by Ruskin Bond
Now there was a good partnership between Sitaram and Bhartu. Sitaram, who helped his father with the town's washing on Sundays, was in the habit of laying out clothes on a flat stone and pounding them with a stout stick — the method followed by most washermen. He dealt with the cricket-ball in much the same way — clouting it hard, and sending it to various points of the compass. He hit up twenty-five valuable runs before he was out caught off a big hit. Bhartu pushed and prodded, merely keeping one end going, until he too was out to an LBW decision. Billy Jones had gone the same way, taking the ball on his pads. No one was happy with the LBW decisions.
"We must have neutral umpires," said Amir Ali.
"But who wants to be an umpire?" said Ranji. "We won't find anyone. We'll have to use our own team members — or let the other side provide both umpires!"
"Not after today," said Lumboo.
Meanwhile, Mukesh and Rakesh had arrived, carrying paper-bags full of samosas and jalebis. As a result, everyone cheered up. Wickets fell almost as rapidly as the snacks and sweets were consumed. Mukesh and Rakesh, who were the last men in, held out for several overs until Rakesh was given out—not really a match-winning score, except on a tricky wicket.
It was the Public School team's turn to bat. One of their opening batsmen was bowled by Lumboo for nought. The other batsman was twice rapped on the pads by balls from Ranji, but his loud appeals for LBW were turned down — by the Public School's umpire, naturally! Muttering to himself, Ranji hurled down a thunderbolt of a ball. It rose sharply and struck the batsman on the hand. Howling with pain, he dropped his bat and wrung his hand. Then he showed everyone a swollen finger and decided to 'retire hurt'.
"There's more than one way of getting them out," muttered Ranji, as he passed the umpire.
The next two batsmen were good players, not as nervous as the openers. One of them got what might have been a faint tickle to an out-swinger from Lumboo, but he was given the benefit of the doubt by Bhim — who, as umpires went, was as impartial as a star. He showed no favours to his own team, no matter what the other umpire did. It just isn't fair, thought Ranji.
The number three and four batsmen put on forty runs between them, and by mid-afternoon Ranji's players were feeling tired and hungry. Then three quick wickets fell to Sitaram's spinners. Three wickets remained, and twenty runs were needed by the Public School for victory.
This was when Bhartu, running to take a catch, collided with chubby Mukesh. Both of them went sprawling on the grass, and when they got up the ball was found lodged in the back of Mukesh's pants. How it got there no one could tell, but after much discussion the umpires had to agree that it qualified as a catch and the batsman was given out. But Bhartu had to leave the ground with a bleeding nose.
Ranji looked around for a replacement. There was no one in sight except Koki.
"Come and field," said Ranji brusquely.
Koki needed no persuading. She slipped off her sandals and dashed barefoot on to the field, taking up Bhartu's position near the boundary.
The tail-end batsmen were now swinging at the ball in a desperate attempt to hit off the remaining runs. A hard-hit drive sped past Koki and went for four runs. Ranji gave her a hard look. Then the two batsmen got into a muddle while trying to take a quick run, and one of them was run out.
The last man came in. The Public School was eight runs behind. But a couple of boundaries would take care of that.
The batsmen ran two. And then one of them, over confident and sure of victory, swung out at a slow, tempting ball from Sitaram, and the ball flew towards Koki in a long, curving arc.
Koki had to run a few yards to her left. Then she leapt like a gazelle and took the ball in both hands.
Ranji's team had won, and Koki had made the winning catch.
It was her last appearance as 'twelfth man'. From that day onwards she was a regular member of the team.
HOME
he boy's useless," said Mr Kapoor, speaking to his wife but making sure his son could hear. "I don't know what he'll do with himself when he grows up. He takes no interest in his studies."
Suraj's father had returned from a business trip and was seeing his son's school report for the first time.
"Good at cricket," said the report. "Poor in studies. Does not pay attention in class."
Suraj's mother, a quiet, dignified woman, said nothing. Suraj stood at the window, refusing to speak. He stared out at the light drizzle that whispered across the garden. He had angry black eyes and bushy eyebrows, and he was feeling rebellious.
His father was doing all the talking. "What's the use of spending money on his education if he can't show anything for it? He comes home, eats as much as three boys, asks for money, and then goes out to loaf with his friends!"
Mr Kapoor paused, expecting Suraj to reply and give cause for further scolding; but Suraj knew that silence would irritate his father even more, and there were times when he enjoyed watching his father get irritated.
"Well, I won't stand for it," said Mr Kapoor finally.
"If you don't make some effort, my boy, you can leave this house!" And having at last addressed Suraj directly, he stormed out of the room.
Suraj remained a few moments at the window. Then he went to the front door, opened it, stepped out into the rain, and banged the door behind him.
His mother made as if to call out after him, but she thought better of it, and turned and walked into the kitchen.
Suraj stood in the drizzle, looking back at the house.
"I'll never go back," he said fiercely. "I can manage without them. If they want me back, they can come and ask me to return!"
And he thrust his hands into his pockets and walked down the road with an independent air.
His fingers came into contact with a familiar crispness, a five-rupee note. It was all the money he had in the world. He clutched it tight. He had meant to spend it at the cinema, but now it would have to serve more urgent needs. He wasn't sure what these needs would be because just now he was angry and his mind wasn't running on practical lines. He walked blindly, unconscious of the rain, until he reached the maidaan.
When he reached the maidaan, the sun came out.
Though there was still a drizzle, the sun seemed to raise Suraj's spirits at once. He remembered his friend Ranji and decided he would stay with Ranji until he found some sort of work. He knew that if he didn't find work, he wouldn't be able to stay away from home for long. He wondered what kind of work a thirteen-year-old could get. He did not fancy delivering newspapers or serving tea in a small teashop in the bazaar; it was much better being a customer.
The drizzle ceased altogether, and Suraj hurried across the maidaan and down a quiet road until he reached Ranji's house. When he went in at the gate, his spirits sank.
The house was shut. There was a lock on the front door. Suraj went round the house three times but he couldn't find an open door or window. Perhaps, he thought, the family have gone out for the morning — a picnic or birthday treat; they were sure to be back for lunch. With spirits mounting once again, he strolled leisurely down the road, in the direction of the bazaar.
Suraj had a weakness for the bazaar, for its crowded variety of goods, its smells and colours and the music playing over the loudspeakers. He lingered now at a tea-and-pakora shop, tempted by the appetising smells that came from inside; but decided that he would eat at Ranji's house and spend his money on something other than food. He couldn't resist the big yellow yo-yo in the toy-seller's glass case; it was set with pieces of different coloured glass which shone and twinkled in the sunshine.
"How much?" asked Suraj.
"Two rupees," said the shopkeeper. "But to a regular customer like you I give it for one rupee."
"It must be an old one," said Suraj, but he paid the rupee and took possession of the yo-yo. He immediately began working it, strolling through the bazaar with the yo-yo swinging up and down from his index finger.
Fingering the four remaining notes in his pocket,
he decided that he was thirsty. Not tap-water, nor a fizzy drink, but only a vanilla milk-shake would meet his need. He sat at a table and sucked milk-shake through a straw. One eye caught sight of the clock on the wall. It was nearly one o'clock. Ranji and his family should be home by now.
Suraj slipped off his chair, paid for the drink — that left him with two rupees — and went sauntering down the bazaar road, the yo-yo making soothing sounds beside him.
Ranji's house was still shut.
This was something Suraj hadn't anticipated. He walked quickly round the house, but it was locked as before. On his second round he met the gardener, an old man over sixty.
"Where is everybody?" asked Suraj.
"They have gone to Delhi for a week," said the gardener, looking sharply at Suraj. "Why, is anything the matter?"
Suraj had never seen the old man before, but he did not hesitate to confide in him. "I've left home. I was going to stay with Ranji. Now there's nowhere to go."
The old man thought this over for a minute. His face was wrinkled like a walnut, his hands and feet hard and cracked; but his eyes were bright and almost youthful. He was a part-time gardener, who worked for several families along the road; there were no big gardens in this part of the town.
"Why don't you go home again?" he suggested.
"It's too soon," said Suraj. "I haven't really run away as yet. They must know I've run away. Then they'll feel sorry!"
The gardener smiled. 'You should have planned it better," he said. "Have you saved any money?"
"I had five rupees this morning. Now there are two rupees left." He looked down at his yo-yo. "Would you like to buy it?"
"I wouldn't know how to work it," said the gardener. "The best thing for you to do is to go home, wait till Ranji gets back, and then run away."
Suraj considered this interesting advice, and decided that there was something in it. But he didn't make up his mind right away. A little suspense at home would be a good thing for his parents.
He returned to the maidaan and sat down on the grass; As soon as he sat down, he felt hungry.
He had never felt so hungry before. Visions of tandoori chickens and dripping spangled sweets danced before him. He wondered if the toy-seller would take back the yo-yo. He probably would, for half the price; but, as much as Suraj wanted food, he did not want to give up the yo-yo.
There was nothing to do but go home. His mother, he was sure, would be worried by now. His father (he hoped) would be pacing up and down the verandah, glancing at his watch every few seconds. It would be a lesson to them. He would walk back into the house as if doing them a favour.
He only hoped they had kept his lunch.
Suraj walked into the sitting-room and threw his yo-yo on the sofa.
Mr Kapoor was sitting in his favourite armchair, reading a newspaper prior to going back to his office. He stood up for a moment as Suraj came into the room, said 'You 're very late," and returned to his newspaper.
Suraj found his mother and his food in the kitchen. She did not speak to him, but was smiling to herself.
"Feeling hungry?" she asked.
"No," said Suraj, and seized the tray and tucked into his food.
When he returned to the sitting-room he was surprised to see his father fumbling with the yo-yo.
"How do you work this stupid thing?" said Mr Kapoor.
Suraj didn't reply. He just stood there gloating over his father's clumsiness. At last he couldn't help bursting into laughter.
"It's easy," he said. "I'll show you." And he took the yoyo from his father and gave a demonstration.
When Mrs Kapoor came into the room she did not appear at all surprised to find her husband and son deeply absorbed in the working of a cheap bazaar toy. She was used to such absurdities. Men never really grew up.
Mr Kapoor had forgotten he was supposed to be returning to his office, and Suraj had forgotten about running away. They had both forgotten the morning's unpleasantness. That had been a long, long time ago.
THE VISITOR
mir was sitting on his bed, staring out of the door that opened out onto the roof. The bald mynah bird stared back at him. Then he heard someone calling from downstairs.
"Does anyone live up there?"
"No," shouted Amir. "Nobody lives up here."
"Then can I come up?" asked the person below.
Amir didn't answer. Presently he heard footsteps coming up. The mynah bird flew off the roof and settled in a mango tree.
A boy stood in the doorway, smiling at Amir. He was a little taller than Amir, and much thinner. He wore a white shirt outside striped pyjamas. On his feet were open slippers. A tray hung from his shoulders, filled with an assortment of goods.
"Would you like to buy something?" he asked.
In his tray were combs, buttons, reels of thread, shoelaces, little vials of cheap perfume.
"I have everything you need," he said.
"I don't need anything," said Amir.
'You need buttons."
"I don't."
'Your top button is missing."
Amir felt for the top button of his shirt and was surprised to find it missing.
"I don't like buttoning my shirt," he said.
"That's different," said his visitor, and looked him up and down for further signs of wear and tear. 'You'd better buy a new pair of shoelaces."
Amir looked down at his shoes and said, "I've got laces."
"Very poor quality," said the boy, and taking hold of one of the laces, he tugged at it and snapped it in two. "See how easily it breaks? Now you need laces."
"Well, I'm not buying any," said Amir.
The boy sighed, shrugged, and moved towards the door. As he walked slowly down the steps, Amir stood in the doorway, watching him go. On an impulse, he called out, "What's your name?"
"Mohan," replied the boy.
"Well, come again in a week," said Amir. "I may need something then."
Amir went downstairs for his lunch. He returned to his room to study, but dozed off instead. Towards evening he felt hungry and restless. He could not remain in his room when everyone else was pouring into the streets to shop and talk and eat and visit the cinema.
From the roof he could see the bazaar lights coming on, and hear the jingle of tonga bells and the blare of bus horns. It was a cool evening and he put on his coat before going downstairs.
It was not easy to walk fast on the road to the bazaar. Apart from the great number of pedestrians, there were cyclists and scooter-rickshaws, handcarts and cows, all making movement difficult. A little tea-shop played film music over a loudspeaker, adding noise to the general confusion.
The balloon-man was having a trying time. He was surrounded by a swarm of children who were more intent on bursting his balloons than on buying any. One or two got loose and went sailing over the heads of the crowd to burst over the fire in the chaat shop.
Amir stood outside the chaat shop and ate a variety of spicy snacks. Then he wiped his fingers on the banana leaves on which he had been served, and moved on down the bazaar road.
Towards the clock tower the road grew wider and less crowded. There was a street lamp at the corner of the road. A boy was sitting on the pavement beneath the lamp, bent over a book, absorbed in what he was reading. He seemed not to notice the noise of the bazaar or the chill in the air. As Amir came nearer, he saw that the boy was Mohan.
He did not know whether to stop and talk to him, or carry on down the road. After walking some distance, he felt ashamed at not having stopped to greet the boy, so he turned and retraced his steps. But when he came to the lamp-post, Mohan had gone.
When Mohan came again he did not call out from below but came straight up to the room. He looked at Amir's shirt and shoes and saw that one of the shoes was still done up with half a lace. With an air of triumph he dropped a pair of shoelaces on the desk.
"I can't pay for them now," said Amir.
'You can pay me later."
Amir sat on the
edge of his table while Mohan leant against the wall.
"Do you go to school?" asked Amir.
"Sometimes I go to evening classes," Mohan said. "I am sitting privately for my High School exams next month. If I pass..."
He stopped to think about the things he could do if he passed. The way to a career would be open to him, he could study further, become an engineer, or a scientist 01 an administrator. No more selling combs and buttons at street corners...
"Where are your parents?" asked Amir.
"My father is dead. My mother is in our village in the hills. I have brothers and sisters at home, but I am the only one old enough to work."
"Then where do you stay?"
"Anywhere. On somebody's verandah, or on the maidaan; it doesn't matter much in the summer. These days I sleep on the station platform. It's quite warm there."
"You can sleep here," said Amir.
One morning, when he opened the door of his room, Amir found Mohan asleep at the top of the steps. He had wrapped himself up in a thin blanket. His tray of merchandise lay a short distance away.
Amir shook him gently and he woke up immediately, blinking in the bright sunlight.
"Why didn't you come in?" asked Amir. "Why didn't you let me know you were here?"
"It was late," said Mohan. "I did not want to wake you. Besides, it was a fine night, not too cold."
"Someone could have stolen your things."
Amir made Mohan promise to sleep in the room that night. He came quite early. Amir lent him another blanket, and he lay down on the floor-mat and slept soundly, while Amir stayed awake worrying if his guest was comfortable enough.
Mohan came quite often, leaving early in the morning before Amir could offer him a meal. He ate at little places in the bazaar.
The High School exams were nearing, and Mohan sat up late with his books. Apart from his occasional evening classes, he received no teaching.
The exams lasted for ten days, and during this time Mohan put aside his tray of odds and ends. He did his papers with confidence. He thought he had done rather well. And when it was over, he took up his tray again and walked all over the town, trying to make up for lost sales.