by Ruskin Bond
One evening, during an informal game on the maidaan, Ranji's friend Bhim slipped while running after the ball, and cut his hand on a sharp stone. Ranji took him to a doctor near the clock tower, where the wound was washed and bandaged. As it was getting late, he decided to go straight home. Usually he walked, but that evening he caught a bus near the clock tower.
When he got home, his mother brought him a cup of tea and while he was drinking it, Koki walked in. The first thing she said was, "Ranji, where's your bat?"
"Oh, I must have left it on the maidaan when Bhim got hurt," said Ranji, starting up and spilling his tea. "I'd better go and get it now, or it will disappear."
'You can fetch it tomorrow," said his mother. "It's getting dark."
"I'll take a torch," said Ranji.
He was worried about the bat. Without it, his luck might desert him. He hadn't the patience to wait for a bus, and ran all the way to the maidaan.
The maidaan was deserted and there was no sign of the bat. And then Ranji remembered that he'd had it with him on the bus, after saying goodbye to Bhim at the clock tower. He must have left it on the bus!
Well, he'd never find it now. The bat was lost for ever. And on Saturday Ranji's school would be playing their last and most important match of the cricket season against a visiting team from Delhi.
Next day he was at Mr Kumar's shop, looking very sorry for himself.
"What's the matter?" asked Mr Kumar.
"I've lost the bat," said Ranji. 'Your lucky bat. The one I made all those runs with! I left it on the bus. And the day after tomorrow we are playing the Delhi school, and I'll be out for a duck, and we'll lose our chance of being the school champions."
Mr Kumar looked a little anxious at first; then he smiled and said, 'You can still make all the runs you want."
"But I don't have the bat any more," said Ranji.
"Any bat will do," said Mr Kumar.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean it's the batsman and not the bat that matters. Shall I tell you something? That old bat I gave you was no different from any other bat I've used. True, I made lots of runs with it, but I made runs with other bats too. I never depended on a special bat for my runs. A bat has magic only when the batsman has magic! What you needed was confidence, not a bat. And by believing in the bat, you got your confidence back!"
"What's confidence?" asked Ranji. It was a new word for him.
"Con - fi - dence," said Mr Kumar slowly. "Confidence is knowing you are good."
"And I can be good without the bat?"
"Of course. You have always been good. You are good now. You will be good the day after tomorrow. Remember that. If you remember it, you'll make the runs."
On Saturday Ranji walked to the wicket with a bat borrowed from Bhim.
The school team had lost its first wicket with only 2 runs on the board. Ranji went in at this stage. The Delhi school's opening bowler was sending down some really fast ones. Ranji faced up to him.
The first ball was very fast but it wasn't on a good length. Quick on his feet, Ranji stepped back and pulled it hard to the on-boundary. The ball soared over the heads of the fielders and landed with a crash in crate full of cold-drink bottles.
A six! Everyone stood up and cheered.
And it was only the beginning of Ranji's wonderful innings.
The match ended in a draw, but Ranji's 75 was the talk of the school.
On his way home he bought a dozen luddoos. Six for Koki — and six for Mr Kumar.
THE LONG DAY
uraj was awakened by the sound of his mother busying herself in the kitchen. He lay in bed, looking through the open window at the sky getting lighter and the dawn pushing its way into the room. He knew there was something important about this new day, but for some time he couldn't remember what it was. Then, as the room cleared, his mind cleared. His school report would be arriving in the post.
Suraj knew he had failed. The class teacher had told him so. But his mother would only know of it when she read the report, and Suraj did not want to be in the house when she received it. He was sure it would be arriving today. So he had told his mother that he would be having his midday meal with his friend Somi — Somi, who wasn't even in town at the moment — and would be home only for the evening meal. By that time, he hoped, his mother would have recovered from the shock. He was glad his father was away on tour.
He slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen. His mother was surprised to see him up so early.
"I'm going for a walk, Ma," he said, "and then I'll go on to Somi's house."
"Well, have your bath first and put something in your stomach."
Suraj went to the tap in the courtyard and took a quick bath. He put on a clean shirt and shorts. Carelessly he brushed his thick, curly hair, knowing he couldn't bring much order to its wildness. Then he gulped down a glass of milk and hurried out of the house. The postman wouldn't arrive for a couple of hours, but Suraj felt that the earlier his start the better. His mother was surprised and pleased to see him up and about so early.
Suraj was out on the maidaan and still the sun had not risen. The maidaan was an open area of grass, about a hundred square metres, and from the middle of it could be seen the mountains, range upon range of them, stepping into the sky. A game of football was in progress, and one of the players called out to Suraj to join them. Suraj said he wouldn't play for more than ten minutes, because he had some business to attend to; he kicked off his chappals and ran barefoot after the ball. Everyone was playing barefoot. It was an informal game, and the players were of all ages and sizes, from bearded Sikhs to small boys of six or seven. Suraj ran all over the place without actually getting in touch with the ball — he wasn't much good at football — and finally got into a scramble before the goal, fell and scratched his knee. He retired from the game even sooner than he had intended.
The scratch wasn't bad but there was some blood on his knee. He wiped it clean with his handkerchief and limped off the maidaan. He went in the direction of the railway station, but not through the bazaar. He went by way of the canal, which came from the foot of the nearest mountain, flowed through the town and down to the river. Beside the canal were the washerwomen, scrubbing and beating out clothes on the stone banks.
The canal was only a metre wide but, due to recent rain, the current was swift and noisy. Suraj stood on the bank, watching the rush of water. There was an inlet at one place, and here some children were bathing, and some were rushing up and down the bank, wearing nothing at all, shouting to each other in high spirits. Suraj felt like taking a dip too, but he did not know any of the children here; most of them were from very poor families. Hands in pockets, he walked along the canal banks.
The sun had risen and was pouring through the branches of the trees that lined the road. The leaves made shadowy patterns on the ground. Suraj tried hard not to think of his school report, but he knew that at any moment now the postman would be handing over a long brown envelope to his mother. He tried to imagine his mother's expression when she read the report; but the more he tried to picture her face, the more certain he was that, on knowing his result, she would show no expression at all. And having no expression on her face was much worse than having one.
Suraj heard the whistle of a train, and knew he was not far from the station. He cut through a field, climbed a hillock and ran down the slope until he was near the railway tracks. Here came the train, screeching and puffing: in the distance, a big black beetle, and then, when the carriages swung into sight, a centipede...
Suraj stood a good twenty metres away from the lines, on the slope of the hill. As the train passed, he pulled the handkerchief off his knee and began to wave it furiously. There was something about passing trains that filled him with awe and excitement. All those passengers, with mysterious lives and mysterious destinations, were people he wanted to know, people whose mysteries he wanted to unfold. He had been in a train recently, when his parents had taken him to bathe in the sacred r
iver, Ganga, at Hardwar. He wished he could be in a train now; or, better still, be an engine-driver, with no more books and teachers and school reports. He did not know of any thirteen-year-old engine-drivers, but he saw himself driving the engine, shouting orders to the stoker; it made him feel powerful to be in control of a mighty steam-engine.
Someone — another boy — returned his wave, and the two waved at each other for a few seconds, and then the train had passed, its smoke spiralling backwards.
Suraj felt a little lonely now. Somehow, the passing of the train left him with a feeling of being alone in a wide empty world. He was feeling hungry too. He went back to the field where he had seen some lichi trees, climbed onto one of them and began plucking and peeling and eating the juicy red-skinned fruit. No one seemed to own the lichi trees because, although a dog appeared below and began barking, no one else appeared. Suraj kept spitting lichi seeds at the dog, and the dog kept barking at him. Eventually the dog lost interest and slunk off.
Suraj began to feel drowsy in the afternoon heat. The lichi trees offered a lot of shade below, so he came down from the tree and sat on the grass, his back resting against the tree-trunk. A mynah-bird came hopping up to his feet and looked at him curiously, its head to one side.
Insects kept buzzing around Suraj. He swiped at them once or twice, but then couldn't make the effort to keep swiping. He opened his shirt buttons. The air was very hot, very still; the only sound was the faint buzzing of the insects. His head fell forward on his chest.
He opened his eyes to find himself being shaken, and looked up into the round, cheerful face of his friend Ranji.
"What are you doing, sleeping here? " asked Ranji, who was a couple of years younger than Suraj. "Have you run away from home?"
"Not yet," said Suraj. "And what are you doing here?"
"Came for lichis."
"So did I."
They sat together for a while and talked and ate lichis. Then Ranji suggested that they visit the bazaar to eat fried pakoras.
"I haven't any money," said Suraj.
"That doesn't matter," said Ranji, who always seemed to be in funds. "I have two rupees."
So they walked to the bazaar. They crossed the field, walked back past the canal, skirted the maidaan, came to the clock tower and entered the bazaar.
The evening crowd had just begun to fill the road, and there was a lot of bustle and noise: the street-vendors called their wares in high, strident voices; children shouted and women bargained. There was a medley of smells and aromas coming from the little restaurants and sweet shops, and a medley of colour in the bangle and kite shops. Suraj and Ranji ate their pakoras, felt thirsty, and gazed at the rows and rows of coloured bottles at the cold-drinks shop, where at least ten varieties of sweet, sticky, fizzy drinks were available. But they had already finished the two rupees, so there was nothing for them to do but quench their thirst at the municipal tap.
Afterwards they wandered down the crowded street, examining the shop-fronts, commenting on the passers-by, and every now and then greeting some friend or acquaintance. Darkness came on suddenly, and then the bazaar was lit up, the big shops with bright electric and neon lights, the street-vendors with oil-lamps. The bazaar at night was even more exciting than during the day.
They traversed the bazaar from end to end, and when they were at the clock tower again, Ranji said he had to go home, and left Suraj. It was nearing Suraj's dinner-time and so, unwillingly, he too turned homewards. He did not want it to appear that he was deliberately staying out late because of the school report.
The lights were on in the front room when he got home. He waited outside, secure in the darkness of the verandah, watching the lighted room. His mother would be waiting for him, she would probably have the report in her hand or on the kitchen shelf, and she would have lots and lots of questions to ask him.
All the cares of the world seemed to descend on Suraj as he crept into the house.
'You're late," said his mother. "Come and have your food."
Suraj said nothing, but removed his shoes outside the kitchen and sat down cross-legged on the kitchen floor, which was where he took his meals. He was tired and hungry. He no longer cared about anything.
"One of your class-fellows dropped in," said his mother. "He said your reports were sent out today. They'll arrive tomorrow."
Tomorrow! Suraj felt a great surge of relief.
But then, just as suddenly, his spirits fell again.
Tomorrow ... a further postponement of the dreaded moment, another night and another morning ... something would have to be done about it!
"Ma," he said abruptly. "Somi has asked me to his house again tomorrow."
"I don't know how his mother puts up with you so often," said Suraj's mother.
Suraj lay awake in bed, planning the morrow's activities: a game of cricket or football on the maidaan; perhaps a dip in the canal; a half-hour watching the trains thunder past; and in the evening an hour in the bazaar, among the kites and balloons and rose-coloured fizzy drinks and round dripping syrupy sweets ... Perhaps, in the morning, he could persuade his mother to give him two or three rupees... It would be his last rupees for quite some time.
WHEN THE GUAVAS ARE RIPE
uava trees are easy to climb. And guavas are good to eat. So it's little wonder that an orchard of guava trees is a popular place with boys and girls.
Just across the road from Ranji's house, on the other side of a low wall, was a large guava orchard. The monsoon rains were almost over. It was a warm humid day in September, and the guavas were ripening, turning from green to gold; no longer hard, but growing soft and sweet and juicy.
The schools were closed because of a religious festival. Ranji's father was at work in his office. Ranji's mother was enjoying an afternoon siesta on a cot in the backyard. His grandmother was busy teaching her pet parrot to recite a prayer.
"I feel like getting into those guava trees," said Ranji to himself. "It's months since I climbed a tree."
He was soon across the road and over the wall and among the trees. He chose a tree that grew in the middle of the orchard, where it was unlikely that he would be disturbed; then he climbed swiftly into its branches. A cluster of guavas swung just above him. He reached up for one of them, but to his surprise he found himself clutching a small bare foot which had suddenly been thrust through the foliage.
Having caught the foot, Ranji did not let go. Instead he pulled hard on it. There was a squeal and someone came toppling down on him. Ranji found himself clutching at arms and legs. Together they crashed through a couple of branches and landed with a thud on the soft ground beneath the tree.
Ranji and the intruder struggled fiercely. They rolled about on the grass. Ranji tried a judo hold — without any success. Then he saw that his opponent was a girl. It was his friend and neighbour, Koki.
"It's you!" he gasped.
"It's me," said Koki. "And what are you doing here?"
"Get your knee out of my stomach and I'll tell you."
When he had recovered his breath, he said, "I just felt like climbing a tree."
"So did I."
He stared at her. There was guava juice at the corners of her mouth and on her chin.
"Are the guavas good?" he asked.
"Quite sweet, in this tree," said Koki. 'You find another tree for yourself, Ranji. There must be thirty or forty trees to choose from."
"And all going to waste," said Ranji. "Look, some of the guavas have been spoilt by the birds."
"Nobody wants them, it seems."
Koki climbed back onto her tree, and Ranji obligingly walked a little further and climbed another tree. After a few polite exchanges they fell silent, their attention given over entirely to the eating of guavas.
"I've eaten five," said Koki after some time.
"You'd better stop."
'You're only saying that because you've just started."
"Well, three's enough for me."
"I'm getting a
tummy-ache, I think."
"I warned you. Come on, I'll take you home. We can come back tomorrow. There are still lots of guavas left. Hundreds!"
"I don't think I want to eat any more," said Koki.
She felt better the next day — so well, in fact, that Ranji found her leaning on the gate, waiting for him to join her. She was accompanied by her small brother, Teju, who was only six and very mischievous.
"How are you feeling today?" asked Ranji.
"Hungry, "said Koki.
"Why did you bring your brother?"
"He wants to start climbing trees."
Soon they were in the orchard. Ranji and Koki helped Teju onto the branches of one of the smaller trees and then made for other trees, disturbing a party of parrots who flew in circles round the orchard, screaming their protests.
Two boys and a girl talking to each other from three different trees can make quite a lot of noise, and it wasn't only the birds who were disturbed. Though they did not know it, the orchard belonged to a wealthy property-dealer and he employed a watchman, whose duty it was to keep away birds, children, monkeys, flying-foxes and other fruit-eating pests. But on a hot sultry afternoon Gopal the watchman could not resist taking a nap. He was stretched out under a shady jack-fruit tree, snoring so loudly that the flies who had been buzzing round him felt that a storm was brewing and kept their distance.
He woke to the sound of voices raised high in glee. Sitting up, he brushed a ladybird from his long moustache, then seized his lathi, a long stout stick usually carried by watchmen.
"Who's there?" he shouted, struggling to his feet.
There was a sudden silence on the trees.
"Who's there?" he called again.
No answer.
"I must have been dreaming," he muttered, and was preparing to lie down and take another nap when Teju, who had been watching him, burst into laughter.
"Ho!" shouted the watchman, coming to life again. "Thieves! I'll settle you!" And he began striding towards the centre of the orchard, boasting all the time of his physical prowess. "I'm not afraid of thieves, bandits, or wild beasts! I'll have you know that I was once the wrestling champion of the entire district of Dehra. Come on out and fight me if you dare!"