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.

First published in f3

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