Valentine's Day Prose By Saranya Mukherjee

Serendipity

Hasht-Bihisht was the name of the book. The boy narrated. He knew about history of histories. It was the three princes who by sheer fortuitousness got the look of the lost camel. “Camel!” the girl’s wondered joy evoked a smirk in the ‘knownsome’ boy. “Don’t you even aware of the scientific inventions?” “The sagacity and eventuality prescribed by Walpole?” “Or Voltaire’s method approach in Zadig that stimulated the detection tendencies throughout the world?” Poor little girl nodded her head. She didn’t have an inkling. The idea of chance and the quotient of coincidence awed her as usual. Her broad beauteous eyes sparkled unusually at the possibility of something magical. The boy sneered at her faulty self, which he callously once called “oasis of error”. At his dismay the boy watched the blaring snow-flakes dropping on the barren porch for a few moment. The stillness broke by the hushing words that the girl let floating like the dried up petals of the forgotten rose that she found in his book for historiographically scientific facts, in the numb cold nocturnal wind, “All I know is that Serendip is the name of an olden greener island…”

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