Ongul Diyus! cried Mamma

 “Ongul Diyus!” cried Mama

When Sham was in first class, he thought his big sister Lalita was the bravest person in the whole wide world.

Lalita went to Kathleshwar Girls’ High School in Zaindar Mohalla. One sunny day, she took Sham with her.

“Hold my hand tight,” she said.

Sham held it tightly—so tightly that Lalita giggled.

The school was only a five-minute walk from home, but to Sham it felt like a trip to a grand palace. A tall gate, busy classrooms, shiny shoes, and girls with long braids swinging like ropes.

“Oh, look at the little one!” said one girl.

“What rosy cheeks!” said another.

Someone patted Sham’s head. Someone gave him a tiny hug. And several girls offered him toffees.

“Thank you,” said Sham politely.

Soon his pockets were full: one red toffee, one green toffee, and one golden toffee that sparkled in the sun.

But Lalita bent down and whispered, “Do not eat them here. We will eat them at home.”

Sham nodded. He was a sensible boy.

Mostly.

The Very Sticky Toffee

Back home, Sham could not wait another minute.

He chose the golden toffee.

Crinkle, crinkle went the wrapper.

Pop! went the toffee into his mouth.

“Mmm,” said Sham.

Then—

“Cough! Cough! Hic!”

The soft, sticky toffee slipped the wrong way and stuck in his throat.

Sham’s eyes grew round.

He coughed again.

“Cough! Cough!”

“What happened?” called Auntie.

“Why is he coughing?” asked Uncle.

“A toffee!” cried Lalita. “A toffee is stuck!”

The room suddenly became very busy.

Chairs scraped. Feet hurried. Everyone talked at once.

Then Mama Soma’s voice rang out louder than all the others.

“Ongul diyus! Ongul diyus!”

Lalita blinked. “Ongul what?”

But Mama already knew what to do. She quickly helped Sham bend forward and carefully used her finger to help remove the sticky toffee.

Out came the toffee.

Plop!

Sham took a long, clear breath.

“Haaaaa!” he sighed.

Everyone sighed with him.

Then Sham began to cry—not because his throat hurt, but because his beautiful golden toffee was now sitting sadly on a little plate.

Papa Janki Explains

“Why did Mama say ‘Ongul diyus’?” Lalita asked.

Mama Soma smiled. “Onguju,” she said. “It means using a finger to help tickle the throat when someone must cough something out.”

Papa Janki, who always had a joke ready, lifted one finger.

“An ongul is also a finger-breadth,” he explained. “It is a very tiny old measure—about the width of one finger.”

Sham held up his finger.

“So, I am an ongul tall?”

Papa laughed. “No, no! You are many, many onguls tall.”

Auntie Jigri counted from Sham’s shoes to his head.

“One ongul, two onguls, three onguls…”

“Stop!” Sham squealed. “I will turn into a ruler!”

Everyone laughed.

Mama Soma hugged him close. “And now we have a new family rule.”

“No toffees without an adult nearby,” said Lalita.

“And no swallowing without chewing,” said Papa.

Sham nodded wisely.

From that day on, whenever he saw a shiny toffee wrapper, he remembered Mama’s loud, loving call:

“Ongul diyus!”

And he chewed very, very carefully.

Poetic stanzas about the author, Sham Misri, drawn from the little boy we meet in the story.

**The Boy Who Became a Storyteller**

A little boy with skin so fair, 

Held his sister's hand with care. 

Shy he was, yet full of wonder, 

At the world that pulled him under.

 

Curious heart and eager eyes, 

Tasting sweets in quick disguise— 

One soft toffee, round and sweet, 

Nearly stopped his tiny feet.

 

But a mother's finger, swift and sure, 

Curved to make his throat secure, 

Drew the danger out with skill— 

Saved his breath, and saved his will.

 

Then, his father, Janki, full of cheer, 

Turned the fright to laughter near. 

With a joke and wise old word, 

Lessons danced and wisdom stirred.

 

From that day, the child would see, 

Life is rich with memory. 

Every cough, and every cry, 

Holds a story by and by.

Now that boy, grown old and wise, 

Shares his past with twinkling eyes. 

Sham Misri, friend of pen and rhyme, 

Turns small moments into time.

Sham Misri, Seattle, Washington, USA

 

Musa’s Cotton

  Musa’s Cotton

(Musus Ti Kapas)

Characters:

Lawyer: Musa Khan

Shopkeeper: Lassajoo

In old Srinagar lived a lawyer named Mustafa, though everyone called him Musa Khan. He was famed for a tongue sharper than a winter wind and a mind so clever that even tangled and twisted court cases seemed to untie themselves out of embarrassment.

One day, a shopkeeper named Lassajoo came rushing to Musa Khan’s door, looking as though every creditor in Kashmir had chased him there with a ledger.

“Save me, Musa Sahib!” he cried. “I borrowed money, and now the interest has multiplied like rabbits in spring. The moneylender says he will take my shop, my house, and perhaps even the blanket off my bed. My wife has begun hiding the cooking pots.”

Musa Khan stroked his beard. “Do not worry, Lassajoo. When the law becomes too tight, a clever man must slip through it sideways.”

The next day, they appeared before the judge.

“Lassajoo,” said the judge sternly, “what have you to say in your defense?”

The shopkeeper gave a small twitch of the head and muttered, “Kapas.”

The judge leaned forward. “What was that?”

“Ka-p-as,” said Lassajoo, with great seriousness.

The judge frowned. “Has the man lost his senses?”

Musa Khan sprang to his feet, one hand pressed dramatically to his heart.

“My Lord, this poor fellow—kapas—is not responsible for his actions. Kapas! He was once a respectable dealer in cotton. Kapas! His storeroom was filled with fine bales, enough to make even a nawab sneeze. Kapas! Then came a terrible fire. Kapas! All his cotton went up in smoke, and with it, alas, his reason. Now he remembers only one word: kapas!”

The judge looked at Lassajoo, who stared solemnly at the ceiling.

“Kapas,” Lassajoo said sadly.

The judge sighed. “Very well. It would be cruel to press a case against a man in such a condition. The matter is dismissed.”

Lassajoo’s debt was cancelled. His shop was saved. His house was safe. Even the cooking pots could come out of hiding.

Outside the court, Musa Khan smiled broadly.

“Excellent acting, Lassajoo! You shook your head at precisely the right moment. Now then—my fee.”

Lassajoo blinked at him.

“Kapas.”

Musa Khan laughed. “Enough of that. The judge is gone. Pay me.”

“Ka-p-as.”

Musa Khan’s smile thinned. “Lassajoo, do not be foolish. I saved your shop.”

“Kapas.”

“I saved your house!”

“Kapas.”

“I saved your cooking pots!”

“Kapas! Kapas! Kapas!”

Musa Khan stared at him. The clever lawyer had built the trap himself—and Lassajoo had simply decided to remain inside it, safely out of reach of any fee.

At last Musa Khan threw up his hands and shouted to the people gathering around them:

“Look at this man! He says ‘kapas’ to the judge, he says ‘kapas’ to the moneylender, and now—may heaven help me—he says ‘kapas’ even to his own lawyer!”

And so came the Kashmiri saying: “Musus ti Kapas”—Musa’s cotton—a reminder that a clever trick may return to its maker, wrapped neatly in cotton.

King Hitamata Learns to Be Kind

 King Hitamata Learns to Be Kind

King Hitamata is remembered in Kashmiri traditional storytelling as a ruler whose life became a lesson in self-reflection and change. At first, he enjoyed palace comforts and did not always use his power wisely. After a troubling event made him look honestly at his own actions, he felt sorry for his mistakes. He left his palace for a time to pray, think, and learn from a wise sage. When he returned, he became a kinder, fairer king who cared for his people.

King Hitamata lived in a grand palace filled with gold, music, and busy servants. But in his early days as king, he cared too much about fine things and not enough about being fair and wise.

One afternoon, guards brought a worried young messenger to the palace.

“He is carrying a bag full of coins!” said a guard. “Perhaps he has stolen them.”

The young man bowed. “The money belongs to my mistress,” he said. “She asked me to carry it for her.”

King Hitamata wanted to know the truth, so he sent guards to the woman’s home.

Soon, the guards returned with surprising news. The woman had told a false story to hide what she had done. She had planned to run away with the money and pretend to be someone she was not.

The king went to speak with her.

The woman looked at him bravely and said, “Before you judge me, look carefully at your own life.”

Her words stayed in King Hitamata’s mind like a little stone in his shoe.

That night, the king began to wonder, Am I always honest? Am I fair to everyone? Do I make good choices?

He realized that it is easy to see another person’s mistakes—but much harder to notice our own.

King Hitamata felt sad about some of the careless choices he had made. He handed the daily work of the kingdom to his trusted ministers and went quietly into the forest to think.

The Temple in the Woods

Deep in the forest, King Hitamata found a small, old temple covered in green vines. Inside sat a peaceful sage.

The sage listened to the king’s story. Then he said, “A crown does not make a person great. A kind heart and honest actions do.”

King Hitamata stayed in the forest for many days. He watched birds build nests, helped thirsty animals find water, shared his food, and sat quietly beneath the stars.

Slowly, his angry thoughts grew softer.

He learned to pause before speaking. He learned to listen before deciding. Most of all, he learned that a ruler must care for people, not for praise.

A Wiser King

After a long time, King Hitamata returned to his kingdom.

His ministers were surprised. The king no longer wore heavy jewels. He did not shout or boast. He smiled, listened, and asked, “How can I help?”

The people soon loved their changed king.

King Hitamata had learned an important truth:

A true king is not great because of a golden crown.
A true king is great because he chooses goodness every day.

 

 

**The Toffee That Got Stuck**

Once, when I, Sham Misri, was a little boy in primary school, my older sister Lalita took me to her school. It was called Kathleshwar Girls High School, and it was in Zaindar Mohalla.

I was a bit scared because I was small, but everyone noticed me because I had a fair complexion. My sister Lalita was even fairer than me. When the big girls at her school saw a small child holding his sister's hand, they all wanted to hug me and kiss me. Some of them even gave me toffees to eat. But Lalita told me not to eat any sweets while we were at school.

Our house was very close to the school. It was only a five‑minute walk. We did not stay there for long. Soon, we went back home.

When we reached home, I was very curious about the toffees. I took one out of my pocket and unwrapped it. I popped it into my mouth and started eating.

But then something terrible happened. I coughed, and the toffee got stuck in my throat. I could not breathe properly. I took long, heavy breaths. Everyone in the house heard me and came running. They all started shouting, "What happened? What happened?"

Someone said, "A toffee is stuck in his throat!"

Then my mother Soma shouted loudly, "Ongul diyus! Ongul diyus!"

My sister Lalita did not understand what those words meant. But my mother knew exactly what to do. She came to me quickly, held my head down towards the floor, and pushed her curved finger deep into my mouth. She tickled my throat with her finger, and soon the soft toffee came out. I was safe.

After that, Lalita asked my mother, "What did you do?"

My mother replied, "Ong^uj^u."

Then my father Janki, who was standing nearby, explained everything. He always liked to teach with a bit of humour. He said that "ongul" means the width of one finger, a measure of length about as long as eight barley corns. And "dyun" means to give or to do. So "ongul diyus" simply means using a finger to tickle the throat and make someone vomit.

By now, many family members had gathered around. My father saw that everyone was listening, so he warned them with a smile. He said, "Just don't confuse it with 'angolica'. That is a slang word for cheating or swindling, and it also means a very bad and indecent action."

Everyone burst out laughing. My father always liked to make people laugh while teaching them something new. And that is how I learned the meaning of "ongul diyus" and also learned to be careful with sticky toffees!

Here is a short set of poetic stanzas about the author, Sham Misri, drawn from the little boy we meet in the story.

---

**The Boy Who Became a Storyteller**

A little boy with skin so fair, 

Held his sister's hand with care. 

Shy he was, yet full of wonder, 

At the world that pulled him under.

 

Curious heart and eager eyes, 

Tasting sweets in quick disguise— 

One soft toffee, round and sweet, 

Nearly stopped his tiny feet.

 

But a mother's finger, swift and sure, 

Curved to make his throat secure, 

Drew the danger out with skill— 

Saved his breath, and saved his will.

 

Then, his father, Janki, full of cheer, 

Turned the fright to laughter near. 

With a joke and wise old word, 

Lessons danced and wisdom stirred.

 

From that day, the child would see, 

Life is rich with memory. 

Every cough, and every cry, 

Holds a story by and by.

Now that boy, grown old and wise, 

Shares his past with twinkling eyes. 

Sham Misri, friend of pen and rhyme, 

Turns small moments into time.

Gandhi’s March for Salt

 Gandhi’s March for Salt

Long ago, India was ruled by the British.

At that time, people in India were not allowed to make their own salt. The British made a rule that people had to buy salt and pay a salt tax.

This was unfair because salt comes from the sea and is needed by everyone. Families used salt in their food every day.

Mahatma Gandhi believed that this rule was wrong.

He said, “We will stand up for what is right. But we will not hurt anyone. We will use truth, courage, and peace.”

This peaceful way of standing up for justice was called Satyagraha.

Satya means truth.
Agraha means holding firmly to something.

So, Satyagraha means holding firmly to truth without using violence.

On 12 March 1930, Gandhi began a long walk from Sabarmati Ashram with 79 volunteers. They walked about 10 miles each day.

For 24 days, they walked through villages and fields. More and more people joined them. Some brought food and water. Some sang songs. Some walked quietly beside Gandhi.

After walking about 240 miles, Gandhi and the marchers reached Dandi, a beach by the sea.

On the morning of 6 April 1930, Gandhi picked up salty mud from the beach and made salt. This was his peaceful way of saying:

“Salt belongs to everyone.”

People across India heard the news. Many people began making salt near the sea and peacefully refused to follow the unfair salt rule.

The British arrested Gandhi and many other people. But the marchers did not give up their hope. They continued to speak for freedom in peaceful ways.

Gandhi’s Salt March became famous around the world. It showed that people can be brave without fighting. They can walk together, speak the truth, and work peacefully for a fairer world.

Remember

A tiny grain of salt may be small,
But courage can grow in one and all.
With truth and peace to light the way,
We can help make a brighter day.

Buddha and King Ajatashatru-Part-4, 5 and 6.

 

 Buddha and King Ajatashatru

Part Four: The King’s Important Question

 The king said, “In my kingdom, many people have useful jobs. Some care for elephants. Some make pots. Some weave cloth. Some cook food. Some grow crops. Some keep accounts. Their work helps them care for their families.

“But what good comes from the peaceful life of a monk? What can a person gain by leaving behind a busy life and learning to live simply?”

The Buddha nodded.

“That is a thoughtful question,” he said.

Then the Buddha asked, “Suppose a worker in your palace decides that he wishes to become a monk. He gives up his old job, wears simple robes, speaks kindly, harms no one, and learns to be peaceful. When you hear about him, would you order him to return and work as your servant again?”

The king shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I would welcome him respectfully. I would offer him food, clothing, a safe place to rest, and medicine when he was ill.

The Buddha smiled.

“Then you can already see one good result,” he said. “A person who chooses a kind and peaceful life earns respect. People see the goodness in that person.”

The king nodded. “Yes, I understand.”

“But is there an even greater reward?” he asked.

“There is,” said the Buddha.

 

Part Five: The Greatest Treasure

The Buddha spoke in a gentle voice.

“A person who wishes to live wisely learns not to hurt living beings. They put down the stick and the weapon. They try to be kind to people, animals, and all creatures.”

“They learn to speak truthfully. They do not take things that belong to others. They do not trick people or speak cruelly.”

“They learn to notice their feelings. When anger comes, they do not let it become a roaring tiger. When greed comes, they do not let it grab the steering wheel. They pause, breathe, and choose what is good.”

The king listened carefully.

The Buddha continued, “A wise person is also content. They do not need many things to be happy. Like a bird carrying its wings wherever it flies, they carry what they truly need: a kind heart, a clear mind, and compassion for others.”

King Ajatashatru looked around the quiet hall once more.

Now he understood why the monks seemed so peaceful.

Their treasure was not gold, jewels, palaces, or elephants.

Their treasure was a heart filled with kindness.

 

Part Six: A Lesson Beneath the Moon

When the king left the mango grove, the moon was still bright above him.

But the night no longer felt empty.

He had come looking for someone to make his heart happy. Instead, he had found a path: be kind, speak truthfully, hurt no one, be thankful for enough, and calm the mind.

The king thought of his son, Prince Udayi Bhadda.

“I will try to live with a peaceful heart,” he said. “And I will teach my son that true strength is not in shouting, fighting, or owning many things. True strength is in being kind.”

The elephants carried the king home through the moonlit night.

And somewhere behind him, in the quiet mango grove, the Buddha and the monks sat peacefully—still as a clear lake, calm beneath the moon.

The Moonlit King Finds Peace

Beneath the moon so round and bright,

A king looked up into the night.
“Where can my restless heart find peace?”
He asked for worries to decrease.

Through mango trees and torchlight’s glow,
The royal elephants walked slow.
No cough, no sneeze, no whispered sound—
Such gentle quiet all around!

The Buddha sat so calm and wise,
With kindness shining in his eyes.
“True treasure,” said the Buddha’s voice,
“Is found each time we choose a choice

To speak with truth, to help, to share,
To treat all living things with care.
When angry feelings start to roar,
Pause, breathe, and let them roar no more.”

The king went home beneath the moon,
His heart became a peaceful tune.
He knew the greatest strength of all
Is kindness—standing proud and tall.

Written by Sham Misri

Buddha and King Ajatashatru-Part-1, 2, and 3.

 

Buddha and King Ajatashatru

Part One: The Moonlit King

Long ago, in the kingdom of Magadha, there lived a king named Ajatashatru.

One bright full-moon night, King Ajatashatru sat on the high terrace of his palace. The moon shone like a silver lamp in the sky. The gardens below were quiet. Even the birds had tucked their heads beneath their wings.

The king looked up and smiled.

“What a beautiful night!” he said to his ministers. “The moonlight is soft, the air is cool, and everything looks peaceful.”

Then his smile faded a little.

“But my heart does not feel peaceful,” he said. “Is there a wise teacher we can visit tonight—someone who can help me understand how to find real happiness?”

The ministers suggested several famous teachers. Each one had a different idea. But the king listened quietly and did not feel that any of their answers would help his heart.

Near the king sat Givaka, a kind physician who cared for children and grown-ups too. He had been silent.

“Givaka,” said the king, “why have you said nothing?”

Givaka folded his hands respectfully.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “the Buddha is staying in my mango grove tonight. He is sitting there with many monks. People say he is wise, kind, and peaceful. Perhaps you may find the answer you seek from him.”

The king looked toward the shining moon.

“Then let us go,” he said.

 

Part Two: The Elephant Parade

Givaka quickly prepared the royal elephants.

The king rode on his grand state elephant. Many ladies of the palace rode on other elephants. Servants carried flaming torches that danced in the night breeze.

It was quite a parade!

The elephants walked slowly from the palace toward Givaka’s mango grove. Their bells jingled softly. Their large feet made gentle *thump-thump* sounds on the road.

At last, they reached the grove.

But something surprised the king.

Everything was silent.

No one was talking. No one was coughing. No one was sneezing. There was not even a tiny “Achoo!”

The king felt nervous. The hair on his arms stood up.

“Givaka,” he whispered, “are you playing a trick on me? There are so many monks here. How can there be no sound at all?”

Givaka smiled kindly.

“Do not be afraid, Your Majesty,” he said. “No one is trying to trick you. The monks are sitting quietly in peace. Look ahead—the lamps are glowing in the hall.”

The king climbed down from his elephant. Then he walked slowly along the path, through the sweet-smelling mango trees.

Part Three: A Hall as Quiet as a Lake

Inside the hall, the king saw the Buddha sitting peacefully beside a central pillar.

All around him sat many monks—calm, still, and silent.

They were as quiet as a clear lake on a windless morning.

King Ajatashatru looked at them with wonder. He thought of his little son, Prince Udayi Bhadda.

“Oh,” said the king softly, “I wish my son could grow up with such a calm and peaceful heart.”

The Buddha looked at him with kindness.

“You love your son very much,” the Buddha said.

“Yes,” replied the king. “I want him to be safe, happy, and peaceful.”

Then the king bowed respectfully and sat down.

“Blessed One,” he said, “may I ask you a question?”

“You may ask whatever you wish,” said the Buddha.

To be continued