The Subadar sat cross-legged on the floor of the dugout. The Germans had spent twenty-three of the last twenty-four hours lobbing shells at our trenches, and the sudden cessation made Captain Floyd nervous enough to send a scouting party into no man’s land to see what was up. The rest of us waited.
I was the only American in the division, the Subadar the only Indian. We spent a lot of time together. He would tell me comforting stories. My favorite story was Vimana, the castle in the sky where the gods lived, grinding out our fates with their millstones.
Loved the last line linking back to the prompt, and the imagery of the grind of warfare was tangible. Excellent.
Beautifully rendered
This is beautifully esoteric.
Cleverly crafted :)
I love the idea of someone in a castle in the sky grinding out fate!
I think at the worst of times we will love the stories the most.
Grinding out fate. Lovely
I agree with Michael above. The concept of grinding out fates is so graphic. Well done.
To escape the horrors of reality for a little while with stories… great take.
Wonderful.
I wondered about the title as its a typical Indian word in mythology!
Your story explained it!
Good for you!
Thanks!
Your story took me right into that dugout. Fantastic.
This reminds me of the Norwegian god Odin who plays with peoples lives.
Very well told.
Very nice! Haven’t heard this particular belief before :)