A GIFT OF NATURE

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In February 2024, I visited The Kaziranga National Park not far away from my place with my family. I spent a week at Kaziranga National Park, located in the heart of Assam, which is one of India’s greatest treasures. 

I feel that I should share some of my experience with my readers, so that someday, they may also enjoy the beauty of the place and relax for some time here, in the most tranquil manner with nature. 

The National park

The Park spread over an area of 430 square kilometres earlier, now expanded to an area of 1090 square Km, it’s a land where nature, wildlife, and culture converge beautifully. It is spread over the districts of Golaghat, Sonitpur, Biswanath, and Nagaon – Whether you’re drawn to its iconic wildlife, the meandering Brahmaputra River, or the rich local traditions, Kaziranga offers an immersive experience that goes beyond being just a wildlife sanctuary. It is a UNESCO world heritage site.

The mighty Brahmaputra River flows along the northern boundary of Kaziranga, shaping its landscape and ecosystem. This river, one of the largest in Asia, is vital to the region, not only because of its rich biodiversity but also its impact on the lives of the people and wildlife that inhabit the area. The Brahmaputra plays a significant role in replenishing Kaziranga’s wetlands and grasslands, which are crucial for sustaining the park’s unique ecosystem.

During the monsoon season, the river swells, flooding parts of Kaziranga. While this flooding may seem destructive, it’s beneficial too. The water rejuvenates the park’s grasslands, making them fertile and fresh. However, floods can also pose challenges, with animals sometimes migrating to higher ground, crossing the national highway to safer places including areas near human settlements. The park authorities also made some highlands within the park so that the animals can take safe shelter. Efforts are consistently made by the park authorities to mitigate the risks and ensure that both animals and humans coexist peacefully during these periods.

Aquatic Life in Kaziranga

Given the park’s connection to the Brahmaputra and its numerous water bodies, Kaziranga is home to an array of aquatic species. While the one-horned rhinoceros ( number around 2600 approximately) and the royal Bengal tiger  

( Kaziranga was declared a Tiger reserve in 2006) often steal the spotlight, the park also has a rich diversity of aquatic animals. The waters of the Brahmaputra and the numerous beels (wetlands) within the park are home to various species of fish, turtles, and even the endangered Ganges river dolphin.

The presence of these species highlights Kaziranga’s complex ecosystem, where aquatic life supports the larger food chain, benefiting birds, mammals, and other creatures that thrive in these watery habitats. Spotting a river dolphin surfacing for air, or watching migratory birds gather around the beels, adds a serene and magical touch to a visit to Kaziranga. ( TO BE CONTINUED)

Rajat Chandra sarmah 

Guwahati , Assam , India

05/10/2024

(c) All right reserved by author

Instagram :@rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com

Asha stepped out into the rain, letting the drops hit her face. The sensation was immediate, a coolness that spread across her skin, refreshing and cleansing. She could feel the tension of the past week—the hurried deadlines, the phone calls, the busy schedules—melt away with every step she took into the downpour. Her saree clung to her, but she didn’t care. There was a freedom in it, in the way the rain allowed her to just be. No expectations, no worries, just the present moment.

She walked down the narrow lane that led to the market, her sandals squishing in the wet mud. The rain had turned the streets into little rivers, the water flowing steadily along the sides, carrying with it leaves and small twigs. Vendors had covered their stalls with plastic sheets, but they too seemed to have slowed down, their usual cries of “fresh vegetables” and “best prices” softened under the rain’s lullaby.

At the corner of the street, she stopped by the chaiwala, a small, cozy tea stall with the sweet scent of boiling tea leaves and ginger wafting through the air. There, a small group of people had gathered, their umbrellas discarded in favor of the makeshift tin roof that offered them shelter. The chaiwala, Ramu, smiled when he saw her. He handed her a cup without her needing to ask, the steam rising from the glass cutting through the cool, moist air.

“Beautiful weather, isn’t it?” Ramu said, his eyes twinkling.

Asha smiled, taking a sip of the hot tea. “It feels like the world is taking a pause,” she replied softly, her voice almost lost in the rain’s murmur.

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the raindrops create ripples in the puddles, the sound of the rain blending with the hiss of the stove as more tea was brewed. Asha felt a warmth spread through her, not just from the tea, but from the simple joy of the moment—this shared appreciation of life’s little pleasures.

As she finished her tea and handed the cup back, she noticed the rain had begun to lighten, the once heavy downpour now a soft drizzle, like a final farewell before the sun broke through the clouds. The children were still playing, their laughter echoing down the street, while the adults had resumed their daily routines, albeit at a slower, more mindful pace. The world seemed to breathe in unison, refreshed and renewed.

Asha turned and began to walk back home, her heart full. The rain had done what it always did—it had washed away the dust, both from the earth and from her spirit. There was something timeless about it, the way it connected people, from the children playing in the streets to the elderly man sipping tea on his porch, to the strangers gathered at a chai stall, all brought together by nature’s gentle touch.

As she stepped back into her house, her wet feet leaving faint prints on the floor, Asha couldn’t help but smile. Rainy days, she thought, are not just about the rain itself, but about the way it makes everything around it pause, slow down, and simply feel.

And sometimes, that’s all we need—a reminder to breathe, to listen, and to be present in the moment, just like the rain.(END,)

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

Guwahati , Assam , India

05/10/2024

( C) All right reserved with the author.

Instagram : @rajatchandrasarmah5

The day began like any other—a soft hum of the early morning stirring as the world awoke. But as the first rays of light peeked through the heavy clouds, the anticipation of rain hung in the air, a gentle promise whispered to the earth below. By mid-morning, the sky had turned a shade of grey, pregnant with moisture, ready to drench the land. It was one of those days when nature slows down, inviting you to do the same.

Asha sat by her window, the familiar creak of the old wooden chair a comfort to her ears. She had always loved rainy days, ever since she was a child. There was something magical about the way the world outside transformed with the first drop of rain—how the trees seemed to stand taller, their leaves glistening, and how the earth, dry and cracked, drank greedily from the sky’s offering. She watched now, as the first few drops splattered against the windowpane, running down like little rivers before gathering in a pool at the sill.

The street outside her house began to change. People who had been walking hurriedly moments ago stopped, looking up to the sky, hands outstretched, letting the cool drops fall onto their palms. Children—who moments ago had been trudging home from school—erupted into laughter, throwing their bags to the side and running into the streets. Asha could hear their joyous shrieks as they splashed into puddles, their faces tilted upwards, embracing the rain like an old friend.

The scent of wet earth rose into the air, an aroma so familiar and grounding it pulled Asha from her seat. She stood at the doorway, her hand resting on the wooden frame, watching as the rain grew heavier, the drops thicker, creating a soft, rhythmic sound against the roof. The world outside was awash in shades of green, everything looking more vivid under the soft filter of rainfall. The trees seemed to sway gently with the breeze, as if dancing to the rhythm of nature’s symphony.

Across the street, she noticed Mr. Rao, the old man who lived alone in the house with the blue shutters, sitting under his porch. He, too, was watching the rain. There was a peacefulness about him, a quiet contentment as he sipped his tea. He caught Asha’s gaze and smiled—a small, knowing smile, as if they were both part of a secret club of rain lovers.( To be continued)

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

Guwahati , Assam , India

04/10/2025

( c) All right reserved by the Author .

Instagram : rajatchandrasarmah5

website :  http://www.rajatchandrasarmah.com

Mail ID: rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com

In the sleepy town of Shantipur, nestled between two winding rivers, life moved at its own slow pace. The chatter of birds in the trees, the rustling of old newspapers on verandahs, and the clinking of teacups set the rhythm for the day. But every Saturday, something exciting happened that made everyone sit up and take notice—the Golden Delight Cake at The Flour Power bakery. And behind it was none other than Mrs. Anita, the town’s beloved baker.

Mrs. Anita, in her 50s, had inherited The Flour Power from her grandmother and continued to bake the legendary Golden Delight Cake that her customers adored. The cake, with its golden crust and melt-in-your-mouth texture, had a secret recipe. Mrs. Anita guarded it closely, refusing to even write it down.

But one fateful Saturday morning, chaos ensued. Mrs. Anita rummaged through her kitchen, her brow furrowed, muttering to herself, “I know I kept it here somewhere.”

She called out to her assistant, “Ravi, have you seen the recipe book? The one with my grandmother’s handwriting?”

Ravi, a lanky boy who had been working there for the past year, scratched his head. “No, ma’am. I saw it last week on the shelf.”

The realization hit Mrs. Anita hard. The recipe had gone missing. For the first time in decades, she couldn’t bake the Golden Delight Cake. Her heart sank, and with a heavy sigh, she rushed to her phone.

Within half an hour, her three best friends—Mr. Patel, Mr. Shankar, and Mrs. Radha—arrived, armed with magnifying glasses and notepads. These three retired friends, former amateur detectives during their younger days, had a flair for turning even the smallest mishap into a full-blown mystery.

“Right, we need to investigate!” declared Mr. Patel, puffing out his chest. He was short, balding, and wore glasses that magnified his eyes comically. “Where was the book last seen?”

“On the kitchen shelf,” Mrs. Anita replied, “I remember keeping it there. I never take it out of the bakery.”

Mr. Shankar, taller and more serious, nodded sagely. “That means we’re looking at a case of possible theft. Or,” he paused for dramatic effect, “sabotage!”

Mrs. Radha, who had a love for gossip, chimed in. “Maybe one of your customers wanted the recipe for themselves!”

Mrs. Anita gasped, her mind racing. Could it be? She had regulars, loyal customers… but someone stealing her precious recipe?

As the investigation began, Mr. Patel and Mr. Shankar took it upon themselves to question the townspeople.

The first suspect was young Rohan, the postman, who had recently shown an interest in baking. “I swear, I didn’t touch it!” Rohan protested, his eyes wide. “I may have asked for the recipe once, but I would never steal it!”

Then there was Mrs. Gomes, who ran a café across the street and had been a little too curious about Mrs. Anita’s cake lately. “Are you suggesting I’d steal it?” she laughed. “Darling, my café is doing fine without that recipe!”

The three detectives interviewed half the town, turning every small clue into a wild theory. Rumors spread like wildfire, and the whole town buzzed with speculation. Who could have taken the recipe?

Meanwhile, Tara, a quiet girl in her twenties who had recently moved to Shantipur, watched the chaos unfold from a distance. She had always loved baking but never had the confidence to pursue it seriously. Tara had been shy ever since she was a little girl, and moving to a new town had made her even more withdrawn. She admired Mrs. Anita from afar and secretly dreamed of learning from her.

One day, as she sat in the park, thinking about the missing recipe, an idea struck her. “What if I try baking my own version of the cake?” she whispered to herself. “I know it won’t be the same, but maybe it will bring a smile to Mrs. Anita’s face.”

She rushed home, pulled out her grandmother’s old recipe book, and got to work. Tara spent the entire night in her small kitchen, experimenting with ingredients, tweaking the recipe bit by bit until the sweet smell of something wonderful filled the air.

The next morning, the town gathered at The Flour Power as usual, hoping that somehow, Mrs. Anita had found the missing recipe. Mrs. Anita, looking forlorn, stood behind the counter with empty hands.

Suddenly, Tara walked in, holding a tray covered with a cloth. Her heart raced as she approached Mrs. Anita. “I… I tried making something similar to your Golden Delight Cake. I know it’s not the same, but… would you like to try it?”

Mrs. Anita, surprised by the shy girl’s boldness, smiled warmly. “Thank you, Tara. That’s very kind of you.”

She lifted the cloth, revealing a beautiful cake, golden and perfectly baked. The smell was different from the usual, but it was inviting. Mrs. Anita took a slice and tasted it. Her eyes lit up.

“Tara, this is incredible!” she exclaimed. “It’s not exactly the Golden Delight, but it’s delicious in its own right. You’ve created something unique!”

The townspeople gathered around to try the cake, and soon, laughter and compliments filled the bakery. Everyone loved Tara’s creation, and before long, she found herself surrounded by new friends, praising her talent.

In the days that followed, The Flour Power became even more popular. Tara’s cake became a new favorite, and Mrs. Anita proudly sold it alongside her other creations. The mystery of the missing recipe? Well, it was never solved. But Mrs. Anita wasn’t worried anymore. She had discovered something more valuable—a new baker in town, someone who had brought a fresh flavor to Shantipur’s Saturdays.

And as for the old detectives? They still met every weekend at the bakery, pouring over new puzzles and theories, convinced that someday, they would crack the case. But for now, the town was happy, and so was Tara. After all, sometimes the best surprises are the ones we don’t planned

Rajat chandra sarmah

Guwahati  ,Assam , India

3/10/2024

Received on 30/09/24 .

I am very happy to inform my friends and readers that , my website is released on 30/09/2024 and can be accessed by anyone with the following link

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Thank you all

Rajat chandra Sarmah

©All right reserved with author

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

Instagram : rajatchandrasarmah5

In the quaint streets of Dibrugarh, young lovers Esa and Mrinal were known for their nightly serenades under the moonlit sky. Mrinal’s guitar would sing Esa’s favourite melodies, each note a promise of undying love. Their romance was a symphony of stolen kisses and shared dreams, a melody that everyone in the village adored. However, Mrinal’s health began to fade, an illness stealing his strength but not his spirit. As the days grew shorter, Mrinal’s serenades became softer, his voice frailer. Knowing his time was limited, he penned a final song for Esa, a farewell and a testament to their love. One cold evening, unable to play, Mrinal handed the sheet of music to Esa, his eyes filled with sorrow and unspoken words. With tears streaming, Esa took up the guitar, her fingers trembling, and began to play his song. Her voice carried Mrinal’s love through the streets of Dibrugarh, a poignant echo of their past serenades. As the last note faded into the night, Mrinal closed his eyes with a peaceful smile, his heart full. Esa’s tears mixed with her bittersweet melody, knowing their love, though ending in this life, would echo forever in the hearts of those who heard their final serenade.

Rajat chandra sarmah

Guwahati , Assam , India

28/09/2024

(C)All rights reserved with the author.

Rajat chandra sarmah

Instagram @rajatchandrasarmah5

In the sleepy town of Sonapur, Nila and Hari were inseparable from childhood. They shared every dream, every secret, and every heartache. As they grew older, their friendship blossomed into a tender love that felt destined and eternal. Yet, when Hari received a scholarship to a distant university, he left with a heavy heart, promising to return. Years passed, and though they wrote to each other often, life’s currents pulled them in different directions. Nila, became a renowned artist, capturing the essence of her longing on canvas, while Hari pursued a career in medicine, healing others while aching for his solace. One day, as Nila unveiled her latest gallery collection, her heart skipped a beat. There, amidst the crowd, stood Hari. He had returned, looking just as he had in her dreams. They locked eyes, and the years melted away.“I never stopped loving you,” Hari whispered, his voice trembling. Nila’s eyes welled with tears, her heart bursting with joy and relief. In that moment, they realised that true love transcends time and distance. As they embraced, their past sorrows were replaced by the profound beauty of their long-awaited reunion.

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH

27/09/2024

Guwahati , Assam , India