YAISHWARYAJ: {Awareness} Let me choose my way - A jelly bean for Halloween [2 Attachments]

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Pedagogical Project

"The Joy of Reading"

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Dear Readers,

We would like to invite you to take part in a new project called "From Stories to Books".

The Stories for Everyone Team have been, for some time, gathering and selecting books that provide some sort of reflection on the fundamental ethical principles of

our society, such as solidarity, courage, honesty, respect for differences and a sense of justice, matters that have deserved the attention of writers from various

nationalities.

Therefore, the Stories for Everyone Team proposes to send, together with the usual weekly stories,and also free of charge, full texts of selected books.

In case you are interested in receiving each week, by email, a chapter of an extensive reading book, all you have to do is send an email to

books@storiesforeveryone.com or stories4ev@gmail.com by writing the following sentence in the subject field:

"Yes, I am interested in participating in the project From Stories to Books."

Hoping that this new proposal will meet your utmost interest, we look forward to your reply.

The Stories for Everyone Team

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This week's stories with PDF attachments:

- Let me choose my way…

- A Jelly Bean for Halloween

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Let me choose my way…

The monsoon has passed. Leaves ripped by rain and wind float on the water of the river. Bala is watching them follow the course of the water, sailing like flying butterflies. The monsoon has passed. Soon it will be winter.

Bala often comes to play by the river. Her family lives a little further, on the edge of the village.

Before, she used to run up here with her sister Lali and Tarun, her dear little brother. They competed in a race and it was often Bala who won it. Then, Tarun built palaces made of earth while the sisters contemplated the river. They told each other the stories of the prince who would come one day to pick them up in a turquoise and golden boat. He would take them. And they would live together fabulous adventures around the world.

But that was before. Before Lali had left the house, at the beginning of the monsoon.

Bala kneads a ball of red land thicker than a mango. Lali, her beloved older sister, had moved to her husband´s house.

While burying her fingers in the clay and molding the ball by rolling it on the grass, Bala wonders why those we love have to go away so soon.

When the ball is ready, round and perfect, Bala lays it on the floor in front of her. Toshan, the son of the socks merchant, runs towards Bala. He sees the red, round, unique and perfect ball. He laughs, leaps and smashes it, with all the might of his dirty heels.

He laughs and flees. Bala sees him go away. She lowers her head and a tear slides down her cheeks, slowly, vanishing in the smashed ball.

The river continues to run, a mixture of mud and leaves. The monsoon is over.

It happened on a Wednesday, a favourable, propitious day, the birth day of Lord Krishna. Bala remembers it well ... The family had chosen that date for the wedding of her sister Lali.

Because she was already thirteen, Lali would never wear children´s clothes again, would never play cricket again. Bala thought that thirteen was a normal age to play cricket, but the family said that at thirteen girls had to marry. So, Lali wrapped a sari around the body. It wasn´t very easy, but her mother helped her. She was so beautiful in her ceremonial sari! In his tailor workshop, the father had chosen the richest fabric for his daughter. He embroidered it with love and pride, once Lali was his eldest daughter, his dear daughter.

Bala would also like to wear a beautiful sari, but the time hadn´t come yet. The father had offered her a dress, earrings and two necklaces in gold, which made her forget the sari. Father, mother and Tarun, her younger brother, also had new clothes, and the whole family went to town for Lali´s wedding party. They ate lots of delicious food, rice cups and fine spices. They drank fragrant lassis and fruit juices. Everything was wonderful!

Sitting on a step, Bala had loosened the sandals that were too tight, while she watched Lali cover her head with the tip of her sari in front of strange men, as women do. Bala had rubbed her sore ankles and wondered what had changed since the day before: had the meal with a thousand flavours, the wedding procession, the musicians and the dancers, turned her sister into a woman? Bala had asked her mother, who smiled:

"The day will come, Bala, when you will hide yourself behind a sari."

It was a Wednesday, a good day, a propitious day. When the sun rose, Lali was still a child, but at night the roots of her hair were painted vermilion. On her forehead a point shone, a red dot. A sign of protection, devotion, a sign of submission.

Now Bala is not sure if she likes Wednesdays.

The leaves disappear in the river water and the air gets cooler when the night falls.

Then winter came.

Bala helps the mother. She prepares tea for her dad and cooks the mashed lentils. On the banks of the river the land is dry. Bala doesn´t knead it anymore. Sitting on the trunk of a fig tree with huge roots, she lets her black eyes follow the sun reflections on the water. She thinks of Lali, living in the city, and she misses her. She also thinks about her friend Ashna, who promised to pick her up the following morning. Ashna is the best at writing and reciting at school. Bala would like to sing like her, but her voice is as hoarse as a tight string zither.

A tree trunk floats down the river. Bala wonders where it comes from, from which forest or garden. The trunk floats like a flying bird. Bala rises in order to see it better. It´s a boat! Bala manages to see a hull of pale wood and white sails, light as the silk thread the spider weaves. She sees no one on board; the boat seems to slide down the river alone. What if it were the prince who she and her sister had once waited for? What if he had come, now that her sister was no longer there?

The vessel approaches the shore.

It beaches, noiseless, a few metres away from Bala. The child rises with a sinking heart. She runs to the boat and asks:

"Is anyone there?"

As nobody answers, Bala raises a very light veil. The sun penetrates inside the boat of cedar wood. Lying on a thin mattress adorned with a fabric of silver flowers, a lady sleeps. Her golden skin reflects the light and she uses her slender hands as a cushion. Bala holds her breath. The woman opens her eyes and stares at the child:

"What are you doing here? Where am I?"

…

(To be continued in the PDF attachment)

Cécile Roumiguière et Justine Brax

Rouge Bala

Paris, Milan Jeunesse, 2010

(Translation and adaptation)

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A Jelly Bean for Halloween

The bag of assorted candies was ready, and I´d been looking forward to visits from pint-sized goblins. But Halloween morning, my arthritis flared up, and by evening, I could barely move. I couldn´t possibly answer each knock on the door to distribute the goodies, so I decided to fasten the candy bag to the door and watch the parade of trick-or-treaters from my darkened living room.

The first to arrive was a ballet dancer with three little ghosts. Each picked out a sweet in turn. When the last tiny hand emerged full-fisted, I heard the ballerina scold: "You´re not supposed to take more than one!" I was pleased big sister would play conscience for the little one.

Princesses, astronauts, skeletons and aliens followed. More children showed up than I had expected. The candy was running low, and I was about to turn off the porch light when I noticed four more visitors. The three oldest reached into the bag and pulled out Hershey bars. I held my breath, hoping there would be one left for the tiny witch. But when she pulled out her hand, all it held was a single orange jelly bean.

Already the others were calling, "C´mon, Emily, let´s go. There´s no one home to give you more." But Emily lingered an extra moment. She dropped the candy in her bag and then paused, facing the doors. Deliberately, she said, "Thank you, house. I like the jelly bean."

Then I watched her scamper away to join her fellow trick-or-treaters. One dear little witch had cast her spell on me.

Evelyn M. Gibb

J. Canfield, M. V. Hansen, J. Read Hawthorne, M. Shimoff

A Second Chicken Soup for the Woman´s Soul

Florida, HCI, 1998

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You can visit us on Facebook where you can find more interesting stories about several different topics.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Stories-for-Everyone/125862557478585

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Sir/Madam,

We are a group of people with some experience in the area of storytelling and we would like to share our project – The Joy of Reading – with everyone who is in touch with children and young people in general but above all with everyone that enjoys reading.

This project consists of sending stories for free on a weekly basis. So this particular e-mail and the ones that will follow it in the next weeks are intended to share some small stories with you. All the stories we send have some values within: respect for nature, tolerance, tenderness, responsibility, solidarity and many more. They all aim at developing the reading skills among young people, as well as allowing some moments of reflection and dialogue about topics connected with human values, which seem to have been somewhat forgotten in these times of materialism and hedonism.

We thank you for your attention and hope you will welcome this project (which, it is important to say, does not have any profitable aims).

If you know anyone interested in receiving the weekly stories by email, let us know by sending their emails to us.

Please let us know your opinion about the project.

Yours faithfully

The Pedagogical Team

sg@storiesforeveryone.com

stories4ev@gmail.com