Juvenile Stories and Essays


Juvenile Stories and Essays

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Juvenile Stories and Essays


Juvenile Stories and Essays



Menonim Menonimus



Growhills Publishing

Juvenile Stories and Essays (a collection of stories and essays for middle school children) by Menonim Menonimus.

Internet Edition:

All Rights Reserved

DTP by Adid Shahriar

Published by:


The stories and essays were written from time to time for various occasions, especially to meet the need of children. Hope that my dear reader would like the book.

Shanti Kanan

Menonim Menonimus


Juvenile Stories and Essays


The Lion and the Mosquito

One summer evening a lion was sleeping under a tree. It was dozing. The wind was blowing gently. Suddenly a mosquito came and began to sing his buzzing song by the ear of the lion. Being disturbed by the buzzing sound of the mosquito, the lion got angry and said “Hey mosquito, go away or I will tear you by my paws.’’

The mosquito looked far away and said, “Why should I go away? Let me sing my song.”

Saying so, the mosquito began to make a buzzing sound again by the ear of the lion. The lion got much anger and hit the mosquito with his left paw. The mosquito flew off. The paw of the lion struck his own ear.

The lion, being red with anger decided to give the mosquito a deadly blow. He kept waiting.

After sometime, the mosquito came again and began to make a buzzing sound by the ear of the lion. The lion, making a loud roaring sound, held up his head and struck the mosquito with his right paw. The mosquito flew off with a loud buzzing sound.  This time too the lion hit himself. His right ear began to bleed.

The mosquito kept making a buzzing sound more loudly. The lion became helpless.

At last, the lion got up and walked away quietly.

The mosquito chased after the lion and said, “Friend, do you still think to be the king of beasts? Honorable king, bear in mind that everyone is great in his own way.” 0 0 0.

Juvenile Stories and Essays

Benefits of Walking

Hamen: May I come in, Sir?

Teacher: Yes, You may come in.

Hamen: Thank you, Sir.

Teacher: Take your seat, but why are you late?

Hamen: I was caught in the traffic jam, sir.

Teacher: Then how have you got to school?

Hamen: It seemed that the traffic jam would last for hours. Hence I got off the van and walked on foot, Sir.

Teacher: Traffic jam is our everyday headache. After all, thank you much for coming to school on foot.

Hamen: Thank you, Sir.

Teacher: Do you know the benefits of walking?

Hamen: No, Sir.

Teacher: Present-day researchers say that walking to our body is as what is oxygen to our life.

Hamen: Is it, Sir!

Teacher: Yes! Walking has many benefits. It causes our blood circulation properly. It invigorates the function of our lungs. Walking is good for our food digestion. Walking keeps blood pressure at normal condition. It keeps our mental stress under control. The habit of regular walking lengthens our life span. It keeps our body and mind always active and lively. Walking prevents diabetes. Walking enhances our intellection power also.

Hamen: Oh! If we knew the benefits of walking before!

Teacher: Some great people had a habit of regular walking. For instance – Mahatma Gandhi walked up to twenty kilometers a day and he praised the habit of walking very much. Albert Einstein, the greatest physicist of all time advocated the habit of regular walking. Bertrand Russell, an English humanitarian philosopher, said that walking at least three hours a day should be made compulsory for all. Homen Borgohain, a famous Assamese intellectualist of the present day also recommends the building of the habit of regular walking.

Hamen: From today, I must form this unique habit of walking.

Teacher: Everybody irrespective of age should take walking at least a distance of five kilometers a day.

Hamen: Thank you, Sir. 0 0 0.

Juvenile Stories and Essays

Flying Bridge

Yesterday was Sunday. Sunday is our weekly holiday. We enjoy full freedom on Sundays.  We play cricket, ha-do-do and football and run in the open fields. Yesterday I did nothing but made a kite with the finest colouring paper of the market. When I completed the making of the kite, it looked like a bride. Hence I named it Flying Bride. The making of the kite took me half a day.

In the afternoon I took my Flying Bride to the fair. There was a huge gathering of people in the fair. Everybody seemed to be in a happy and jolly mood. The boys and girls of my age were enjoying a merry-go-round on wooden horses.

There I met Rabbi, one of my closest classmates. I was glad to meet him. I found him flying a kite at the west corner of the vast field. He called his kite Blue Angel.

I took my Flying Bride there and soon a competition of flying kites began. The east wind was blowing gently. My Flying Bride began to soar high.

A rivalry between my kite and that of Rabbi began.  When my kite surpassed Rabbi’s Blue Angel in flying higher, I became overjoyed and said, “Hey Rabbi, look, my kite has surpassed yours.”

After some time, Rabbis’ Blue Angel began to fly higher than that of mine. Then out of joy, Rabbi made a loud cry and said, “O look at, my Angle has overcome yours.”

Thus we enjoyed flying kites for an hour. The speed of the wind was on increase. Suddenly my Flying Bride made a downward movement and struck with the thread of that of Rabbi. After some time the thread of my kite tore off at the middle high. The wind began to carry my bride up and away, up and away, up and away. The boys and girls who were enjoying the competition broke into sudden loud shrieks with fun.

I lost my kite. But I am happy that my Flying Bride had reached heaven. 0 0 0.

Juvenile Stories and Essays

I have a Silly Sister

I have a little silly sister. Her name is Jitumoni. She always sticks to my mother. Sometimes she keeps whining for sweetmeats. She does not know what a toilet is and she urinates on the floor of our house. She even does not know the difference between red and white.

She is very childish. When we play with the seeds of peach she thinks they are real food.  She even puts them into her mouth to eat.

When I open my book of A B C, she tears the pages of the book and laughs with great joy.

When I become angry with her and scold her, she thinks it to be great fun.

She likes to play with sand and mud. If the mother asks her to keep away from such dirty things she cries bitterly.

When my mother or father calls me by my name, she also calls me by my name. She often forgets to call me ‘Dada’.

Yesternight when the mother was showing her the full moon, she kept crying for an hour insisting on bringing the moon down for her.

When I sit on my study she climbs up my shoulder and began to scratch my hair.

She is so silly to appreciate things.

But I am proud of having a silly sister like her. 0 0 0.

Juvenile Stories and Essays


Have you ever heard of Birbal? He was a minister in the royal court of Akbar, the third Mughal Emperor.  He had so an ingenious mind that he could invent ways of solving any puzzle.  Birbal’s presence gave entertainment to the court. Akbar loved him much for his humourous but wise talks and deeds. Many times he helped the king in solving out big problems faced by the king.

One day the king called in all his ministers including Birbal. When all of his ministers arrived at the court then the king drew a line on the floor and ordered his ministers, “Make this line shorter without rubbing out any part of it.”

No one knew what to do. Every minister looked at the line and was puzzled. No one could think of any way to make it shorter without cutting off a part of the line.

All the ministers, except Birbal, looked at each other and said, “Impossible, impossible! It is impossible to make the line shorter without erasing off   any part of it.”

Birbal who was sitting at a corner of the court,  at last, stood up from his seat, came up to the spot of the line and drew a longer line under the line drawn by the king and said, “My Lord, look, your line is shorter than this.”

Everyone in the court looked at the line and became dumb in shame. Truly the line drawn by the king was shorter than the line drawn by Birbal.

The king thanked and praised Birbal with a precious gift. 0 0 0.

Juvenile Stories and Essays

The Ungrateful Cat

Once there was a village near a forest. A wild cat often came to a peasant’s house at night and ate away all the food staff of the house. One day the host got very angry and set up a cage to catch the cat.  At night the cat came into the kitchen and was caught in the cage. He began to mew for help. A mouse heard the mewing of the cat and came running.

The cat said to the mouse, “O sister! Please press back the spring and set me free.”

“No, I can’t. You will eat me,” said the mouse.

Why, do you doubt me? Your grandfather and my grandfather were friends for long. In this respect, we are brother and sister-in-law. I promise I would not eat you.”

Being enticed by the sweet words of the cat, the mouse pressed back the spring and the cat came out. As soon as the cat came out he caught the mouse in the paws and wanted to eat it.

The little mouse squeaked and said, “Brother, you promised not to eat me.”

“You were foolish to believe me,” said the cat.

The mouse squeaked again in fear.

A wolf heard the squeaks of the mouse and came running there.

“What is the matter?” he asked.

The mouse told all that had happened.

The wolf appreciated what had happened. But the wolf was a very clever one. He said to the cat, “I don’t believe of what the mouse says. Cat, please tell me the true story.”

Then the cat told that he was caught in the cage.

“I hardly believe your story. You are intelligent enough to avoid a cage,” said the wolf.

The cat said, “Yes, uncle! I am intelligent enough no doubt but accidentally, I got caught in the cage.”

“Can you show me, how you entered the cage?’’ Asked the wolf.

“Why not? There was a fried piece of fish in the cage. I pushed my head against the opening of the cage and then I got caught in it,” said the cat.

“Can you show me, how you pushed the opening and entered the cage?” the wolf asked.

“Yes. Look at….” Saying so the cat pushed its head again and got into the cage and said, “See, I was in the cage like this and the mouse came running by.”

“I see now. It is fine that you have told the truth,” the wolf said.

Then the wolf gestured to the mouse to fix the door with the spring- bolt.

The mouse instantly did so.

The wolf said, “Farewell nephew. This time the mouse will not set you free. Learn that it is very bad to be ungrateful.” 0 0 0.

Juvenile Stories and Essays

The Wind and the Sun

(Folk Tale, Abridged)

 One day a quarrel set up between the Wind and the Sun. The wind claimed to be stronger than the Sun. On the other hand, the Sun claimed to be stronger than the wind. For several days they were quarreling over this.

One morning a pedestrian was walking down the road wearing a coat around his body. Seeing this the Wind said to the Sun, ‘’Have you seen the pedestrian?”

The Sun said, “Yes, but what is the matter?”

“Let us see who is more powerful either you or I.”

“How is it possible?” the sun said.

“Look at the pedestrian. He is wearing a coat. If I can get his coat off more quickly than you can, it would mean that I am stronger than you. And if you can get his coat off more quickly than I can, then it would mean that you are stronger than I am.”

“Well,” the sun replied. “I will let you try first,” the Sun said.

The Wind, puffing his cheeks, began to blow and blow and blow…..

The pedestrian said to himself, “How strong and rough the wind is today! It is about to blow away my coat.” Saying so, he held the coat tightly round himself.

The wind began to blow harder. But the pedestrian, feeling cold pulled his coat more tightly.

The wind being failed said to the sun, “Here I have given up. I can’t get the coat off! Show your strength.”

The sun began to shine brightly. After a few minutes, the pedestrian said within himself, “What a fun day! It was so cold and now it is so hot!

The sun shined harder and said to himself, “I will make him feel hotter.”

The man began to sweat. He went under a tree beside the road and took off his coat and sat down to take a rest.

The Wind being defeated in the competition bowed down to the sun and said, “Truly, you are stronger enough.” 0 0 0.

Juvenile Stories and Essays

Waiting for Rain

Anil was a poor peasant. He lived in a village near Tezpur. He had a wife and three children. He had no land of his own. But he produced crops on other people’s land as a sharecropper. The previous year was almost full of drought. There was no rain at all for more than four months. Anil became sad. Everyday Anil looked at the sky. There were no clouds. The hot sun looked down on Anil and laughed.

When all his savings were exhausted, Anil went to Murugan (money lander) and said, “Sir, Please lend me hundred rupees.”

“I can’t,” replied Murugan. ‘There’s no rain. No rain means no crops in the field. When the rain comes you can have the money.”

Anil went home being downcast. Suddenly he remembered that there might have been some rupees in the little box under the bed sheet.

He opened the little box and said to his wife, “We have seventy rupees. We can eat for a few more days.”

His wife said, “Well, but what shall we eat after this?”

Every day Anil looked at the sky. The sun laughed down at him. There were no clouds. Everyone was hungry.

After a few days Anil looked in the box again. There were only eleven rupees.

“We have only eleven rupees for food,” he said to his wife.

“And then?’ said his wife.

“And then! No food at all,” said Anil. They looked very sad.

Suddenly Anil’s wife touched her err-rings. “What about these?” she asked.

“I gave you those on our wedding day,” said Anil.

Anil’s wife took off her err-rings and handed them over to her husband. Anil became sad. Some drops of tears came out of his eyes.

“Sell them in the market,” she said. “We need food.”

Anil was very sad, but he took the earrings and walked off toward the market.

Suddenly he stopped.

“Rain! Rain!” she shouted.

The rain came pouring down.

Now, Murugan would lend me rupees.” Anil said.

He became very happy. 0 0 0.

Juvenile Stories and Essays

Allen and Tapash Uncle

It is 8.30 a.m. Allen is going to school on foot. On the way, he meets his far-off uncle named Tapash.  Listen to the conversation between the two:

Tapash: What is your name, boy?

Allen: My name is Allen.

Tapash: Thank you. What is your father’s name?

Allen: Mr. Sailen Shahu is my Father’s name.

Tapash: O! Sailen Shahu, the Superintendent of Om Academy, is not he?

Allen: Yes.

Tapash: During our college life we were colleagues. Tell him about me. What class are you in?

Allen: I am reading in class III.

Tapash: What school are you in?

Allen: I am reading in Rabbi Model Jatiya Vidhalaya.

Tapash: Who is your Headmaster?

Allen: Mr. Dipen Nath is our Headmaster.

Tapash: How is your father?

Allen: He is well, uncle.

Tapash: What is he doing now-a-days?

Allen: After his retirement, he is doing nothing except reading and writing.

Tapash: How is your mother?

Allen: She is O.K.

Tapash: Mrs. Prabawati is your mother, isn’t she?”

Allen: Yes. How do you know my mother, uncle?

Tapash: Your mother is the daughter of my maternal uncle. Your school bus is coming. Would you ride in it.?

Allen: I don’t go by school bus.

Tapash: Why?

Allen: Our Science teacher says that walking is good exercise and everybody must walk at least up to a distance of five kilometers a day to keep himself healthy and active. Hence I go to school on foot.

Tapash: Thank you, boy. You are wise. Be a better and ideal citizen of our country. Thank you.

Allen: Thank you, uncle. Please visit our home. 0 0 0.

Juvenile Stories and Essays

The Grasshopper and the Ant

In a summer winter, a grasshopper went into the garden of a landlord. There he saw many ants busy carrying loads.

“What are you doing?” said the grasshopper.

“We are hoarding food for the long winter ahead,” the ants said.

The grasshopper laughed at the hardworking ants as they worked day and night.

The grasshopper said to them, “Look at me! I’m as happy as one can be.”

The ants paid no heed to the grasshopper; instead, they kept busy with their work.

Summer ended and the cold winter arrived. The wind began to blow strong and it started snowing. The grasshopper now began to worry.

There is no food, no grass, no flowers, and no leaves. I don’t meet even the tiniest fly or worm. What will I do? What will I eat? I will starve to death!”The grasshopper cried.

He became sad and being hungry he kept sitting on the naked bough of a plant. Suddenly he remembered his neighbour, the ants. Then he slowly walked on. At last, he arrived at the door of his neighbour, the ants. He knocked at the door.

The ants came out of their mound and said, “What do you want, lazy grasshopper?”

The grasshopper replied, “Dear ants, I am hungry. I have nothing to eat. Please could you give me some food?”

The ant shook in anger and said, “Lazy one! What were you doing during the summer? You were only singing and dancing here and there. You should have thought of the cold winter. Go away.”

The ant left the grasshopper there and slammed the door behind it.

The lazy grasshopper became sad than ever before. 0 0 0.

Juvenile Stories and Essays

A House for Ashad

Makib and Ashad are friends. They are of the same age, around seven. They have no permanent house. They live here and there in the coastal region of Mumbai. Makib’s father is a labourer. He works here and there in people’s houses.  Ashad’s father is a rag-picker. When their fathers go to their respective works, Makib and Ashad meet each other. They go to the beach and play almost all day long. They build houses of sand. One day Ashad said to Makib,” Look at it! It is a fine house.”

Makib replied, “Of course! It is the finest house on the beach. But it is made of sand only. Look at the sea. The water is getting closer. Our house will be washed away.”

“Don’t worry! We will make another one,” Ashad replied with a smile.

After a few weeks, Makib’s father left Mumbai for Kanpur in search of a better way of life. In Kanpur Makib’s father got a job as a ward man in a very rich household. He earns two thousand a month. Months passed by. His master made him the chief ward man of his vast household. His salary was raised up to five thousand a month. His lifestyle began to change.

His son, Makib got admitted to a local school. He began to progress in his studies.

With the passing of years, Makib passed his B.A. and got a very attractive job in a multinational company. Within a few years, he became one of the rich people in the locality. He was upgraded to the post of Supervisor of the company. Already he got married and became the father of a child.

One day his wife said to him, “Let us go for a tour to the beach.”

“Good idea,” Makib said. “Where will you like to go?”

“How about going to Mumbai?” His wife said.


One fine morning they set off to Mumbai, the birthplace of Makib. He was happy that after about twenty-five years he was in his home city. After getting off the flight he hired a Maruti van and ordered the driver to drive the van down the beach straight.

When they arrived at the beach, he found that everything had changed within these twenty-five years. But the beach where he used to play with his mates had changed little.

Makib began to walk along the beach. He looked far off the sea. Water….water….water with huge waves.

Suddenly he saw that a man in rags was coming along toward him.

The man was about to cross him, but suddenly he stopped, stared at Makib, and asked, “Makib, is that you?”

Makib dipped in reminiscence, seemed to wake up, and cried, “Oh! Ashad, are you?”

The two friends hugged each other.

“How are you?” Makib asked.

“I am still a pauper, a vagabond. Ashad replied. “Do you remember our sand house?”

“Yes,” said Makib.

After your departure from our city, I alone used to build sand houses on the beach. But the sea wave washed away all of them.” Ashad said with a long sigh.

“Let us build another,”  Makib said.

“Then we must be children again,” Ashad replied.

Makib said,” No, we have grown big now. We can’t be children again to build a sand house. Now we must build a real house not with only sand but also with brick, sand, and cement that the sea cannot wash away.” Makib said.

‘But I have no money, said Ashad.

“I have,” Makib said.

They walked along the beach and sat on the rock. They watched the boats and ships sailing far, far away.

About five months later, their house was ready.

Ashad exclaimed with joy, “It’s really a fine house. The sea cannot wash it away.”

The next morning Makib said to Ashad, “Friend, this house is yours. Live here in peace. Let me leave you. I have to go to my job. Farewell!” 0 0 0.

Juvenile Stories and Essays

Lokpriya Gopinath Bordoloi

Bipul is a beggar. He is also ill for some weeks. He can’t work for physical infirmity. In this world, he has none –neither father nor mother, neither brother nor sister. His kith and kin also avoid him.  For some days he feels so weak that he can hardly walk on. He feels extremely hungry as he is without food for the last two days. At last, he comes out of his hut and walks on.

To quench his hunger he goes from door to door but that day his luck was bad. No one was willing to give him food.

He keeps on walking and at last arrives at the outer courtyard of a seemingly good home. He thinks and says to himself, “Here I may meet my luck. This household seems well off.”

He, feeling weak and tired sits down on the ground and takes some rest. Then with a feeble tone he utters, “Hello, who is at home? Please come out.”

The host of the house was taking bath. Hearing the unfamiliar voice, he comes out with haste and meets the beggar.

“Who are you?” the host asks him.

The beggar replies, “Father, I am a beggar. For two days I am hungry. None has shown me kindness. Please, give me some food.”

Then the host, asking the beggar to wait for a little, goes to the inner courtyard and asks his wife, “Have you heard? Is there some food?”

The hostess said, “There is no more food except yours.”

Then the host goes to the kitchen straight and brings out the plate of food which was kept for himself.

The beggar eats the food staff with much contentment and leaves the home praying to God for the well-being of the host.

The host who gave his share of food to the beggar was none but the first Chief Minister of Assam, Sri Gopinath Bordoloi. He contributed much to the well-being of the people of Assam. For his benevolent deeds, he became so popular among the people of Assam that he was bestowed with the title of ‘Lokpriya’ Gopinath Bordoloi. We may learn a lesson of kindness from his life. 0 0 0.

Juvenile Stories and Essays

Father and Daughter: A Conversation

Daughter: Good morning, Papa.

Father: Good morning, child. What is the time?

Daughter: It’s half past seven.

Father: Please get me the newspaper.

Daughter: I will just get it.

Father: Where is your mother?

Daughter: She is in the kitchen.

Father: What is the special dish today?

Daughter: Fruits, milk, and bread.

Father: Oh, these are my favourite dishes.

Daughter: That is why mother has made them today.

Father: Then I shall get ready soon.

Daughter: Do you remember your promise, Papa?

Father: Which promise?

Daughter: Today is a holiday. So you have to take us all to the zoo.

Father: No dear. I am busy today.

Daughter: But father, I have invited my friends also.

Father: At what time will they come?

Daughter: At 1 A. M.

Father: All right I will try to finish my work by 1 o’clock.

Daughter: Thank you very much, Papa. You are always very nice.

Father: Where is your younger brother, Ripon?

Daughter: He has gone to invite his friends.

Father: Will he also accompany us?

Daughter: Yes Papa.

Father: Have you spoken to your mother regarding today’s program?

Daughter: Yes Pap! She has also agreed to go with us.

Father: Then go and make the necessary arrangements. We will start at 1.30 P. M.

Daughter   : O.K. Papa. 0 0 0.

Juvenile Stories and Essays

Books of Composition by M. Menonimus:

  1. Advertisement Writing
  2. Amplification Writing
  3. Note Making
  4. Paragraph Writing
  5. Notice Writing
  6. Passage Comprehension
  7. The Art of Poster Writing
  8. The Art of Letter Writing
  9. Report Writing
  10. Story Writing
  11. Substance Writing
  12. School Essays Part-I
  13. School Essays Part-II
  14. School English Grammar Part-I
  15. School English Grammar Part-II..

Books of S. Story by M. Menonimus:

  1. The Fugitive Father and Other Stories
  2. The Prostitute and Other Stories
  3. Neha’s Confession
  4. Juvenile Stories and Essays

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I am Menonim Menonimus, a Philosopher & Writer.


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