चकमक

Fatima heard his words. She bit down on her tongue to stop the retaliation that was in her throat. The hurt turned to acid in her stomach. She began her run for the third time, this time without the mental preparation, without the ritual. As she released the spear, a muscle jarred through her shoulder like an electric shock. She didn’t need to look to know that the throw was no good. No comforting Tchak accompanied the landing of the javelin into the ground. It was a flat throw. The same boy sniggered as she passed him. And, almost against her will, she lost control. Balling her hand into a fist, she flung a punch at him. He was down on the ground in an instant. The teacher was beside her, taking hold of her shoulders, pushing her gently, firmly away. “No, Fatima, that’s enough now. Stop it. I said, stop it!” “I’m sick of it,” the girl hissed with so much venom that Mrs. Whitbread was taken aback. “Get him to the nurse’s room, inform his house warden.” The teacher ...

The door opened, creaking, unwillingly, just a crack. The teacher couldn’t see for sure who it was. “Come on in, Fatima,” she said in a voice that exuded more confidence than she felt. And then she was there. Standing there, glowering. “Well?” she demanded, standing in the open doorway, arms akimbo, “what is it that we need to talk about?” “Why don’t you shut the door and come sit down?” the teacher said. But the girl shook her head, holding the door ajar, ready to bolt, “No, there’s no need. This isn’t going to take long.” “As you like. Fatima, I was wondering, would you like to take special javelin lessons. Say in the evenings?” “Why?” The older woman smiled, “why – what?” “Why should I want special sessions?” Fatima said as though ‘special’ was a dirty, forbidden world. “Well, two reasons, I think. One, I believe you could be very good at it.” “And number two?” Margaret suppressed her smile; there was something so sweet in Fatima’s belligerence. “For...

The jibes and comments still came sporadically. Some girls passed comments that she was turning into a boy, the way her arms rippled with muscles. But they didn’t bother Fatima at all now. She was proud of her muscles. They were won after a lot of sweat and pain and effort. Gradually, seeing her go from one success to another, the comments turned to grudging admiration. From a passing fancy now, the mystical javelin became an obsession with Fatima, now fourteen and bulging with biceps. And Fatima too became an obsession with her games teacher. They would train two or three times a day and sometimes the girl would pack in an extra session by herself. She had learned, with her mentor’s help, not to let anyone’s comments about her, or her unfeminine appearance bother her. She loved the javelin and for that she needed those muscles. She wore them like a badge of honor. One night, when Mrs. Whitbread couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice about Fatima’s unparalleled tale...

"एक शैतान बच्चा" जो पाखी जोशी (कक्षा दूसरी, नई दिल्ली) की क्लास में पढता हैं | आइये जानते हैं कि यह शैतान बच्चा कौन हैं ? और क्या करता हैं पाखी की क्लास में ? (अप्रैल २०१० - चकमक अंक )

यह हैं हमारी नीलूपमा के घर से उसके स्कूल तक रास्ता !!!   यह चित्र हमें नीलूपमा ने २०१० के चकमक अंक के लिए भेजा था | हर माह हम बच्चो की रचनाओ को प्रकाशित करते हैं, और उन्हें उपहार में चकमक के छः माह तक के अंक मुफ्त में देते हैं | आप भी हमें अपनी रचनाये भेज सकते हैं और पा सकते है चकमक के छः माह के अंक मुफ्त |