When we checked in at the forest bungalow, it’s far into the night. My companions hit the hay straightaway. I was drawn by the high-pitched-yet-strangely-soothing sound of cicada chirping in unison.
Nestled among deodars, under the full-starred sky, was a quaint pagoda. In the faint moonlight I could see the words carved on its side-wall: “Anything you pray for here with all your heart will be granted to you.”
O Lord, I prayed, please let the pitch for a memoir I sent in be accepted.
Just then there’s a notification sound on my Android.
It’s a mail from the publisher.