In the middle of the forest,beyond the emerald colored river stood the temple,whose fame was known only to a handful. Raj, being a historian was the lucky few. One had to travel by road, which was by far the easiest of the lot.Then cross the river, which was the home to all sorts of water creatures imaginable. It was believed that had one traveled during the night time, the water demon would gobble up the person alive.
After this one had to travel through the deep forest, abode of greenery and an exemplary reflection of Mother Nature. Encountering many wild(that’s left to one’s perspective) animals on the way, Raj finally reached his dream destination.
Known amongst his circle for the architectural beauty the temple boasted, Raj religiously made this arduous trek every quarter to replenish his potion of immortality. Such was his way of life over the last hundred years.What is a historian without a piece of history,himself?
Acknowledgements : Written in response to Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. The challenge is write in about 200 words based on the photo prompt. For more details please refer here. Thank you Rogershipp for running the challenge and thank you all for stopping by and reading.