Not A Boy's Ride

We all grow-up in our own environments. We grow under the safety of a roof; get nurtured by the comfort and warmth we call home. Yet, we quarrel over our rights, the privileges due to us, and keep complaining over what we do not get from life. But what if we were given little or no choices in our childhood? Instead of a roof of trust, walls of dependability and love, we had to look up to the sky to proclaim our existence? What if we wake up one fine morning and discover that we had to grow up instantly?

This a the story of a boy who has dreams just like us, except that he lives in a world we care to know about only in news headlines. We love to storm our tea cups over the plight of these children and fight over our ideologies trying desperately to prove ours to be the only one which can bring a change. With access to life’s luxuries available to a privileged few and a society where everybody tries to exploit others; basic amenities of life get denied, innocent aspirations get trampled under the cruel, desperate need for survival.

Chotu’s village had not known electricity or clean water, other than a few affluent households which owned generators and pumps. In the absence of means to earn two square meals daily to feed so many mouths; discourses on health and sanitation become farce. When the children can go to the fields and earn bucks, who’d want to send them to schools and get engaged in a luxury like education? Like children of his age Chotu believes the benevolent king to love and protect his subjects; trying hard to find the invisible rope which separated the ‘rich’ from the ‘poor’. As his young mind tries to register the change around him; the change in relationships, the pictures of those near and dear to him; he gets confused and want to run back to the ‘banyan tree’, ‘the river’ and ‘the forest’.He tries in vain to return back to his childhood, knowing well in his mind that he has grown up..

THE STORY

Chotu stopped dead in his tracks. Rides in the rickshaw van had been quite enjoyable with his father. The air blowing wildly at his face and the lush greenery all around him made his eyes dreamy; as his father pulled the van skillfully through the winding red Murom road that led to the market. There, his father waited for passengers to carry them to the railway station. His father was a cart-puller, while his mother went to work as housemaid in the city. Chotu was the youngest of three sons and a daughter of their family of six. While his brothers went to work in the brick kiln six kilometers from their village, he went to school. His father nurtured the dream of making Chotu a big officer someday and so he was expected to study hard and get admission into the best college of the city.

Chotu looked at the van disdainfully and then at his ill father lying down on the floor. The cart had looked elegant with its robust body; three giant wheels making it look like one of those chariots he had seen in the history book. He had admired the handles his father continuously maneuvered, blowing the horn every now and then to disperse the traffic. Even the seat had grandeur to it and when his father rode. he appeared to be no less than a knight, a warrior making his way through the crowd. Baba had bought this vehicle of pride only a week back and the smell of fresh paint and new tyres still captivated young Chotu’s mind. His mother and sister had gone to his grandparents’ house in the city that day, when suddenly his father returned home, complaining of severe headache. Since then he had been lying down, shivering, rolling his body over the ply resting on the stack of bricks, which went for their bed. Chotu had brought in shawls, blankets and whatever he could find inside and draped them around his father. He could feel his father’s skin burning with heat as he groaned and mumbled the words ‘fever’ and ‘Kanaida’

Kanai uncle lived in the last house on the second lane of their colony which looked up to the great banyan tree. The Banyan tree was an attraction that Chotu and other children of the village found hard to resist. After school, in the evening and during holidays; swinging to the roots hanging from the branches of the tree was a favourite pastime. Kanaikaka was a family friend. Though Kanaikaka lived in a big house, with servants running hither and thither, always ready to run errands and wore new clothes every day; yet he and his father went along well with each other. Kanaikaka was fond of Chotu and often paid a visit to their hut, chatting with the family over a cup of ‘chai’. Every time he came, he brought gifts for Chotu.

Many a times it would be those sweet, pink coloured cotton hairs popularly known as ‘grandmas hair’ or chewing bands shaped into watches. Other times he would get a pencil box, cambis ball, paper fan or whistle. Once, Kanaikaka had taken him to watch football at the local playground near ‘Machantala’ where the Panchayat sat every weekend discussing the villagers’ problems. Chotu had wondered why Kanaikaka brought gifts only for him. Perhaps he loved him more. It was not that only Kanaikaka brought gifts for him. Baba brought ‘Chandamama’, ‘Tinkle’ and other children’s magazines from the market. On occasions such as ‘Holi’ and ‘Diwali’ he would bring toy pistols and crackers. Even mother brought chocolate cakes, salted groundnuts and fruits from the city. They were mostly gifts from the households she worked in. After all she and Baba were not rich like Kanaikaka.

His brothers on the other hand were born misers. They seldom brought gifts for him. He knew they were saving for their sister’s marriage, but could they not sometimes bring even candies from the market? The other day some of Chotu’s classmates were smacking lips, savouring big red lollipops in front of him; without caring to offer him one. He knew he could ask Kanaikaka for lollipops or anything on the earth and no sooner he’d have said would he get them; but Baba had told him not to pester anyone for anything and to take whatever anyone gives you happily. ‘Pestering’ is same as begging’, he had warned. Chotu had heard from Baba that Kanaikaka’s wife died of some disease at the time of giving birth to a child. The boy died a year later. Kanaikaka had not married again since then.

Kanaikaka was a Panchayat member and a well-known figure in the village community. He helped people in opening bank accounts, getting loans and ensured that villagers have access to all the government schemes benefitting the villagers. Kanaikaka had really been a help to their family since his father had moved in from their ancestral house in the city. Chotu had learnt from his father that they were not born poor and belonged to a bhadralok family. Baba was the eighth son of Chotu’s grandfather who inherited a palatial house in the city. His grandfather worked as ‘Manager’ in a cotton mill. His elder sons studied well and became doctor, engineer, and lawyer; while others found ways of coming up in the society; except Chotu’s baba, Budho. Being the last one of many children caused Budho to be neglected and deprived.

After his grandfather’s death, his clever sons divided the property amongst them and threw him and his family out of the house. A simple, soft-spoken Budho, who had somehow managed to cross the class eight borders at school was no match for his highly-educated brothers and had come out from the house with his wife and two children without complaining. Mother had wanted to request her brothers-in-law to let them stay for sometime even if it meant falling at their feet, but Baba did not approve. He was loitering aimlessly on the railway platform and slowly inching towards the track of an approaching train when Kanaikaka had suddenly appeared like an avatar and saved him. ‘Have you gone out of your mind? If it is not for your sake, you should’ve thought of your wife. She’s holding your baby, idiot! It was Kanaikaka who had brought them to the village, made arrangements for their ration cards, gave them shelter in his house till Baba could get his house built. It was Kanaikaka who got his father’s loan sanctioned from bank for the new van rickshaw. He also helped Ma land up jobs in the city. He had even promised Baba that he would lend him money for reconstructing the house with brick walls and cement roof.

Once trying to find his way back home, Chotu had got lost. He had just started going to school, those days. The beckoning of the greenery had been too tempting for young Chotu to avoid. Here the sun did not burn right above the head, but its golden rays filtered through the leaves of the trees and weaved an awe-inspiring magic of shadows on the ground. A walkway went into the forest, carved by villagers’ feet. The people went into the deep to bring in twigs and branches to light their daily chulhas. The river flowed silently in the distance. Another source of adventure was the river for the children. Boys swam into the middle of the river and dived in to retrieve a broken plate, a single slipper or a fragmented container. All of the finds were useless but the energy of the boys splashing water, shouting and laughing, displaying their hunt with pride captivated Chotu. He was too young to get into the waters alone and his father sometimes brought him to the river bank. How Chotu watched the boys with admiration and hoped he’d grow up soon to join them.

The chirping of unknown birds, flowers that he had not known had made him forget his home. He started chasing a butterfly and tiring himself after sometime, discovered suddenly that he was alone and an eerie silence prevailed all around him. A young child searched frantically for his known surroundings, his parents, his brothers, sister, and the banyan tree near Kanaikaka’s house. Kanaikaka. Where are you? At home everybody must have started searching for him now. But he knew that his father was out with his van, his mother and brothers had gone for work leaving only Kanaikaka to come looking for him. It seemed like the monsters of the forest had been tipped by the disguised birds, just like the fairytales his Ma told him at night, while cajoling him to sleep and they were tiptoeing behind him, just about to pounce upon him from behind.

He had started crying in despair when suddenly a pair of hands caught him. That smell, so beautiful, so distinct greeted him like it always did and he lost himself into an embrace which he was so madly seeking. His sister, brothers and mother upon consultation with Kanaikaka had kept the incident a secret and saved a thrashing by Baba, later that day. Though from where Baba had found out about Chotu’s disappearance later, he did not know. Surprisingly Baba had not scolded him, but only looked at him with misty eyes and said. ‘Never lie to me again’. And the river had swollen inside him flooding his eyes.

Chotu had often wondered as to why they did not visit the Kanaikakas as much as he visited them. Then Baba explained him that Kanaikaka was rich; at least much richer than them and it was God’s grace that a man of the stature of Kanai had his hand over their heads. It made life easier for them. ‘If you face any problems in my absence you can call upon Kanaida for help’, Baba had confided in him. But he need not have said that for though he could not differentiate between ‘rich’ or ‘poor’ clearly as his father explained, yet Chotu knew that Kanaikaka would always be there for them.

But Chotu was disheartened upon reaching Kanaikaka’s house. He looked for Murarilal, the security uncle he was so familiar to, but he must have gone home, then. During last few times Chotu had visited the house Murari chacha had told him stories about his family, his village in Bihar. He had told him about his grandson’s illness and how he needed to visit his home desperately. The new security guard told Chotu that Kanai uncle had gone out of the village and it was not known when he’d return. It surprised Chotu since Kanaikaka never went out for days without seeing his father.

He was coming back when suddenly he seemed to hear voices from inside the house. He recognized one of the voices instantly and wondered why the security guard had lied to him. But he had least expected to hear the laughter which followed. It surprised him more. Baba had told him never to disbelieve the elders and not to stray one’s limits. But an irresistible urge to find out the truth took him over. Moreover, he thought perhaps Kanaikaka was had confined himself inside his house for some reason. After all he was a Panchayat member and had so many important works to do. Perhaps some minister was coming from the city and Kanaikaka was busy in arranging the meeting.

Chotu remembered last time a minister had come with a convoy of cars with many other people, including the police; the meeting was held in the football ground. The stage was set with a large raised platform, constructed at the centre with walls and roof all draped in white cloth. The minister and his men sat on chairs which also had white cloth worn on them; while the villagers squatted on the ground. Chotu found all men to be dressed in white from head to toe. ‘In which subject at school had he read that white colour stood for purity and truth..? He tried to remember. A strange symbol and the name of some party were painted into the wall behind them. Hoardings had announced the arrival of the minister, months before and mikes tied to van-rickshaws continuously recited the many initiatives about to be taken by the party to improve the lives of the villagers, if they voted for their party once more.

Though, it was entirely the efforts of Kanaikaka who had gone inside individual households and convinced the villagers; which actually went into causing such a wide gathering. The minister made a speech which was followed by a thunder of claps; though the blank expressions on the people’s faces raised doubts over how much they understood it. What the villagers longed for was the packet of puffed rice and potato fritter which Kanaikaka promised to everyone.

Chotu was sure if Kanaikaka came to know how ill Baba was, he’d surely make arrangement to take him to the doctor. The security uncle was a new recruit; otherwise he surely would’ve let Kanaikaka know that Chotu had come. The building had high boundary wall built all around it but Chotu knew he could get inside from the rear by climbing up to one of the branches of the banyan tree and dropping into the bushes below. Usually the guard at this side was lenient in his duties, sleeping in his chair most of the time; but Chotu checked out well before descending. Winter was approaching and evening swooped down suddenly at that time of the year into their small village. It was already dark when Chotu made his way carefully through the bushes towards the direction from where he heard the voices. As he tiptoed into the courtyard and looked ahead, a magnificent house greeted him. The other times he had visited Kanaikaka, they had talked while sitting on the big swing in the garden. The servants had brought in kingly dishes from inside, Chotu had hardly heard of and he had treated himself to his full. But Kanaikaka had never taken him inside.

Chotu wondered how a man could live alone in such a big house. How he had longed to live in a big house with Baba, Ma, brothers and sister. Though such a castle was beyond his imagination! The dirty, tin shutters nailed on bamboo frames in Chotu’s mud house could never match the posh doors carved out of the finest quality of wood. How he hated their single shabby room smelling of cow dung as the pleasant aroma from the huge curtained windows mesmerized his senses. Looking through the glasses, he found rooms as large as halls, exquisitely decorated and lighted, but without a living soul inside. Hearing footsteps inside, he ducked in under the wide window sill. Almost immediately the unmistakable, hoarse voice of Kanaikaka spoke. ‘Bring me that new bottle from the fridge I gave you to keep yesterday, you banch** . Chotu could not believe his ears. Was it Kanaikaka who had just abused someone?

Chotu did not know the meaning of the word but knew that it was foul language for sure. He had also heard Bachhukaka utter the word ‘bottle’ sometimes. ‘Ki Budhoda hobe naki aj rate botol-totol? Bachhukaka was a fellow van driver who sometimes visited their house. Baba had always declined his offer with ‘Toke koto bar baron korechi…Chele-peleder shamne’.. Chotu had often found Bachhuda behaving strangely when he visited their house. His eyes would always be red and drowsy. His tone would change, his words would get stretched. His body would sway while walking, as if he’d just fall down. As long as he stayed a foul smell would emanate from his mouth. Strangely he’d usher sweet praises for Chotu those times while fondling his hairs, kissing his cheeks. Then Baba would send mother, Chotu and his sister inside and slowly lead Bachhukaka out of the house. While on the go, Bachhukaka would stop. ‘Jachhi, Jachhi. Did you hear the latest news Dada? More auto rickshaw permits have been rolled out in our route. We van pullers would have a tough time now in getting passengers.’

Finding Kanaikaka’s voice at a distance, Chotu came out from his hiding place and peeped in through a window. The scene which met his eyes at first startled him with awe, and he stopped himself from shouting. How could mother be possibly in here? The laughter he heard from outside was unmistakable, though he had doubted. But now he found her in front of him in flesh and blood, inside Kanaikaka’s bedroom; and two persons seldom looked and sounded the same, he knew. Kanaikaka had his bare back towards him; while Ma inside a white silk bed cover had her eyes closed and was murmuring something into Kanaikaka’s ears. Since he was born, he could not stop admiring her beauty. Being married at a young age of fifteen to a man almost double her age, she was like one of the butterflies, Chotu trapped who wished to fly. Once he had overheard Bachhukaka tell Baba what a lucky monkey he was to have a pearl necklace in his neck. As he spoke, his eyes widened, his teeth had shined from inside his pair of black lips, charred from the continued puffing of bidi ; and he smacked his lips. No sooner had he uttered the words, Baba had slapped him. It was the first time Chotu had heard Baba abuse someone.

Does marriage means entrapment? If it was he would never marry ever in his life. How happy, how contented she looked now. But was she unhappy at home? Chotu did not know. Once, Chotu had woken up from his sleep and found Baba and Ma in a row. It seemed Ma had done something wrong and Baba was scolding her for it, but she would not accept her mistake. He heard his mother say, ‘And what have you given me? Only babies. More mouths to be fed and little means to feed them. Have you ever wondered how your loan for the cart got sanctioned so easily? Or how I manage to run the house? You don’t even earn enough to pay for two times meal for everyone. The elder boys are already out fending for themselves. The girl is growing up. You have no qualms staying in this hell, because you have no ambition to change; you wretched man.’ Baba had not uttered a word, but quietly left the place. Later on Chotu had heard him sobbing with his face into the pillow.

There was no doubt that both Kanaikaka and Ma were enjoying themselves. It hurt Chotu, though the reason was unknown to him. But one thing was sure. Ma had lied to him, to Baba, to every one of their family. She did not go to work in the city. But, why? And those gifts she gave her? Even Baba had lied to him. Once, Bachhukaka had ridiculed his father’s name. But now Chotu knew for once Bachhukaka was right. Baba was indeed an idiot as his name denoted. Baba, Ma, Kanaikaka, all were rots. He’d not talk to anyone again.

As he looked at his ailing father, tears rolled down his cheeks. He cursed himself for his words. His father might not be rich or clever but he certainly was a good man, not a rot. ‘Do men have to be fools if they have to be good? Chotu thought. He closed his eyes and prayed to God to cure Baba’s illness. He promised that he would not ask for any gifts for him from him anymore. He’d stay with empty stomach for half day if that would save the family’s ration for some more days. He looked at the cart again. Would he be able to do it? He ran to Bachhukaku’s house, but he had not returned yet. ‘Must be lying inebriated somewhere at the corner of the street; Go and get him if you can’, kakima had slammed the door shut on Chotu’s face.

He knew he did not have any other option. He had heard that a deadly disease was on the rise in their village. It was caused by a type of mosquito which bred in stored water. The patients suffered from high fever and body ache which persisted for days and no medicines were of any help. He had heard elders say that blood of those affected turned rot and had to be replenished with fresh supplies. The Panchayat people have been sprinkling white powder in the ponds, drains and in the fields. Every other day, somebody would visit houses to check if inmates has drained away water from the pots or are using mosquito nets while sleeping. The disease had claimed Kanaikaka’s one year old son’s life. He had done his best to save him; took him to the best nursing home in the city, consulted the best doctors, astrologer, even occultist; but to no avail.

The nearest health centre was three kilometers away, Chotu had heard; and if he could somehow manage to take his father there, he could request the doctor uncles to cure him. He caught his father’s neck and raised him on the cot slowly. Then taking him by the shoulders and putting an arm around, he maneuvered him towards the van, his little body swooping from the weight. All the while he felt the burning hands of his father resting on his back. After laying his father on the platform and taking care that the blankets wrapped around his body fully; he climbed into the vehicle, determinedly and perched on the seat. His feet ached as he tried to reach the pedal, below. They were quite shorter than the required height. He felt disgusted. Then he remembered some of his friends trying half-pedaling with their father’s bicycles.

At first the vehicle won’t budge. He checked-in once again to see if he had removed the stoppers from under the wheels; then tried again. The cart stood still as if in disobedience to anybody other than its master. Minutes kept ticking inside Chotu’s head as his father groaned on the cart. Then he tried another trick. With all the might he could summon, he tugged at the handles, trying to start the cart rolling. His hands and feet got bruised in the act and blood started oozing from them. His shirt was torn wildly by the movement of the wheel axles. Once, a wheel nearly trampled his foot. Unheeded by the pain, he continued rolling the vehicle till it gained a little momentum. Then he jumped onto one of the pedals of the moving cart. He knew he had to keep the cart rolling somehow through the rough field till it climbed into the morum road. Once he reached there, he hoped to find someone on the road kind enough to help him carry his father to the hospital.

© 2017. All rights reserved.

Like the story ? Why not consider giving it a vote on Wattpad here. You can also like the story on Sweek here.

Follow me on Sweek and Wattpad for more of such stories.