Of Course, It's Butterfingers Again

by Khyrunnisa A

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll explain to Mr Srivastava. He’ll understand,’ Suresh reassured him.

  ‘Thanks, Suresh, and please take my file too and present the project on my behalf.’

  ‘But how can you give the file unless you get into the house, Dad?’ Amar asked. ‘You can’t. We’re locked out. All this happened because I left the key inside!’

  ‘Don’t worry, Amar, I have the spare key with me.’

  The next evening, as Amar and his father settled down cosily before the TV to watch the football final, Amar’s mother returned.

  ‘How come you are here?’ she asked her husband in amazement. Quickly the surprise turned to shock. ‘Goodness, so many bandages between the two of you! What’s been happening here?’

  ‘It’s a long story, and your son had a great role to play in it, but finally,’ Mr Kishen said, winking at his son, ‘all’s well that ends in the well, rather, pond!’

  Kidnapped

  A long weekend is inevitably followed by a reluctance on the part of students to go back to school. Amar was no exception to this rule; rather, he was a great votary of it. He woke up on Monday, poking his head out with studied slowness from under his sheet, like a snail peeping out of his shell after a delicious period of hibernation. In fact, he wouldn’t have woken up at all if the alarm his mother had insisted on setting the previous night hadn’t gone off near his ear like a squalling hen. He was woken up all right, but he didn’t wish to get out of bed. Eyes closed, he muttered, ‘Mmmm! How warm and cosy this bed is!’ and stretched his arms out lazily only to find them being gripped by someone.

  It was his mother. ‘Amar! Come on, get up, quick, else you’ll be late for school.’

  He broke free and, flinging off his bedclothes in a hurry, leapt out of his warm and cosy bed.

  ‘So, what’s new?’ commented his father, peeking into the room.

  Amar caught sight of the corner of the newspaper he was holding and asked with his natural optimism, ‘Any strike today, Dad? Any VIP dead? Any chance of a holiday?’

  ‘Humph!’ snorted Mr Kishen, withdrawing his head.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Amar,’ his mother retorted. ‘Another holiday after these four days? Go, get ready and make it fast. Breakfast’s on the table. Such a big boy and doesn’t want to go to school! Look at Umang!’

  ‘Where? Where’s Umang?’ asked Amar. ‘Umang! Umang! Where are you?’ He pretended to look under the bed and inside the cupboard. He closed the cupboard with a loud bang and opened the table’s drawers, one after the other. ‘Gone!’ Umang was Amar’s neighbour, who lived four houses away and was a class II student of Green Park School.

  ‘Stop fooling around!’ said his mother, smiling faintly at his antics. ‘Umang’s always eager to go to school, unlike you. His mother was telling me yesterday he can’t wait to take his new water bottle to school.’

  ‘That’s exactly it!’ Amar retorted. ‘He’s got a good reason. I’ve been asking for a new water bottle for centuries, but no, I’m asked to make do with an ancient one that’s beginning to leak.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Amar! Leaking, indeed! You’ve lost three water bottles already this term. You’re a big boy and should learn to take care of your things. Now stop all this nonsense and get ready.’

  ‘I’m a big boy now, but when I wish to get home late, I’m a small boy,’ Amar grumbled under his breath. ‘I have a water bottle that looks like a squashed cucumber and actually leaks, but no one cares. I can’t take that specimen to school any longer, Ma. I might die of thirst one of these days and then you . . .’ But his mother didn’t wait around to listen to the rest of his morbid prophecy.

  Ten minutes later, Amar was gobbling his breakfast in such a hurry that he was half-choking on it, when the doorbell rang. Mr Kishen, who went to get the door, returned almost immediately, scowling. ‘It’s Umang and his mother,’ he mumbled to his wife. He snatched up his briefcase in a flash and disappeared from the scene like an agile ghost.

  Umang’s mother, Mrs Meera Mathur, came to the dining room, an anxious look on her face. ‘Has Amar left for school?’ she asked Mrs Kishen.

  ‘Not yet. He woke up late and has as usual missed his school bus,’ said Mrs Kishen matter-of-factly.

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ Mrs Mathur looked pleased. ‘That means he’ll have to take a city bus to school.’

  ‘Yes, but why hasn’t Umang gone?’ asked Mrs Kishen, looking at the neat, spruce little boy standing patiently by his mother.

  ‘Umang had a problem with his shoes. They were pinching him, and by the time I could locate and polish his old pair, we were quite late. Could Amar take him to school? My husband’s gone to pick up a colleague who’ll be with us for a couple of days. Otherwise he’d have dropped Umang. And I have to fix breakfast. Umang’s father and the guest will be here any minute now and then they have to leave for the office immediately after breakfast. I hope Amar won’t mind?’ She looked uncertainly at Amar, whose face, while this long narration was going on, had got longer and longer. His expression made it clear that he definitely minded this intrusion.

  ‘Yes, I . . .’ he began.

  ‘Yes, of course he’ll take him,’ Mrs Kishen interrupted him hastily. ‘You will, won’t you, Amar?’

  ‘That’s so sweet of you, Amar!’ said Mrs Mathur. ‘Here’s the money for Umang’s ticket and here are his things—his bag, umbrella and water bottle. He’ll carry his own bag. Bye, Umang, be good. Listen to Amar bhaiya.’ She left the house after placing a resounding kiss on her son’s cheek that he promptly wiped away.

  ‘What does she mean “He’ll carry his own bag”? Does it mean I must carry his umbrella and water bottle?’ asked Amar, making a face.

  ‘Why not, Amar? You’re a big boy and can do that easily.’

  ‘Why don’t we take a taxi?’ asked Amar. ‘That will take us to school quickly and can carry all of Umang’s stuff too.’

  ‘No, Amar, you are too small to take a taxi by yourself.’

  ‘Small now! An auto, then?’ Amar suggested.

  ‘No, I don’t want you to go in a strange auto.’ His mother shook her head. ‘We’ve been hearing of kidnappings. Now go on, run off to the bus stop. Here’s your money. Bye, Amar, Umang! Have a good day!’

  Amar shook his head in a disapproving manner, stuffed the money into his pocket, adjusted his bag on his right shoulder and picked up Umang’s water bottle and umbrella. The water bottle was in the shape of a football and captured Amar’s interest. ‘What an awesome water bottle! Cool! Where did you get it?’

  ‘My uncle’s gift. But I don’t like its shape. I like cricket and I want a bottle shaped like a cricket bat!’ Umang pouted.

  ‘Fat lot of water such a bottle would hold,’ Amar scoffed. He slung the bottle on his left shoulder, held the umbrella in one hand, reached for Umang’s hand with the other and together they left the house. The little boy struggled to keep pace with Amar’s long legs as Amar practically airlifted him to the bus stop.

  They had just reached it when they sighted the bus in the distance. The moment it screeched to a halt, the crowd waiting for it rushed towards the door in a disorganized manner. Amar let go of Umang’s hand to get the money from his pocket and as he thrust his hand in, someone gave him a hard shove from behind and he dropped the umbrella. When he bent to retrieve it, the water bottle slipped off his shoulder and rolled away.

  ‘Oops!’ he exclaimed, turning in circles to retrieve it for it was being kicked around by the frenzied feet of people trying to get on the bus. Impatient hands now pushed, pulled and jostled him. A fat lady tripped over him, recovered her balance and, like an expert footballer, kicked the ball straight to his face. With a yowl of pain, he managed to get his fingers around the bottle’s strap. He straightened up and, holding both the bottle and the umbrella awkwardly in one hand, he felt around with the other for Umang. Locating the little hand, he held it tightly and managed to scramble on to the already crowded bus. A few more people got in,
the door closed and they were off.

  ‘Phew! Just about managed it!’ he exclaimed. ‘Are you okay, Umang?’ He glanced down to find it wasn’t Umang but a strange boy who was looking up at him. Stunned, he asked, ‘Who are you? Where’s Umang? Umang!’

  He shoved people aside in his desperation and twisted and turned to catch a glimpse of the bus stop. A further shock awaited him when he saw Umang being pushed into a car. Dismayed, he turned to his fellow passengers. ‘That boy’s being kidnapped!’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘Don’t poke my ribs with your stupid umbrella!’ was one response.

  ‘Why an umbrella on such a pleasant day?’ was another.

  ‘Schoolboys with torture weapons!’ a third voice joined in.

  ‘Mr Conductor, please help!’ he turned to the conductor, who had reached close.

  ‘Don’t thrust this hand grenade into my face!’ the conductor said angrily, pushing the water bottle back.

  ‘Tickets, please.’ Mutely, Amar gave the money.

  ‘Two tickets?’ asked the conductor. Amar nodded.

  ‘Lost your voice?’ The conductor sniggered and pressed the tickets into his hand.

  Amar’s mind was in turmoil. Had Umang been kidnapped? Who had kidnapped him? And had he kidnapped an unknown kid? He looked down at the child, who seemed to enjoy being packed like a sardine in the bus. The boy was wearing the Green Park uniform and looked vaguely familiar. He must have seen him about school, Amar thought.

  The bus soon reached the bus stop, and Amar and the strange boy got out. Amar looked at the boy more closely. He appeared a cheeky little fellow, wearing a crumpled uniform, no socks and unpolished shoes. His hair was tousled and he was empty-handed. Two front teeth were missing.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Amar asked.

  ‘Won’t tell.’ The boy grinned, blowing air through the gap in his teeth.

  ‘What were you doing alone at the bus stop?’ asked Amar, dragging him along.

  ‘Ran away, ran away!’ he said and, tearing himself away from Amar’s grasp, scuttled off in the direction of the school. Amar gave him hot chase and caught up with him at the school gates. He was so engrossed in reaching the boy that he hadn’t noticed the crowd there.

  ‘Caught you!’ he said and looked up to see Mr Jagmohan and, wonder of wonders, the principal was actually smiling!

  A man and a woman fell upon the boy, embracing him and showering him with kisses. ‘Bunty! Bunty! Who took you? Where did you go? Who rescued you?’ The boy wriggled out of the oppressive tentacles and pointed at Amar.

  ‘You’re a hero, boy! What’s your name?’ asked the man as the woman pinched Amar’s cheeks enthusiastically.

  ‘Amar,’ responded the hero, promptly dropping the umbrella.

  ‘Always a butterfingers! But well done, Amar!’ said Mr Jagmohan, sounding approving for a change, and went to the extent of patting him on the back. ‘Where did you find him? Smart of you to bring him to school!’

  Before the bewildered Amar could say anything, the boy’s father, who had got the story out of the boy, said, ‘So that’s what happened! Bunty says he wanted to come to school on his own. He always wanted to behave like a big boy. So he just got into his uniform and left the house. We thought he had been kidnapped—his bag was at home. We didn’t think he’d have gone to school all by himself. He could very easily have been kidnapped. This good boy saw him at the bus stop and brought him to school. Your students are so responsible, Mr Jagmohan.’

  Mr Jagmohan coughed. At that moment, Bunty’s father got a call on his mobile. ‘What? Well, that’s wonderful! Don’t worry about my son. He’s been found. I’ll come and explain everything.’ Turning to the others, he said, ‘Acting on my complaint, the police went into action. Three people were nabbed at the railway station, and they’ve confessed to the couple of kidnappings here. So that’s something good that’s come of this episode. But you gave us a heart attack, Bunty. I think I’ll take him home, Mr Jagmohan. We’ve all had enough excitement for the day. Thank you again, Amar. I’ll get your address from your principal and come to your house this evening.’

  ‘Everybody get back to class,’ ordered Mr Jagmohan.

  In class, Amar was racked with guilt. Where was Umang? Had the kidnappers told the police where they were keeping him? Had he been found? Should he tell Mr Jagmohan the truth about what had actually happened?

  Agonizing over what to do throughout the day, Amar had finally decided to go to Mr Jagmohan with his fears, when the bell rang and everyone swarmed out. And who did he see racing past his class but Umang!

  ‘Umang! Umang!’ he shouted, but the shouts were lost in the general tumult. He tried to give chase, but there were too many boys about, and by the time he could free himself from the crowd and run towards the gate, he could only catch a glimpse of Umang getting into a car . . .

  He didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried, and remained lost in thought till he reached home, holding the water bottle and the umbrella in one hand, to find quite a few people there.

  ‘Thank you for bringing the umbrella and the water bottle safe!’ said Mrs Mathur, bestowing a broad smile upon him.

  Umang snatched the bottle from Amar. Amar took some time to figure out what had happened, but after some explanations, he finally understood the sequence of events. After Mr Mathur had picked up his colleague, he’d realized there was time to drop off Umang at school. He had called up his home and when his wife told him about Amar taking Umang to the bus stop, he had gone there. Umang saw the car and told his father that Amar had taken the bus.

  ‘Why did you take the bus, Amar?’ Mr Mathur asked. ‘We could have dropped you to school too.’ Amar merely smiled, still looking a little flummoxed.

  ‘But it was good he took the bus,’ said Bunty’s father, who was one of those present. ‘Thank you for taking Bunty to school. That was very responsible of you. Here’s a small gift.’ He gave him a parcel.

  ‘Thanks!’ Amar opened it to find a water bottle shaped like a cricket bat and smiled. He exchanged glances with Umang and then they exchanged bottles.

  De-Stressed

  ‘Oh no, my exams are round the corner, my exams are round the corner!’ muttered Amar, pacing the drawing room like a hungry tiger in a cage. He was jittery because Mr Jagmohan, who had earlier announced that Monday would be a holiday for the whole school, so the students could use the day for revision, cancelled it on Friday without warning. Amar and his friends had made a timetable to study for the exams, taking into consideration the holiday on Monday. The students had believed that Mr Jagmohan, who had gone to meet Mr Vijay, chairman of the board of trustees, would be on leave on Friday. But Mr Jagmohan had unexpectedly returned to school during the lunch interval and was furious to find most of the students, from classes I to XII, playing on the grounds or in their classrooms without a care in the world.

  ‘I’m cancelling Monday’s study leave,’ he’d announced to the school over the public address system. ‘Exams are round the corner and what do I see? Everyone playing! Total lack of seriousness; shocking! Looks like the students have finished revising. Well, then, I’ve advanced the date of the exams to Monday.’ He was already in a bad mood because Mr Vijay wanted him to take his family around that weekend while Mr Jagmohan and his wife had made plans to visit a resort with friends. He felt much better after the announcement.

  ‘Lost one whole day!’ Amar muttered as he picked up the family photo from the side table, looked at it, made a face and almost dropped it as he put it back. ‘Oops!’

  His father, who was busy working on his laptop, looked up impatiently. His son had been getting on his nerves for some time. But Amar didn’t even notice the annoyed glance. He had already turned his attention to the flower vase. His mother had just made a pretty arrangement with fresh flowers from the garden. He lifted the vase and tilted it to smell the flowers better. ‘Mmm, this is lovely! I can feel some stress flowing out of me.’

  ‘And I can see some water flo
wing out of the vase! Careful!’ warned Mr Kishen, jumping to move his laptop out of harm’s way.

  Mrs Kishen came into the room at this moment, holding a newspaper in her hand. ‘Oh, Amar!’ she said, putting the paper down hurriedly to rescue the vase and then proceed to mop the floor. ‘Why don’t you go and study, Amar, instead of wasting time moping about? It’ll do you no good. Anyway you’ve lost a day, there’s nothing to be done about that. Having lost all that time, you should make the best use of what’s available.’

  ‘First time I’m seeing him nervous about exams,’ observed Mr Kishen. ‘I wouldn’t have thought losing a day would make any difference to you, Amar.’

  It wouldn’t have but for the fact that Mr Shyam, Amar’s class teacher, had threatened to keep him in every evening for the rest of the term if his performance didn’t improve.

  ‘If Amar’s exams had got over, I could have taken him for a movie,’ Mrs Kishen said, taking up the paper again. ‘Sunlight in the Night is playing. I’ve read very good reviews about it.’

  ‘What? ‘Sunlight in the Night has been released?’ Amar brightened up like the sun, but almost instantly his face took on the dark hues of the night sky. ‘Exams, exams, horrible exams! Whoever invented them? How will I ever finish studying?’

  ‘You have to begin studying to finish,’ said his father. ‘Listen, I have an idea.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Why don’t you take Amar with you to see the movie anyway? It might de-stress him.’ He could do with some de-stressing himself, and he knew that only Amar’s absence could help him do that. ‘Anyway, it’d take only a couple of hours, and he’d only use that time to grumble and complain and make a perfect nuisance of himself here. After a movie he might be in the mood to study.’

  Mrs Kishen looked a little uncertain. This logic beat her. But she wanted to see the film, so she agreed. ‘All right, Amar, go get ready. And we’ll make a quick visit to the supermarket on the way back.’