...

('Little' means small and 'Matchgirl' or 'Matchstick Girl' means a girl who sells Diwasli. The little heroine of the story is poor and forced to stand on the road and sell Diwasli. When this story was first published in 1845, the modern Diwasli-' 'Safety Match' was not invented. Rubbing it on any rough surface would ignite the Diwali. Just after this introduction let's read the short story of this little girl because today is Christmas and this Christmas is a fairy tale. This short story is a pity for us. , is a gentle reminder of compassion, generosity, and humility.)

It was bitterly cold, snowing and almost pitch black, and that evening was the last evening of the year. A poor little girl was walking bare-headed and bare-footed in a street in that dark and dark place. It is true that she had slippers on her feet when she left home, but what is the use? They were very large slippers that Annie's mother had ever worn; They were so big that they came off the poor girl's feet when she swerved to avoid the collision of two horse-drawn carriages speeding down the road. One sleeper was nowhere to be found and another ran off with a naughty Lavaris boy. And so this little girl was walking with her little bare feet, and her feet were very red and brown in the cold. In his old Purana apron he had several bundles of divas, and also a bundle in his hand. He spent the whole day trying to sell it, no one bought a single divasli khokki from him, no one gave him even a single Pavli coin.

She was shivering with hunger and cold—the poor little girl, the whole picture was pathetic. The long silvery hair curled around her dock was covered in thin flakes of frost, but of course she had no such pretty thoughts about it. Candlelight was pouring from the windows of houses all around, and the sod of roasted delicious meat was coming, you know it was the night before the ninth year, yes, about that, about the new year though the girl was thinking.

A corner fell between the two houses, so that one house was slightly ahead of the road and the other behind. The girl sat in the corner, bending over to avoid the bone-shaking thud. She was sitting with her little feet close to her body but she was getting colder and colder and she did not dare to go back home because she could not sell a single box of divasli's boxes and any of the money from selling them was not enough. She could not bring it into the house: now it was certain that she was to suffer the beating of her father's hand, and the house was cold too, for there was only the roof above, the great cracks of which, though covered with grass-stalks and gaps, let the cold wind whistle inward. There were talks.

His little hands were almost numb from the cold. Oh! A lamp might relieve him, if he boldly takes it out of the box, turns to the wall, rubs it over it, lights it, and warms his fingers with it. He took out a stick of divasli. Patavi with Ghasraka. Ah, what a glow and what a burn! That warm and glowing flame, like a candle when he held the wick in his hand: it was a very fine light. The little girl felt as if she was sitting by a large iron hearth, the base of the hearth and the carving on the top being of brass. He felt that the fire was burning, the fire was giving a blessing of heat, its effect was giving pleasure to the mind. The little girl stretched her legs so that the heat of the lamp could reach there, but the small flame was extinguished, the feeling like the heat of the stove was gone, and then there remained the stick of the burnt lamp in her small hand.

He rubbed the wall and lit another lamp: it burned brightly, its light fell on the wall and the curtain on the wall became transparent, so that he could see what was inside the room of the house. The table is covered with a frosty white tablecloth, topped with china crockery and decorated with a steaming dish of stewed duck stuffed with apples and prunes. And the most important thing was that the duck got up from the pot with a knife and fork in its chest and came down to the ground towards the little girl, and there the candlestick went out and there was nothing to be seen but that thick, cold , damp wall.

He lit another candle. Now she stood under a magnificent Christmas tree, bigger and more elaborately decorated than any she had ever seen beyond the glass doors of the rich merchant. There were thousands of lights on its green branches and beautiful pictures painted in many colors decorated it, the same pictures that he had seen in the display windows of the shops staring back at him. The little girl stretched out her little hands towards it and then- the candlestick went out. The lights of the Christmas tree were now going higher and higher, now the lights looked like stars in the sky to the girl, one of them fell and left a long trail of fire in the sky.

'Someone just died!' The little girl spoke; Because her grandmother had told her that when the star falls, believe that a soul has merged with God. His grandmother was the only person who loved him and was no more.

He again rubbed the wall and lit another candle: again the light came on and in its light he saw his old grandmother.. uniquely radiant, joyful, gentle and a living embodiment of the tender expression of love.

'Grandma!' The little girl spoke up. 'Oh, take me with you! The candle burns and you are gone, you disappear like a hot hearth, you disappear like a delicious roast duck and so disappear like a magnificent Christmas tree!'

And she quickly finished the entire bundle of lit candles one by one, rubbing them against the wall because she definitely wanted to keep her grandmother close to her. And so the lamps continued to shine, a light that was brighter than the noonday light: never before had her grandmother seen her so tall, so beautiful. Her grandmother then held the little girl with her arms outstretched, patted her on the chest and then.. both flew away, Tejpunj and that Harakh's infinite heli and then.... There was no bitter cold above, no hunger, no worry. There was no sorrow—they were with God.

But in that corner of that street, in that cold hour of dawn, that little poor girl, with her rosy cheeks and smiling face, leaning against the wall, had frozen to death on the last night of the year gone by. The body had become rigid in a sitting position and its bundles of tendons had become stiff, one of which was charred. 'She must have been trying to get warm.' People spoke. No one had the slightest idea what beautiful things he had seen late last evening; No one could have dreamed of the splendor with which the little girl entered the new year with her grandmother.

(finish)

Introducing the creator

Hans Christian Andersen

Born: 2 April 1805 Odense, Denmark-Norway

Died: 4 August 1875 Copenhagen, Denmark

Hans Christian Andersen, a Danish author who produced a prolific and diverse body of literature, including many plays, travelogues, novels and poems, is also known today for his wonderful fairy tales.

A total of 156 fairy tales that teach children about virtue and not losing courage even in the face of adversity. Not just for kids, this is a treasure trove of inspiring stories for adults too. These stories have been translated into 125 languages ​​of the world, these stories are still appearing in many dance dramas, plays and films. His fairy tales include 'The Emperor's New Clothes', 'The Little Mermaid', 'The Nightingale', 'The Steadfast Tin Soldier', 'The Red Shoes', 'The Snow Queen', 'The Ugly Duckling', 'Thumblina' and Our story today involves 'The Little Matchgirl'.

While still in school, he wrote his first story, 'The Tallow Candle', a story about a candle that no one admired, no one noticed. In his youth, he fell in love more than once but he was shy by nature, unable to express his love. At the age of 67, he fell out of bed, he did not recover from the injury and developed liver cancer. He had a house near the city of Copenhagen, Denmark. His personal friends were with him when the time of death came. Before his death, he had given advance notice to the musicians of the band joining the future funeral procession that there would be a large number of children in my funeral procession, so that the music should be set so that the children's small feet could keep up with it while walking. Salute to this wonderful creator of fairy tales.