It was one of those days again. She’d known it from the moment she’d opened her eyes that morn. It hadn’t been a dark and stormy night… rather, it’d been quite pleasant… or so it had seemed thanks to the air conditioner inside her room. She’d wanted to stay in bed until the feeling went away. Dad had always told her never to start a day feeling gloomy. “It’ll only get worse”, he’d said, ruffling her silken black hair and pulling her rounded cheeks to reset the pout on her face into a reluctant smile. The course of your day is usually decided in the first ten minutes after you wake up. If you’re still gloomy by the time you stop shuffling your feet in a half-awake stupor, chances are that you’ll feel gloomy for the rest of the day.
She walked up to the concave porcelain sink in her bathroom and looked into the mirror mounted on the medicine cabinet. Two beetle black almond shaped eyes shot back a glare potent enough to wilt the most beautiful of flowers in an instant. She tried altering her countenance, parting her lips to reveal a toothy smile until she espied a yellow hue amongst the 32 perfectly aligned teeth. It was not very welcoming. The next five minutes were spent rigorously brushing her teeth, especially in the area which sported the bold fashion statement; going against the norm of pearly white and with the more daring yellow. Once done, but still dissatisfied with the outcome, she replaced her brush, splashed some water on to her tanned face and walked out.
Breakfast was quite uneventful. Nobody spoke a word while they munched on the fried eggs and toast her mother had prepared. She poked at the yellow mass on hers with a fork. It wobbled violently as she did so. She frowned a bit, but made no comment. She always liked the yolk on her egg to be hard. Otherwise the yolk burst and flowed all over the plate… reminding her of a substance that was most definitely not palatable.
She downed the meal rapidly. The glass of milk that followed went down with matching celerity. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day”, dad always said… but he hadn’t mentioned that one needed to consume it slowly. After breakfast, she took a shower, got dressed and left for college.
Life at college always had been a blur of friends, the college dogs, the cows, time spent at the local juice center or the nearby garden and a few hours in the lecture halls. During one of those rare hours spent in the lecture halls that day, she was summoned by the HOD; an occurrence that had lesser odds of being good news than having the teachers believe that the college cow had munched down your homework assignment. (The odds of having the cows munch down the homework assignments were pretty high… the college boasted of ten ravenous bovines … the odds of having your teachers believe you… try it for yourself and see).
She nodded as the teacher conveyed the summons to her and, with head bowed, shuffled out of the lecture hall and towards the Department Head’s office five floors above. As she neared the staircase, she happened to glance inside a lecture hall to spy a scene that brought a fleeting smile upon her lips.
What had been intended as a surprise test had turned into utter chaos. Pandemonium reigned as girls attempted to break the sound barrier and guys took advantage of a professor preoccupied with evicting one of the college dogs from the room, and copied answers off each others’ papers. The dog, very much used to the commotion typical of a college presumed that the harassed professor wanted to play with her and waited until he was almost upon her before gamboling away across the room to wait for him once more. One could almost see the mirth on her face with the mouth half open and a pink tongue hanging out as she coiled her legs and wagged her tail furiously, waiting for the professor.
Deciding to intervene, she stepped into the class and approached the dog, a well known acquaintance of hers. On picking up her scent, the dog lost all interest in the professor and bounded towards her, tail still wagging furiously. She slowed down into a kind of welcome dance, describing circles with her forelegs before prancing excitedly around her. The girl bent down and drew the dog into an embrace, drawing her face away when the dog attempted to joyously lubricate it with her tongue. Then, once the creature had calmed down, she placed a gentle kiss on her moist nose (something her mother constantly forbade her from doing… she even attributed her chapped lips to the activity) and picked her up in her arms and, acknowledging the breathless professor’s gratitude with a smile and a nod, carried the creature to the entrance of the college, set her free outside and once again made for the staircase.
On her way to the HOD’s office, she bumped into a few acquaintances and friends from the other departments. Acknowledging each with a toothless smile (wary of the image in her mirror that morning), she mounted the stairs two at a time; a habit attributable to her long legs (she was 5’8). When she reached the fifth floor, she saw her friend Rajat rush by, trying to keep up with a professor who seemed anxious to get rid of him. She heard Rajat say “I’m telling you professor. It was the stupid cow. They oughta have a bell around their neck or something. Bloody buggers sneak up on you and munch on your books while you’re chatting with your friends!! I’ll get you photos if you want!!”
Rajat’s rant brought another fleeting smile to her face. She walked down the corridor to the HOD’s office and knocked on the door.
“Come in.” said a squeaky but firm voice.
She walked into the small 15x10 room furnished with a few chairs and a mahogany desk cluttered with papers, files, paper weights, a pen stand, three mobile phones (obviously confiscated from some hapless students caught using them in the campus; it would cost them 1500 a pop to recover them after a fortnight) and a whoopee cushion that a very irate lecturer had produced about an hour ago. A chocolate brown pendulum clock hung in between two framed degree certificates on the peach colored wall and the floor was covered by a cheap bristly carpet (courtesy the generous college management). Behind the desk sat a short and robust lady with graying hair and a stern face. She wore elliptical reading glasses that balanced on the tip of her nose as she stared over them. Her slightly wrinkled pale hands rested on the glass surface covering the top of her desk. One of them rose up to adjust her glasses as she looked up at the new apparition.
“Ahh… Fareena,” she said softly, indicating with her other hand for the girl to take a seat.
Fareena silently complied, wondering all the while as to why she had been summoned here today. Truth be told, she was much less accustomed to the interiors of the HOD’s office than Rajat was. Her grades were well above average despite the fact that she bunked a considerable number of lectures (though she bunked far less than her peers did). She’d always seen to it that her studies never suffered in her pursuit of fun at college. She rarely ever caused any trouble in class. No pranks, no disturbances. She was polite to everyone… in fact… her friends called her a suck up. Not that it bothered her of course. She cared far more about what her father thought of her than the opinions of her friends. And she could see the obvious pride on his face during PTA’s.
Fareena had always admired her father. Her grandmother had expressed disappointment at the first child in the family being a girl, but her father had never made her feel like a liability. Quite the opposite in fact; he encouraged all of her interests (including dancing despite her grandmother’s eloquent discourse on the topic). He always called her ‘beta’ (son), sending out a clear message to one and all that she was every bit as valuable as a son, if not more so. The last thing she wanted to do was to disappoint him and she knew he’d be disappointed if she’d got into any trouble at college.
She looked up at the light brown eyes of the HOD, waiting for her to break the silence. Finally, the woman spoke.
“Fareena, I’ve called you here because of a matter that has only recently come to my attention,” she said, her tone so soft that she was barely audible.
Fareena tried to recall the events of the previous few days, wondering which of her activities could possibly have resulted in a crime serious enough for her to be summoned to the HOD’s office. She could find none. The HOD went on, obviously not expecting a response.
“Fareena, you should have told me,” said the lady in a rather sad and disappointed tone, “You and all other students in this department are like my children to me.”
The last statement caught Fareena off guard and she found herself blurting out “What?”
The HOD gave her a weak smile, ignoring the rudeness of the question. “Your mother called just now,” she said “She says you need to come down to the hospital right away”.
Fareena’s eyes grew wide and her heartbeat accelerated at the HOD’s words. The HOD lifted her hand and pressed a switch beside her desk. A sharp buzzing noise was heard from outside the door and a peon subsequently walked in.
“Please escort Miss Fareena to the parking lot and have my driver take her to Saifee hospital,” she told the peon.
The ride to the hospital seemed like an eternity to Fareena. Each moment stretching itself to the maximum possible duration before making way for the next one. Each traffic signal seemed excruciatingly long, as her mind raced, pondering what her mother’s request could have indicated. She remembered running up three flights of stairs at the hospital until she reached the waiting room of the deluxe ward. She found her mother waiting there for her, with a distinguished looking middle aged gentleman wearing a white coat and carrying clipboard in his hand. He smiled at her as she burst into the room.
“Hello Fareena!”
“Hello Doctor,” she managed to gasp out.
Her mother waited for her to catch her breath before saying,
“I called up your college as soon as he called…” she said. Fareena nodded, she had wanted to be there.
She looked quizzically at the doctor who nodded and cleared his throat before speaking.
“His cancer was already in the third stage when you came to us,” he paused “I had told you that there wasn’t much time for him even then”
Fareena nodded, unable to speak. Her eyes filled with tears even as she fought to suppress the empty feeling inside her stomach. Her mother gave a short gasp, apparently sensing where the conversation was going. Despite her own internal struggle, Fareena put an arm around her mother and embraced her. The doctor continued.
“But it’s been over a year since then and he’s still fighting,” the doctor admitted with a wry smile. “I’ve never seen someone so determined to live.” He shook his head before finally saying, “Even allah couldn’t take your father from you until he were himself willing to go.”
Fareena flung herself at the doctor, giving him a warm hug before saying “… so… the coughing… the blood… it’s ok? For now I mean? ... Can I go see him?”
The doctor nodded. She ran past him, flung open the door to room 302 and, with tears running down her cheeks uttered a quavery “D…Dad”
The man on the bed turned towards the door and smiled. “Beta” he said, now positively beaming. Fareena needed no further invitation. She tackled the man lying on the bed and sobbed into his chest.
“Hey hey!” he said in a comforting tone, running his hand over her head as she continued sobbing into his chest. He gave his wife a warm smile as she also entered the room and once again turned to his daughter. He lifted her face, stared into her eyes and said, “Wipe those tears off your face… I’m fine!”
Fareena quickly smeared the tear drops onto her cheeks with the back of her hand and gave a half sob-half laugh.
“I was so worried after what happened on Monday. I had such bad dreams!” she admitted.
“They were just dreams beta,” he said reassuringly “I’m not going anywhere.” He stopped to draw a deep breath before continuing.
“Look how you face’s swollen up,” he joked “You look like a mango when you pout.” He then proceeded to pull her cheeks into a toothy smile. Fareena didn’t stop him, she didn’t even care about the yellow hue her teeth had developed. She waited for his next few words. She knew they were coming.
“Never start a day felling gloomy,” he said “it’ll only get worse.”
She nodded and hugged him once again… it wasn’t one of those days after all!
Author’s Note: Fareena’s dad fought lung and spinal cord cancer for five years before finally passing away. (Based on but not identical to the story of a friend’s father)
Friday, July 31, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Unwelcome Enlightenment... (not so good a read)
Life, be it in the 21st century or any of the preceding centuries, is full of mysteries. Some mysteries are such that not even the most brilliant minds manage to explain them, no matter how hard they try. The average person, if there truly exists such a being, would no doubt be utterly perplexed by these enigmas. Then again, there are some mysteries that have so simple an explanation, that the human mind of the 21st century simply rejects them, being accustomed to complex solutions for every problem. After all, if a problem were simple, it would have been solved long ago. How could a question, that had been left unanswered for so long actually have such a simple answer? Somebody probably came across a flaw with the simple explanation, so it would be best for one to keep their mouths shut, lest they be rudely awakened from their dream world by some greater enlightened being.
For example, one can take the concept of time. Nine out of ten people, when asked to define the concept of time would begin with, “Time is… time… I mean something like…” and so on. People are so busy, so lost in their hectic lives, so caught up with managing the precious little time they have in their hands everyday, that they never even stop to consider what this quantity is, that they are so eager to conserve. They don’t mind mingling their body odour with deodorant or their morning breath with mouth fresheners to save a little bit of time. They claim to have realized the value of something whose nature they truly don’t understand.
Nobody knows when the concept of time came into existence. Philosophers still argue over it whenever they’ve run out of less important topics to muse over. But these very philosophers, who admit that even they do not have a complete understanding of this mind-boggling, yet seemingly simple concept, carry on their person a device meant to accurately gauge this vague quantity. Truly, if ever the need arose to redefine the term hypocrisy, these people would certainly have some valuable contributions to make to the cause. However, should need actually arise for such a restructuring of the English language, 18 year old Anand Enandu would have very little to offer to the cause, or any other cause for that matter. He wouldn’t be able to devote the time and energy to any such undertaking. Not on this day, not at this time.
Anand Enandu had quite a sound understanding of the concept of time. While he may not have been able to express the concept effectively enough to lend his understanding to others, his cognition was more than sufficient to vindicate his desire (if need be) to conserve it. However, as is often (and frustratingly so) observed, those in possession of such a rare and elusive treasure are hardly equipped to make good use of it. As was Anand Enandu, for he showed no inclination to quicken his dragging pace as he scraped his worn out heels across the stone paved joggers’ path in the local park. The mid morning sun shone warmly on the wavy black hair that sprang from his oily scalp, inducing him to raise a bony hand and scratch off yet another flake of itchy dandruff. His bloodshot brown eyes scanned the usual morning crowd around him, mostly people who were anxious to lose some of that extra flab around their waists by jogging and likely to end up with stiff limbs in a day or two. Any other person might have found it funny; imagining a person jogging around the park, puffing and panting, pausing every ten seconds to catch their breath, quitting after ten minutes of the ordeal, and heading home hoping to have lost ten Kilos in the process.
More sensible were the people who chose to stride at a brisk pace around the park for half an hour, measuring their weight once in every fortnight. None of this mattered to, nor amused the skinny eighteen year old, who had now managed to shuffle to the park’s corrugated gate. He made his way at just as leisurely a pace back towards his house. He saw the shopkeepers and hawkers opening up for the day, paying no heed to their clamorous calls, shuffling by, with his chin tucked into his chest, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. He crossed the road with no change in velocity, almost being run over by a commuter who had risen early that morning to be able to reach work on time, only to have to waste five precious seconds to avoid hitting an unmindful pedestrian and five more to hurl verbal abuse at the absent minded madcap. The verbal abuse seemed to have had as little an effect on him, as almost being run over by the sleek car.
He passed by the stall of the paanwaala at the corner of the street where he lived and received an earnest invitation from the vendor to be his first customer of the day, however, he declined the offer with a solemn, absent-minded shake of his head. He’d stopped eating paans of late. He shambled ahead in his Bermudas and wrinkled T-shirt that hung from his thin frame, slowly progressing towards the slightly less corrugated gate of his own house, not noticing that his car was no longer parked outside. He paid no attention to the fact that the latch on the gate was out of its place and pushed open the gate. He was still lost in his own world of thoughts as he unlocked the door to his house and reclined on the patchy, old, rexine covered sofa in front of the television. He made no attempt to switch on the gadget, simply leaning back on the ancient piece of furniture with a faraway look on his face. He somehow seemed to have remembered that the device violently discharged electricity from its screen when switched on. His mother had asked the technician to come over and have a look at it, but he too, was taking his own sweet time about it (though his understanding of the concept was nowhere near as accurate as Anand’s). The thought of his mother seemed to bring him back to the present. He remembered that she usually prepared breakfast for him before leaving for work.
Sure enough, he found a double medium fried omelet and four slices of toast waiting for him in a plate on the kitchen counter. He extracted a glass of milk from the fridge and added five drops of filter coffee to the lipid rich liquid, then a sachet of sweetener to the resultant murky brown beverage and carried it, with the plate to the adjacent dining room and set it on the table by the window, taking extra care to place the glass away from the palm leaf patterned cream curtains covering it. As he dispassionately munched the Luke-warm meal with the cold liquid he had forgotten to heat, he felt the curtains brush his bare legs from a draft coming in through the open window. It made his heart skip a beat, causing the toast to remain lodged halfway down his throat for a second longer than normal. Then, recovering, he swallowed, leaving the consumed food at the mercy of his peristaltic esophagus.
Just as he was halfway through his meal, he heard a sound from the kitchen that renewed the goose-bumps on his leg. He got up to investigate, leaving his unfinished meal to grow stone cold on the table, his heart beating faster and louder every second. He entered the kitchen, trying to determine the source of the metallic clang he’d heard. His gaze narrowed on to the steel vessels on the lower shelf as he espied a slight movement among them. He saw a little rat scurry from its hiding place as he shifted a vessel, and into the dark niche next to the dustbin under the kitchen sink. Anand fetched a mug from the bathroom, hoping to overturn the container on the rodent and set it free a few streets away. He stuck his head into the niche and found the rodent huddled up in a dark corner, hoping the new apparition hadn’t noticed him. Anand had noticed him, but made no attempt to displace the unwanted tenant. He now collapsed onto his buttocks, a lump forming in his throat that had nothing to do with the toast he had consumed and tears welling up in his bloodshot brown eyes, distorting his vision. And then, for the umpteenth time in three days, he remembered.
“Give me a smoke,” Anand remembered himself telling the Paanwaala who sat outside the entrance to the State Transport Bus Depot, inserting his left hand into his pocket to withdraw his wallet while his right clutched at an instrument of restraint that was being put to its designated use , though it was rather long as the standard sizes went. He remembered feeling the relief wash over him and filling his lungs with the honey flavoured fumes that licked the walls of his starved lungs as he puffed, contentedly shielded from his mother’s sight or knowledge. He remembered not noticing another person across the street, grasping a similar instrument of restraint, connected at the other end to a creature that seemed to be of great interest to the creature at the end of his own. He remembered raising his head to the sky, preparing for the ‘golden puff’, the ‘cream of the cream’ in his cigarette as his pet made full use of his extra long leash and tried to cross the street to the female at the other end. He remembered not noticing the motorist who seemed to be in a hurry to get to work on time…not at the right time anyway.
As he stared through his tear filled eyes at the distorted view of the packet of commercial dog food and the blood stained nylon leash that his mother had so carefully concealed from his view and remembered some more. He remembered the words of the doctor from the animal hospital. They ripped through his consciousness like the speeding car must have mangled his pet’s flesh. “I’m afraid he’s suffered multiple fractures to his skull, and he’s losing a lot of blood too. There’s not much hope.”
He remembered the furry black rat like creature that used to sit next to him at the break fast table, fanning his legs with his constantly wagging tail. He remembered the adoring black eyes and the cold wet nose that used to greet him every morning at five am; the time for his morning walk. He remembered the squarish head that used to hide itself in his mother’s lap every time he saw the family veterinarian enter the house, hoping the man would disappear if he didn’t look. He remembered the warm, moist tongue that scraped his legs as he gently tickled Ribsir under his paws and the narrow jaw he used to kiss goodnight. He remembered all of these… covered in blood, and as he sobbed, clutching the bloody leash close to his quivering lips, he realized that he would never be able to enjoy those moments again.
He now understood the true value of time. He understood… that it was not something to be measured, but to be treasured, as it made no sense to conserve it if one could not be assured that the time in the future would be as pleasurable as the time in the present. He knew that such moments would never return.
He had found out the hard way. He wished that he had lesser time on his hands now; he wished to be freed of those brief moments that had changed his life and seemed to haunt him all the time.
For example, one can take the concept of time. Nine out of ten people, when asked to define the concept of time would begin with, “Time is… time… I mean something like…” and so on. People are so busy, so lost in their hectic lives, so caught up with managing the precious little time they have in their hands everyday, that they never even stop to consider what this quantity is, that they are so eager to conserve. They don’t mind mingling their body odour with deodorant or their morning breath with mouth fresheners to save a little bit of time. They claim to have realized the value of something whose nature they truly don’t understand.
Nobody knows when the concept of time came into existence. Philosophers still argue over it whenever they’ve run out of less important topics to muse over. But these very philosophers, who admit that even they do not have a complete understanding of this mind-boggling, yet seemingly simple concept, carry on their person a device meant to accurately gauge this vague quantity. Truly, if ever the need arose to redefine the term hypocrisy, these people would certainly have some valuable contributions to make to the cause. However, should need actually arise for such a restructuring of the English language, 18 year old Anand Enandu would have very little to offer to the cause, or any other cause for that matter. He wouldn’t be able to devote the time and energy to any such undertaking. Not on this day, not at this time.
Anand Enandu had quite a sound understanding of the concept of time. While he may not have been able to express the concept effectively enough to lend his understanding to others, his cognition was more than sufficient to vindicate his desire (if need be) to conserve it. However, as is often (and frustratingly so) observed, those in possession of such a rare and elusive treasure are hardly equipped to make good use of it. As was Anand Enandu, for he showed no inclination to quicken his dragging pace as he scraped his worn out heels across the stone paved joggers’ path in the local park. The mid morning sun shone warmly on the wavy black hair that sprang from his oily scalp, inducing him to raise a bony hand and scratch off yet another flake of itchy dandruff. His bloodshot brown eyes scanned the usual morning crowd around him, mostly people who were anxious to lose some of that extra flab around their waists by jogging and likely to end up with stiff limbs in a day or two. Any other person might have found it funny; imagining a person jogging around the park, puffing and panting, pausing every ten seconds to catch their breath, quitting after ten minutes of the ordeal, and heading home hoping to have lost ten Kilos in the process.
More sensible were the people who chose to stride at a brisk pace around the park for half an hour, measuring their weight once in every fortnight. None of this mattered to, nor amused the skinny eighteen year old, who had now managed to shuffle to the park’s corrugated gate. He made his way at just as leisurely a pace back towards his house. He saw the shopkeepers and hawkers opening up for the day, paying no heed to their clamorous calls, shuffling by, with his chin tucked into his chest, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. He crossed the road with no change in velocity, almost being run over by a commuter who had risen early that morning to be able to reach work on time, only to have to waste five precious seconds to avoid hitting an unmindful pedestrian and five more to hurl verbal abuse at the absent minded madcap. The verbal abuse seemed to have had as little an effect on him, as almost being run over by the sleek car.
He passed by the stall of the paanwaala at the corner of the street where he lived and received an earnest invitation from the vendor to be his first customer of the day, however, he declined the offer with a solemn, absent-minded shake of his head. He’d stopped eating paans of late. He shambled ahead in his Bermudas and wrinkled T-shirt that hung from his thin frame, slowly progressing towards the slightly less corrugated gate of his own house, not noticing that his car was no longer parked outside. He paid no attention to the fact that the latch on the gate was out of its place and pushed open the gate. He was still lost in his own world of thoughts as he unlocked the door to his house and reclined on the patchy, old, rexine covered sofa in front of the television. He made no attempt to switch on the gadget, simply leaning back on the ancient piece of furniture with a faraway look on his face. He somehow seemed to have remembered that the device violently discharged electricity from its screen when switched on. His mother had asked the technician to come over and have a look at it, but he too, was taking his own sweet time about it (though his understanding of the concept was nowhere near as accurate as Anand’s). The thought of his mother seemed to bring him back to the present. He remembered that she usually prepared breakfast for him before leaving for work.
Sure enough, he found a double medium fried omelet and four slices of toast waiting for him in a plate on the kitchen counter. He extracted a glass of milk from the fridge and added five drops of filter coffee to the lipid rich liquid, then a sachet of sweetener to the resultant murky brown beverage and carried it, with the plate to the adjacent dining room and set it on the table by the window, taking extra care to place the glass away from the palm leaf patterned cream curtains covering it. As he dispassionately munched the Luke-warm meal with the cold liquid he had forgotten to heat, he felt the curtains brush his bare legs from a draft coming in through the open window. It made his heart skip a beat, causing the toast to remain lodged halfway down his throat for a second longer than normal. Then, recovering, he swallowed, leaving the consumed food at the mercy of his peristaltic esophagus.
Just as he was halfway through his meal, he heard a sound from the kitchen that renewed the goose-bumps on his leg. He got up to investigate, leaving his unfinished meal to grow stone cold on the table, his heart beating faster and louder every second. He entered the kitchen, trying to determine the source of the metallic clang he’d heard. His gaze narrowed on to the steel vessels on the lower shelf as he espied a slight movement among them. He saw a little rat scurry from its hiding place as he shifted a vessel, and into the dark niche next to the dustbin under the kitchen sink. Anand fetched a mug from the bathroom, hoping to overturn the container on the rodent and set it free a few streets away. He stuck his head into the niche and found the rodent huddled up in a dark corner, hoping the new apparition hadn’t noticed him. Anand had noticed him, but made no attempt to displace the unwanted tenant. He now collapsed onto his buttocks, a lump forming in his throat that had nothing to do with the toast he had consumed and tears welling up in his bloodshot brown eyes, distorting his vision. And then, for the umpteenth time in three days, he remembered.
“Give me a smoke,” Anand remembered himself telling the Paanwaala who sat outside the entrance to the State Transport Bus Depot, inserting his left hand into his pocket to withdraw his wallet while his right clutched at an instrument of restraint that was being put to its designated use , though it was rather long as the standard sizes went. He remembered feeling the relief wash over him and filling his lungs with the honey flavoured fumes that licked the walls of his starved lungs as he puffed, contentedly shielded from his mother’s sight or knowledge. He remembered not noticing another person across the street, grasping a similar instrument of restraint, connected at the other end to a creature that seemed to be of great interest to the creature at the end of his own. He remembered raising his head to the sky, preparing for the ‘golden puff’, the ‘cream of the cream’ in his cigarette as his pet made full use of his extra long leash and tried to cross the street to the female at the other end. He remembered not noticing the motorist who seemed to be in a hurry to get to work on time…not at the right time anyway.
As he stared through his tear filled eyes at the distorted view of the packet of commercial dog food and the blood stained nylon leash that his mother had so carefully concealed from his view and remembered some more. He remembered the words of the doctor from the animal hospital. They ripped through his consciousness like the speeding car must have mangled his pet’s flesh. “I’m afraid he’s suffered multiple fractures to his skull, and he’s losing a lot of blood too. There’s not much hope.”
He remembered the furry black rat like creature that used to sit next to him at the break fast table, fanning his legs with his constantly wagging tail. He remembered the adoring black eyes and the cold wet nose that used to greet him every morning at five am; the time for his morning walk. He remembered the squarish head that used to hide itself in his mother’s lap every time he saw the family veterinarian enter the house, hoping the man would disappear if he didn’t look. He remembered the warm, moist tongue that scraped his legs as he gently tickled Ribsir under his paws and the narrow jaw he used to kiss goodnight. He remembered all of these… covered in blood, and as he sobbed, clutching the bloody leash close to his quivering lips, he realized that he would never be able to enjoy those moments again.
He now understood the true value of time. He understood… that it was not something to be measured, but to be treasured, as it made no sense to conserve it if one could not be assured that the time in the future would be as pleasurable as the time in the present. He knew that such moments would never return.
He had found out the hard way. He wished that he had lesser time on his hands now; he wished to be freed of those brief moments that had changed his life and seemed to haunt him all the time.
The Boy Under The Sun
Progress is indeed a funny word as most feel. What seems like progress to one person may seem totally regressive to another. The same person may find this progress undesirable some future day. For two people tied back to back, one’s steps in the forward direction are backward for the other. In other words, progress is relative. It is relative to the person, the place, the time, the date, the season and so many other aspects of our existence that make this universe so complex. A universe so complex in fact that it’s complexity escapes us entirely, or we choose to block it out. After all, we have better things to do than wonder about the complexity of the universe. So too did the sun, that cold January morning as it rose over a slightly cold city in southern India. Slightly cold because the sun was never around to see it when it was bitterly cold, just as it is never around on a pitch black night. This too is part of the complexity of the universe. The sun crept slowly along the skyline, appearing to be drawing further away from the filth that existed in the city, yet smiling warmly on the more decent inhabitants. The warm rays penetrating the darkness of the previous night made the cold grow slighter, until one actually felt that the temperature was quite pleasant. If one could only stand in those wonderful patches of sunlight for ever, feeling the bliss that comes over a person when immersed in that warmth up to their shoulders; but one cannot. The complex universe wasn’t designed so that one could simply while away their time. Anyone whiling away their time in this manner would simply feel their backs grow warm and then hot to a degree that is unbearable. Then, they would move on to do something else and allow the sun to move on as well, smiling down on the decent life-forms in another part of the world while yet, keeping aloof from its filth, both being a part of this complex universe.
None of this seemed to occur to the ignorant mind of the little boy who was one of the inhabitants of the city which was by now, pleasantly warm. He seemed totally preoccupied with the complexity of his very simple life, lost in his simple little world as he stole out of the back-door to his house and made his way to the gutter in front of the back-door to his house. It was quite clear that he intended to go only to that specific gutter despite there being plenty of gutters near his house. There was one across the street in front of his front door and one on either side of his house, in front of where the side doors should have been; only there were none as this was quite a simple house situated in a complex city. The gutter behind the boy’s front door ran along the perimeter of the compound wall behind his house. It parted ways with the compound wall when it changed direction to envelop the sides of the house because there were already gutters there to accompany the compound wall. It went under the compound wall and remained underground for a few feet before it emerged into the next compound and traversed its length. The gutter actually held no significance to the ignorant eleven year old boy who was preoccupied with the complexities of his simple little world. He was more interested in a bundle of dirty looking rags that lay inside that gutter. Now this would seem quite odd to anyone else present there, had anyone been present there, because the boy was adequately dressed, even if his clothes were quite simple and he constantly had to pull his pants up to his waistline. Unfortunately, no one else was present there as they had other things to do than investigate the interest of this simple little boy in that gutter. The boy extended his hand towards the dirty bundle of rags and poked it, waiting with bated breath for something to happen. The ignorance of the boy was quite apparent from this action, for no simple bundle of rags would respond to being poked. However, for one of the reasons that make this universe so complex, the bundle stirred. The complexity of this phenomenon failed to register on the boy’s rudimentary mind. On the contrary, it brought a smile to his lips as he moved his hand towards his pants which had slipped back down his waist. He made no attempt to pull them back up. Instead, he slipped his hand into his pocket. With his other hand, he undid this simple looking, but ever so strange bundle. The reason for the bundle’s response to the boy’s poking became quite clear the boy undid it. In the depths of that simple bundle, lay a small pup. Its eyes had yet not opened. What the pup was doing in that gutter when it should have been with its mother is a question that is too complex to answer. What was important was simply that it was now in the gutter. The boy withdrew a soggy piece of sponge from his pocket. He proceeded to extract a small carton of flavoured milk from his other pocket. He dipped the sponge into the carton of flavoured milk and squeezed the absorbed milk into the pup’s mouth The pup instinctively tried to suck some more milk out of the sponge, but the ignorant little boy withdrew the sponge before it could do so, dipping it once again in milk and squeezing its contents down the pup’s throat. He repeated this process until the carton of milk had been spent. Then, he stuffed the empty carton and sponge back into his pockets and closed the bundle over the pup, leaving just enough of a gap to permit air to enter without the pup’s whimpers to be audible. He then made his way back into the house through the back door in front of the gutter. He disposed of the carton of flavoured milk in the dustbin in the corner of the kitchen where it lay along with other similar cartons. He went into the drawing room of the house, where his father was seated, trying to make sense of the news that appeared in the papers almost everyday. The boy clambered onto his father’s lap, not knowing how busy a man his father was, still lost in his simple little life.
“Father,” said he “Could you get me some more of that flavoured milk in the evening? I really like it very much.” The father smiled, pleased that his son’s simple little mind had at-least been able to comprehend what eluded the minds of most other children; that milk can also be enjoyed as a drink. He assured his son that he would bring more of the flavoured milk that evening and, after unseating his son from his lap, was once again lost in his complex world. The boy, now satisfied that he would receive a constant supply of flavoured milk, went inside his room to get ready for school. His day at school was quite uneventful. The teachers attempted to introduce new concepts into the minds of the children while the students, in turn chose to pay all their attention to everything other than the teacher. This continued until the peon rang the bell, when all the students turned their attention to the teacher to make sure he or she left the class, and resumed their activities when the next teacher entered. This went on until the school hours drew to a close and the children were allowed to go home. The boy too, went straight home. He crossed the street in front of his front door and knocked on the front door of his house. He entered only after the door was opened and let the maid close it behind him. He let the maid fuss about the state of his clothes and unlike most kids, patiently cooperated with the maid, washing his limbs and face and putting on fresh clothes. Then, without the patience which he had displayed just moments ago with the maid, he dashed impatiently over to the refrigerator and saw to his utter delight, that his father had indeed replenished his supply of flavoured milk. Then, once again displaying great patience, he waited until the maid retired to her quarters and stole out of the back door to feed the pup.
The sun had begun to set by the time the boy made his way back through his backdoor. He went back into his room to complete the homework assigned to him that day. He wasn’t really studious by nature, but he knew that he would be allowed to stay up longer if he did his homework without being told to. After all, he had to pay another visit to the pup that night. The pup was hardly a week and a half in age. Most mothers do not venture far from their offspring when they are of such a vulnerable age, leave alone allowing little boys to foster them. So it was quite unlikely that the little boy had carried the pup away from its mother, or that the pup itself had wandered away and wrapped itself in a bundle, leaving just enough of a gap to allow itself to breathe. Still, the pup was in this gutter, wrapped in a bundle, unaccounted for by anyone but this simple little boy in his complex little world. The explanation to this strange occurrence lay in another gutter about half a mile down the road in front of the front door to the boy’s house. It had lain there for four nights and four days now. It had occurred to no one to do anything else but to allow it to lie there. How it came to be lying there was a different story altogether…
This story began about five days ago. The same little boy with the loose pants but otherwise, well nourished frame could be seen sitting in the previously mentioned ditch, only instead of one, there were five frames in the ditch. One of these frames was obviously of this well nourished boy with the loose pants who was lost in the complexities of his simple little universe. The other four frames (as I think there are left if I’ve been able to divert enough of my concentration from my complex universe to my math) belonged to a dog (a lactating mother) and her three pups. The boy could be seen lovingly stroking the dog’s head while the latter simply rested her head on his lap, eyes shut in contentment, lazily enjoying the caress. The boy seemed to be equally satisfied with petting the dog as he showed no signs of wanting to get up. If given the opportunity, he would probably have been at it for days, months, maybe even years at a stretch. He wouldn’t have been able to stretch it much further than a decade as dogs do not have a life-span of two decades and we usually do not measure time in decades if it has not surpassed two of the units. This was due, not to the complexity of the human mind, but of the human metric system. The pups too had their eyes shut, but hardly due to contentment. Being just a few days in age, their eyes had not yet opened and their activities were limited to whimpering, drinking milk and sleeping. They would not have been able to carry this activity on for more than a few weeks as their eyes would have opened by then. Soon they would learn to walk, grow teeth, start fighting their siblings, mark their territories and so on… this being credited to one of the laws of the universally accepted complex universe. The bottom line was that everyone in that ditch was quite content at that time. So content in fact, that they did not even notice the boy’s father approach them. The mother of the pups was at first uncertain of the intentions of the newcomer and greeted him with a low growl. Then, smelling a hint of the boy’s scent on the apparition withdrew the growl and initiated a feeble tail wag. The boy looked up into his father’s face, his face filled with uncertainty. His father simply smiled back and said, “So this is where you disappear every morning. It’s nice to see you’ve made a new friend.” If the expression ‘jumping for joy’ had ever left anyone confused, their doubts would have been laid to rest, had they been present to see the boy leap out of the ditch and hug his father around the middle (he wasn’t tall enough to reach the top yet). Unfortunately, no such people were present as they were too busy referring to complex grammar dictionaries. The boy and his father fetched some biscuits to feed the lactating mother and then headed back home (The boy, to get ready for school and his father, to get ready for his daily work routine).
After school that day, the boy once again visited the family of four residing in the ditch. The mother greeted him with as hearty a tail-wag as she could manage without disturbing her offspring, while the latter chose to ignore the boy, not being able to see him, and continued to suck milk. It didn’t disturb the boy that his pants (now held securely in place by means of a belt) and shirt were getting soiled inside the ditch. What mattered to him was the adoring look in the dog’s eyes as she raised them to his. The thumps that were issued every time the tail hit the ground were a constant reminder of the faith and trust she had in the boy. Truly, a wiser person would have avoided the ditch as lactating mothers are known to be fiercely protective (and not just of the canine variety though these are ever more so). What the boy saw in the dog, one could never say. His neighbour wrinkled his nose from the smell of the un-bathed creature every time he passed by there. He looked disapprovingly at the scruffy animal, remembering his prize-winning cocker spaniel. The boy however, adored the animal. He found solace in its company. He would narrate his day’s events to the animal and it would provide him with a set of patient ears while he poured out his heart. Then, he would feed her some of his left-over lunch and head back home. He had been doing this for almost three weeks now. The feel of her tongue, licking his fingers to express gratitude, and her cold nose poking him to offer comfort were all the dog was capable of to convey her feelings. Needless to say these alone were more than sufficient for the boy. Like everyday, he headed back home after a while, knowing that the maid would yet again fuss about the state of his clothes and that his father would once again come to his rescue. Most importantly, he knew that it was all worth the trouble. He planned to sneak another visit to the dog that night, with leftovers from dinner.
That night was not like every other night. A few minutes after the boy had left the dog and it’s litter, the dog left the side of it’s offspring. Why it did so is as good a guess for you as it is for me, but so it did. She had not gone far when the cries of her progeny reached her ears. A group of young hooligans, on spotting the unguarded litter had decided to have some fun with them by tossing them up and down. The re-appearance of the mother though, cut short their pleasure. One of the petrified youths slowly and carefully set the pup in his hand back into the ditch while the other two threw the ones in their hand up into the air and ran for dear life. It is quite needless and painful to mention what became of the two tossed into the air. The mother, on seeing the youths run, chased after them and, being obviously faster, managed to overtake and inflict some vicious nips on each one’s hindquarters. The third youth made off in the opposite direction, taking care to wash his legs at the first source of water he encountered. While the mother returned to her family, the two injured youths were taken to the hospital where, while being administered tetanus and what-not shots (amidst yells of ‘mommy’) they provided a detailed account to the people present there of how a vicious rabid mongrel residing in a ditch near 11th cross in 1st main had assaulted them unprovoked. Needless to say, a party was formed to find this mongrel and deal with it. Find it they did as well, and when the mongrel, already disturbed from the loss of two offspring lunged at them to defend the last, she was met with sticks, stones, ropes and hatchets. A brief one-sided struggle ensued, after which the crowd cleared away, apparently satisfied, leaving a profusely injured mother bleeding in a ditch next to her last child.
The boy did visit the mother that night and on seeing her condition, burst into tears. He ran home to fetch his mother who had hitherto provided an answer to all of his problems. His mother arrived at the scene as did his father. Both were quite disturbed at seeing the condition of the dog as well as that of their son. A vet was summoned. On arrival though, he informed those present that the dog was rabid and had hence, been attacked. The parents had to work hard to restrain the body of their well nourished child of eleven in loose pyjamas, who was hurling curses (that his parents had tried to eliminate from his vocabulary) at the doctor. The father offered the abused a substantial sum of money to do whatever he could for the animal which was flatly refused. The veterinarian then went back to bed. The boy cradled the dog’s head, taking it into his lap, tears rolling down his cheeks. He fetched band-aids from the house and tried to, as best as he could, cover the animal’s lacerations with them. He then insisted that his mother kiss each and every band-aid as she had done for him to ‘make it better’. The mother, seeing the anguish of her child, readily complied. A blanket was fetched from the house to make the animal more comfortable and then, she was left alone with her last child once again.
The boy and his parents slept uneasily that night, tossing and turning until physical and mental fatigue allowed them to snuggle up in Morpheus’s blanket. The dog too, was first uncomfortable, but then was overtaken by a serene, blissful stupor. During her last conscious moments, she ensured that the bulk of her child’s body was covered by the boy’s blanket. Then, recalling all the happy times of her in the boy’s lap, when she was being caressed by him and when she was caressing her young ones, the time she had first met him and finally, the last image she had had of his face along with that of her children’s, the former mother of three and later mother of one passed on to the next world with a painful howl.
The next morning, before the sun was up, the boy woke up, took some bread out of the fridge, climbed out of his window and ran over to the ditch where the dog lay. He found her lying stiff. He squatted down beside her and held out the bread to her. Then, supposing that her injuries made it too painful to move her neck, inserted it into her mouth, then powdered the bread and stuffed it down her throat. He called out her name, stroked her head, tickled her tummy and asked her how she expected to get better if she wouldn’t eat. When he still encountered no response, he ran back home, panicking. The boy’s parents had shielded him from death until then. It appeared that they could do so no longer. As the boy sat with his parents, next to his faithful friend, his parents tried to explain as gently as they could as to what had really happened. The goal was not reached very effectively. The boy’s mother sobbed in her husband’s arms, seeing the condition of her child, who had taken his friend into his and applied her head to his chest. They wept there for an hour, none moving, and none getting up. At times, a minute quantity of gas escaping the animal’s stomach made the boy jump and exclaim she was still alive, only to have his hopes dashed and to once again bawl at the top of his lungs. Then, his father took him into his arms and led the sniffling pair of mother and son back to their house. The body was left there as one was not encouraged to claim the bodies of rabid animals. A few hours later, a little boy with a schoolbag on his back slipped into the ditch, picked up the last descendant of his friend and made his way back home.
The boy’s parents, who were afraid the incident would permanently scar the boy’s mind, were pleased to see that he had almost forgotten the incident so soon and had taken to spending his spare time in the backyard. They decided to leave him to his devices. The boy thus managed to care for the last child of the friend he had loved so much. The simple little boy, who was well nourished and wore loose pants, was lost once again in his simple life in a complex universe, caring for another friend while the sun smiled warmly upon his back.
By Raghav Rao.
None of this seemed to occur to the ignorant mind of the little boy who was one of the inhabitants of the city which was by now, pleasantly warm. He seemed totally preoccupied with the complexity of his very simple life, lost in his simple little world as he stole out of the back-door to his house and made his way to the gutter in front of the back-door to his house. It was quite clear that he intended to go only to that specific gutter despite there being plenty of gutters near his house. There was one across the street in front of his front door and one on either side of his house, in front of where the side doors should have been; only there were none as this was quite a simple house situated in a complex city. The gutter behind the boy’s front door ran along the perimeter of the compound wall behind his house. It parted ways with the compound wall when it changed direction to envelop the sides of the house because there were already gutters there to accompany the compound wall. It went under the compound wall and remained underground for a few feet before it emerged into the next compound and traversed its length. The gutter actually held no significance to the ignorant eleven year old boy who was preoccupied with the complexities of his simple little world. He was more interested in a bundle of dirty looking rags that lay inside that gutter. Now this would seem quite odd to anyone else present there, had anyone been present there, because the boy was adequately dressed, even if his clothes were quite simple and he constantly had to pull his pants up to his waistline. Unfortunately, no one else was present there as they had other things to do than investigate the interest of this simple little boy in that gutter. The boy extended his hand towards the dirty bundle of rags and poked it, waiting with bated breath for something to happen. The ignorance of the boy was quite apparent from this action, for no simple bundle of rags would respond to being poked. However, for one of the reasons that make this universe so complex, the bundle stirred. The complexity of this phenomenon failed to register on the boy’s rudimentary mind. On the contrary, it brought a smile to his lips as he moved his hand towards his pants which had slipped back down his waist. He made no attempt to pull them back up. Instead, he slipped his hand into his pocket. With his other hand, he undid this simple looking, but ever so strange bundle. The reason for the bundle’s response to the boy’s poking became quite clear the boy undid it. In the depths of that simple bundle, lay a small pup. Its eyes had yet not opened. What the pup was doing in that gutter when it should have been with its mother is a question that is too complex to answer. What was important was simply that it was now in the gutter. The boy withdrew a soggy piece of sponge from his pocket. He proceeded to extract a small carton of flavoured milk from his other pocket. He dipped the sponge into the carton of flavoured milk and squeezed the absorbed milk into the pup’s mouth The pup instinctively tried to suck some more milk out of the sponge, but the ignorant little boy withdrew the sponge before it could do so, dipping it once again in milk and squeezing its contents down the pup’s throat. He repeated this process until the carton of milk had been spent. Then, he stuffed the empty carton and sponge back into his pockets and closed the bundle over the pup, leaving just enough of a gap to permit air to enter without the pup’s whimpers to be audible. He then made his way back into the house through the back door in front of the gutter. He disposed of the carton of flavoured milk in the dustbin in the corner of the kitchen where it lay along with other similar cartons. He went into the drawing room of the house, where his father was seated, trying to make sense of the news that appeared in the papers almost everyday. The boy clambered onto his father’s lap, not knowing how busy a man his father was, still lost in his simple little life.
“Father,” said he “Could you get me some more of that flavoured milk in the evening? I really like it very much.” The father smiled, pleased that his son’s simple little mind had at-least been able to comprehend what eluded the minds of most other children; that milk can also be enjoyed as a drink. He assured his son that he would bring more of the flavoured milk that evening and, after unseating his son from his lap, was once again lost in his complex world. The boy, now satisfied that he would receive a constant supply of flavoured milk, went inside his room to get ready for school. His day at school was quite uneventful. The teachers attempted to introduce new concepts into the minds of the children while the students, in turn chose to pay all their attention to everything other than the teacher. This continued until the peon rang the bell, when all the students turned their attention to the teacher to make sure he or she left the class, and resumed their activities when the next teacher entered. This went on until the school hours drew to a close and the children were allowed to go home. The boy too, went straight home. He crossed the street in front of his front door and knocked on the front door of his house. He entered only after the door was opened and let the maid close it behind him. He let the maid fuss about the state of his clothes and unlike most kids, patiently cooperated with the maid, washing his limbs and face and putting on fresh clothes. Then, without the patience which he had displayed just moments ago with the maid, he dashed impatiently over to the refrigerator and saw to his utter delight, that his father had indeed replenished his supply of flavoured milk. Then, once again displaying great patience, he waited until the maid retired to her quarters and stole out of the back door to feed the pup.
The sun had begun to set by the time the boy made his way back through his backdoor. He went back into his room to complete the homework assigned to him that day. He wasn’t really studious by nature, but he knew that he would be allowed to stay up longer if he did his homework without being told to. After all, he had to pay another visit to the pup that night. The pup was hardly a week and a half in age. Most mothers do not venture far from their offspring when they are of such a vulnerable age, leave alone allowing little boys to foster them. So it was quite unlikely that the little boy had carried the pup away from its mother, or that the pup itself had wandered away and wrapped itself in a bundle, leaving just enough of a gap to allow itself to breathe. Still, the pup was in this gutter, wrapped in a bundle, unaccounted for by anyone but this simple little boy in his complex little world. The explanation to this strange occurrence lay in another gutter about half a mile down the road in front of the front door to the boy’s house. It had lain there for four nights and four days now. It had occurred to no one to do anything else but to allow it to lie there. How it came to be lying there was a different story altogether…
This story began about five days ago. The same little boy with the loose pants but otherwise, well nourished frame could be seen sitting in the previously mentioned ditch, only instead of one, there were five frames in the ditch. One of these frames was obviously of this well nourished boy with the loose pants who was lost in the complexities of his simple little universe. The other four frames (as I think there are left if I’ve been able to divert enough of my concentration from my complex universe to my math) belonged to a dog (a lactating mother) and her three pups. The boy could be seen lovingly stroking the dog’s head while the latter simply rested her head on his lap, eyes shut in contentment, lazily enjoying the caress. The boy seemed to be equally satisfied with petting the dog as he showed no signs of wanting to get up. If given the opportunity, he would probably have been at it for days, months, maybe even years at a stretch. He wouldn’t have been able to stretch it much further than a decade as dogs do not have a life-span of two decades and we usually do not measure time in decades if it has not surpassed two of the units. This was due, not to the complexity of the human mind, but of the human metric system. The pups too had their eyes shut, but hardly due to contentment. Being just a few days in age, their eyes had not yet opened and their activities were limited to whimpering, drinking milk and sleeping. They would not have been able to carry this activity on for more than a few weeks as their eyes would have opened by then. Soon they would learn to walk, grow teeth, start fighting their siblings, mark their territories and so on… this being credited to one of the laws of the universally accepted complex universe. The bottom line was that everyone in that ditch was quite content at that time. So content in fact, that they did not even notice the boy’s father approach them. The mother of the pups was at first uncertain of the intentions of the newcomer and greeted him with a low growl. Then, smelling a hint of the boy’s scent on the apparition withdrew the growl and initiated a feeble tail wag. The boy looked up into his father’s face, his face filled with uncertainty. His father simply smiled back and said, “So this is where you disappear every morning. It’s nice to see you’ve made a new friend.” If the expression ‘jumping for joy’ had ever left anyone confused, their doubts would have been laid to rest, had they been present to see the boy leap out of the ditch and hug his father around the middle (he wasn’t tall enough to reach the top yet). Unfortunately, no such people were present as they were too busy referring to complex grammar dictionaries. The boy and his father fetched some biscuits to feed the lactating mother and then headed back home (The boy, to get ready for school and his father, to get ready for his daily work routine).
After school that day, the boy once again visited the family of four residing in the ditch. The mother greeted him with as hearty a tail-wag as she could manage without disturbing her offspring, while the latter chose to ignore the boy, not being able to see him, and continued to suck milk. It didn’t disturb the boy that his pants (now held securely in place by means of a belt) and shirt were getting soiled inside the ditch. What mattered to him was the adoring look in the dog’s eyes as she raised them to his. The thumps that were issued every time the tail hit the ground were a constant reminder of the faith and trust she had in the boy. Truly, a wiser person would have avoided the ditch as lactating mothers are known to be fiercely protective (and not just of the canine variety though these are ever more so). What the boy saw in the dog, one could never say. His neighbour wrinkled his nose from the smell of the un-bathed creature every time he passed by there. He looked disapprovingly at the scruffy animal, remembering his prize-winning cocker spaniel. The boy however, adored the animal. He found solace in its company. He would narrate his day’s events to the animal and it would provide him with a set of patient ears while he poured out his heart. Then, he would feed her some of his left-over lunch and head back home. He had been doing this for almost three weeks now. The feel of her tongue, licking his fingers to express gratitude, and her cold nose poking him to offer comfort were all the dog was capable of to convey her feelings. Needless to say these alone were more than sufficient for the boy. Like everyday, he headed back home after a while, knowing that the maid would yet again fuss about the state of his clothes and that his father would once again come to his rescue. Most importantly, he knew that it was all worth the trouble. He planned to sneak another visit to the dog that night, with leftovers from dinner.
That night was not like every other night. A few minutes after the boy had left the dog and it’s litter, the dog left the side of it’s offspring. Why it did so is as good a guess for you as it is for me, but so it did. She had not gone far when the cries of her progeny reached her ears. A group of young hooligans, on spotting the unguarded litter had decided to have some fun with them by tossing them up and down. The re-appearance of the mother though, cut short their pleasure. One of the petrified youths slowly and carefully set the pup in his hand back into the ditch while the other two threw the ones in their hand up into the air and ran for dear life. It is quite needless and painful to mention what became of the two tossed into the air. The mother, on seeing the youths run, chased after them and, being obviously faster, managed to overtake and inflict some vicious nips on each one’s hindquarters. The third youth made off in the opposite direction, taking care to wash his legs at the first source of water he encountered. While the mother returned to her family, the two injured youths were taken to the hospital where, while being administered tetanus and what-not shots (amidst yells of ‘mommy’) they provided a detailed account to the people present there of how a vicious rabid mongrel residing in a ditch near 11th cross in 1st main had assaulted them unprovoked. Needless to say, a party was formed to find this mongrel and deal with it. Find it they did as well, and when the mongrel, already disturbed from the loss of two offspring lunged at them to defend the last, she was met with sticks, stones, ropes and hatchets. A brief one-sided struggle ensued, after which the crowd cleared away, apparently satisfied, leaving a profusely injured mother bleeding in a ditch next to her last child.
The boy did visit the mother that night and on seeing her condition, burst into tears. He ran home to fetch his mother who had hitherto provided an answer to all of his problems. His mother arrived at the scene as did his father. Both were quite disturbed at seeing the condition of the dog as well as that of their son. A vet was summoned. On arrival though, he informed those present that the dog was rabid and had hence, been attacked. The parents had to work hard to restrain the body of their well nourished child of eleven in loose pyjamas, who was hurling curses (that his parents had tried to eliminate from his vocabulary) at the doctor. The father offered the abused a substantial sum of money to do whatever he could for the animal which was flatly refused. The veterinarian then went back to bed. The boy cradled the dog’s head, taking it into his lap, tears rolling down his cheeks. He fetched band-aids from the house and tried to, as best as he could, cover the animal’s lacerations with them. He then insisted that his mother kiss each and every band-aid as she had done for him to ‘make it better’. The mother, seeing the anguish of her child, readily complied. A blanket was fetched from the house to make the animal more comfortable and then, she was left alone with her last child once again.
The boy and his parents slept uneasily that night, tossing and turning until physical and mental fatigue allowed them to snuggle up in Morpheus’s blanket. The dog too, was first uncomfortable, but then was overtaken by a serene, blissful stupor. During her last conscious moments, she ensured that the bulk of her child’s body was covered by the boy’s blanket. Then, recalling all the happy times of her in the boy’s lap, when she was being caressed by him and when she was caressing her young ones, the time she had first met him and finally, the last image she had had of his face along with that of her children’s, the former mother of three and later mother of one passed on to the next world with a painful howl.
The next morning, before the sun was up, the boy woke up, took some bread out of the fridge, climbed out of his window and ran over to the ditch where the dog lay. He found her lying stiff. He squatted down beside her and held out the bread to her. Then, supposing that her injuries made it too painful to move her neck, inserted it into her mouth, then powdered the bread and stuffed it down her throat. He called out her name, stroked her head, tickled her tummy and asked her how she expected to get better if she wouldn’t eat. When he still encountered no response, he ran back home, panicking. The boy’s parents had shielded him from death until then. It appeared that they could do so no longer. As the boy sat with his parents, next to his faithful friend, his parents tried to explain as gently as they could as to what had really happened. The goal was not reached very effectively. The boy’s mother sobbed in her husband’s arms, seeing the condition of her child, who had taken his friend into his and applied her head to his chest. They wept there for an hour, none moving, and none getting up. At times, a minute quantity of gas escaping the animal’s stomach made the boy jump and exclaim she was still alive, only to have his hopes dashed and to once again bawl at the top of his lungs. Then, his father took him into his arms and led the sniffling pair of mother and son back to their house. The body was left there as one was not encouraged to claim the bodies of rabid animals. A few hours later, a little boy with a schoolbag on his back slipped into the ditch, picked up the last descendant of his friend and made his way back home.
The boy’s parents, who were afraid the incident would permanently scar the boy’s mind, were pleased to see that he had almost forgotten the incident so soon and had taken to spending his spare time in the backyard. They decided to leave him to his devices. The boy thus managed to care for the last child of the friend he had loved so much. The simple little boy, who was well nourished and wore loose pants, was lost once again in his simple life in a complex universe, caring for another friend while the sun smiled warmly upon his back.
By Raghav Rao.
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