The Boy's Story
“Dadu. Dadu, look what I found !” I just couldn't wait to show it to my grandfather.
Many times during our evening walks, I had asked Dadu who this woman was, and why didn't she have any clothes to wear. Dadu would always say something like the young lady was very poor, and dint have any clothes to wear. Any further questions I tried asking, or my any intention of finding out who this poor woman was, who was so poor that she didn't even have clothes to wear, were met silently by Dadu, who would then quietly light up his pipe, and wait for me to find something more interesting to do, or ask some other question, which could be more easily answered to a five year old inquisitive kid. Sometimes I would wait for Dadu to finish lighting up his pipe, and wait till he was peacefully puffing away smoke into the air. And then I would repeat my question again. Sometimes I would forget all about that statue, and get myself occupied with breaking twigs from the dry trees along the side of the hill slope, or trying to catch one of those colorful butterflies. Dadu would never stop me from trying to catch butterflies, or any other insect that happened to fly near me. He would walk quietly behind me, lost in his own thoughts, smoking his pipe, humming his favourite song. Sometimes when I walked too far ahead of him, chasing a lizard or a squirrel, he would call out my name.I ran as hard as my little legs could carry me, clutching in my hand tightly, but safely my latest discovery in the garden outside. My heart was racing very fast, like a horse racing against the wind, my mind, excited as a new born kid. I ran hard up the hill, past the stone statue of the woman without any clothes.
“Hari, Hari my boy, where are you? Don't leave me alone here. I will get lost”, and I would come running back to Dadu's rescue, catch him by his hand, and make sure that he doesnt get lost in the woods again.
“Dont worry Dadu. You will never get lost. I am here”, I would reassure him.
He would laugh every time I said that, leaving me wondering if I could be laughing like him if I was about to get lost in the dark woods by myself, and some body else had to rescue me.
I ran past the statue of the naked woman, ignoring her this time, climbed over the grand roots of the majestic banyan tree. It was a little difficult for me to climb over the banyan roots, specially since I couldn't use my hands now to grab the roots and pull myself up.
The 'thing' in my hands was wriggling now, trying to get out of my grasp. I clutched it more tighly, making sure that I dont lose my 'prize' before I could show it to Dadu. Dadu would surely know what it is, and why it was making that strange sound.
I passed under the colorful bougainvillea tree, and finally slowed down. The bougainvillea tree always brought a sense of calm to me, a feeling of pride that I had not got lost in the woods this time, and that I was finally very close to home. It was a sign of victory to me, symbolizing triumph over the endless winding pathways in the dark confusing woods.
I reached the garden now. I stopped running, and was walking now. I must have been walking quite fast, because Buddhu the old gardener stopped digging the ground, or whatever he was doing, and looked up at me. He was an old man, much older than Dadu himself. Atleast he looked much older than Dadu. BUt Buddhu liked to argue otherwise. Once Buddhu had told me that he was much younger than Dadu, and that Dadu himself was eighty years old. I didn't believe him. If Dadu could be eighty years old, what was Buddhu, a hundred?
I dont know why knew called him Buddhu, which meant 'Idiot', because Buddhu was certainly not an idiot. An idiot could never create such a beautiful garden as the one we owned. He loved gardening, and would spend the entire day, either digging the ground, or removing unwanted weeds out of the soil. Whenever I saw him, I could see Buddhu huddled up, sitting with his knees much upto his chin, with his arm pits resting over his knees. He could spend hours in that position. I dont know how he could do that. I had tried it many times, and I couldn't manage to sit in that position for more than five minutes.
Buddhu loved creating big colorful circles of flowers in our garden. He loved bright colorful strongly scented seasonal flowers like jasmine and honeysuckle. But Dadu preferred more delicately scented flowers like petunia and roses. But they both shared the liking for the bright gold marigold.
Buddhu had a wonderful sense of colors and flowers. He certainly wasn't an idiot. In fact, after Dadu, Buddhu was one of the cleverest man that I had ever met. Not that I had met a lot of people, but he was certainly cleverer than all those idiot men below the hills, who always could be seen standing outside the tea stall all day long. Although I wasn't allowed to climb down the hill, and go across the woods, but high up from the hill too, I could see them below in the plains, standing and laughing all day long. I didn't like them. They made fun of Buddhu. I have heard them. Even Dadu doesn't like those boys. Many a time he had pointed those boys to me and said “Hari, you should study hard. You dont want to become like one of those boys out there, do you?”
“No Dadu, certainly not”, I would reply fiercely. That would make him smile.
“But what will I become when I grow up Dadu?”, I would ask.
“Anything my boy. Anything you want”, he would say.
“Why, you could even become like your father”.
And then he would stop. He never talked about my father. Or my mother. If, by any chance I happened to ask him about my father or mother, he would always tell me “Grow up fast, boy. I will tell you your parents story when you grow up. Not before that”.
That was the only question, other than the statue of the naked women that Dadu had never answered me clearly. Other than that we discussed everything. Even though I was only five years old, I could discuss anything with Dadu. Weather, currencies, government, elections, sports, Hitler, Audrey Hepburn, Dubai, every thing.
I ran inside the house. I knew where I could find Dadu.
I found him easily. He was sitting in the hall, blowing away on his pipe, reading the morning newspaper. Dadu never missed the morning newspaper. He got irritated if someday the newspaper boy didnt deliver the morning newspaper on time. He couldn't have his cup of tea without his newspaper.
He didn't liketo be disturbed while he was reading the newspaper, and I didn't usually disturb him so early in the morning. But this was important. Really important.
“Dadu. Look what I found”, I shouted as soon as I saw Dadu.
He looked up through his half moon reading glasses. He didn't seem too pleased to have been disturbed.
I opened my palm, and showed him the little creature that was imprisoned inside.
“I have never seen an insect like this. What is it Dadu?”, I asked.
He looked into my small hands for only a second, and went back to his newspaper.
“That's a cricket, my boy. Where did you find it?”
“Deep under the earth. He was hiding in a small hole below the earth.” I said.
“I was walking in the woods, when I heard a strange sound, like a machine cutter continuosly twirling. I followed the sound to this hole. Then I poured some water which had collected after last night's rain. Then this thing came out.”
Dadu smiled, but didn't say anything.
I got a little upset. I had hoped Dadu would congratulate me on my find.
“Look Dadu, it has so many legs.” I tried to genarate some interst in Dadu.
It worked. He put away the newspaper, and removed his reading glasses, and put it on the table.
“Yes, They have six legs. Four are walking legs and two large back legs which are used to make very long jumps”, he said.
“And what is that long thing attached to its head?” I asked.
“ That's his antennae, used for touching and smelling” dadu said knowingly.
“And why was it making that chirpping sound?”
“Crickets have been chirping and singing for million years now. The calling song is meant to attract females and repel other males. The very quiet courting song is used when a female is near. Only signals from a male of her kind will cause a female to approach and accept him as a mate. An aggressive song is used when another male is detected” Dadu said.
“What is mating, Dadu?”, I asked.
“That is the process by which young ones are made”, Dadu explained easily.
He continued in his knowing voice “Crickets that live in trees and bushes usually sing only at night. Those that live below the earth generally sing both day and night. House crickets and field crickets make songs both day and night. Females of chirping and singing species have organs on their legs to hear the sound.”
Dadu knew everything. He had an answer to all my questions. He was my teacher, my friend, my guide, my father, my mother, my everything.
The Gardener's Story
“I don't think he should go”, the lady in the flashy saree observed.
“Yes, he already seems too disturbed”, commented another.
I looked at the boy, sitting alone in the corner, unblinking, staring blankly at the coffin infornt of him, which engulfed what once used to be his dear Dadu.
Sahib still looked so full of life. His face was glowing, his beard perfectly trimmed. It appeared to me that he was sleeping, taking his evening nap. It seemed to me that he would wake up any moment now, and call out to the cook for his evening cup of tea. He didn't like it when he had to wait for too long for his tea after he got up from his nap.
He surely wouldn't have liked to see so many people roaming around freely in his mansion. For while he was alive, he had the run of the house. No one ever visited his place. He kept mostly to himself, with his trophies, books, riffles and his grand son.
And now all these people had the run of the house. They were roaming freely within the house, touching and removing his favourite books, which even the servents of the house were never allowed to touch. They were moving freely from the hall to the sahib's private room, removing utensils from the kitchen, and littering the whole floor which used to be sparkling clean once upon a time.
Some idiot had even walked all over my flowers, trampled upon them, and killed them all. Anyway, I dont think there would be any need for a garden in this house anymore. There will be no need for me too. I will be jobless. I am a little apprehensive about what I will do now, where will I find another job at this age. Not many people are interested in gardens anymore, and even lesser people would keep a gardener for their garden.
The boy will probably be sent to an orphanage. He has no body to take care of him. He is only five years old now. What will become of him, God knows. The sahib has no relatives, none that I have met or known in the last twenty five years I have worked for him.
I wish the boy's parents were still alive.
I still remember that fateful day when Chota Sahib had returned from Kashmir. The sahib was not very supportive of him going to Kashmir as a new person in the first place. Maybe he had wanted his only son to join the army like him. But that was not to be. Chota Sahib never was really very excited about joining the army. He wanted to live like a civilian. Like us. The Sahib didn't want him to go to Kashmir during the time of the war as a news reporter. But Chota Sahib was adamant as always. He went there.
And when he came back after two years he brought a Kashmiri wife with him.
I still remember that day. The Sahib was very angry. They argued for the whole day. We could hear their voices from outside the house. The Sahib wasn't ready to allow a woman of another religion to run his house. He didn't want her to be his son's life partner. He refused to accept her as his daughter in law.
That's when Chota Sahib decided to leave the house with his newly wed wife.
The next day the Sahib got a call from the hospital that his son had met with an accident in the hills. Chota Sahib had been killed instantly. His wife breathed her last at the hospital in the presence of the Sahib.
But not before she had given birth to the baby boy!
The Sahib changed from that day itself. He was no longer the proud old army major he once used to be. He became very silent. He now kept to himself most of the time. He let the servents take over the house. He kept himself busy with his grand son from then on.
I have heard many people in the town say that the Sahib got his son killed.
I don't believe any of those stories. I am the one who had known the sahib ever since he was a young man. Yes, he was a proud man, who follwed his ideals and principles to the core. But he could have never killed his own son. Yes, they were not the perfect father-son pair. But he wasn't that tough. I have seen the Sahib weep many nights, holding his new born grand son in his arms after the child's parents were killed. He couldn't have hated the father so much, if he loved the small boy so much.
He was very dedicated towars his grand son. Why, I have never seen him lose his temper on the boy. He handled him lovingly,and answered his every question patiently.In fact he had nver even talked with the boy in a loud voice ever. He loved his grand son a lot.
I looked at the boy. He was still staring at the coffin. There wasn't even a single drop of tear in his eyes. He was staring blankly at his Dadu's face. His face was stoned, just like his Dadu's stone cold face.
It was late evening now. The sun will set soon. The last rays of the sun were disappearing behind the hills now. Soon they will carry away the coffin, and leave our Sahib deep under the earth. Maybe the crickets would give him company below the earth.
The woods are getting darker now. A few lights in the house had come on now. The birds in the woods were chripping away madly, maybe saying their last farewell to the Sahib.
And the crickets chripped away loudly into the darkness of the night.
