Sandalwood trees

Mv parents and I lived near Karimunai village in
the Eastern Ghats. My father owned and tilled a piece
of terraced land on the hill slopes and my mother
tended our goats. I helped both of them. I also studied
in the village school. Gugu, the dog, was my companion.
Both of us loved to run up and down the hilly slopes, whenever we could.

The day I was thirteen, a terrible thing happened.
It was well after sunrise. My parents and I heard a low,
rumbling sound. The goats and Gugu felt uneasy.
Within minutes there was an explosion and a stone hit
my head. I turned round sharply, my head throbbing
with pain. 

"Amma* where are you?" I cried out. But, my
voice was drowned by the noise of the boulders rolling
down the hills. I thought I heard my mother call my
name, "Su-nan-da-!" I tried to run, but it was no use.

I gazed at the horrific landslide. Suddenly, something
sharp hit my eyes. I staggered and fell. After that, I
knew nothing till I woke up in Raogaru's house. 
When I opened my eyes, I found it was dark around
me. I had lost my eyes. Sobs shpok my frail frame.
Gugu stood by my side, licking my hand. 

Raogaru was the headmaster of the village school. 
He had brought me to his house. My parents and the
goats were killed in the landslide. Gugu and I had
had a miraculous escape, Raogaru told me. 

He and his wife, whom I called Mami* were very
good to me. But, I missed my parents. I missed my
home. But most of all the darkness around me was
shattering. I felt I was falling deeper and deeper into a
dark bottomless pit. 

I bravely suppressed my sobs. Gugu was a great
comfort. He often sat huddled close to me. I stroked
him, cuddled him and spoke to him often. 
Raogaru wanted to send me back to school; but I
refused to go. "I'm so different from the other girls,
now. Moreover, everyone will make fun of me," I
wept. Raogaru agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to let me
stay at home. 

I began to get used to my dark world. I spent a lot
of time with Mami, who was very kind to me. I learnt
to make garlands for the deities, while Mami prepared
other offerings for the puja. In the evenings, Raogaru
kept me company. We spoke on various subjects for
hours together. 

The landslides haunted me and I asked him one
day, "Tell me, uncle, why do landslides occur." 
"Man has started encroaching upon nature thoughtlessly,"
he explained.

"He is denuding the hillsides by
cutting down the trees. The trees actually help to keep
the mountain mass together. Without them, any stray
disturbance under the earth's surface causes chunks of 
the land to slide down."
"Why then, this de... de " 
"Denudation. Trees are cut down legally for various
reasons, industrial development for example. But there
is illegal felling of trees, too." 
"So it's this denudation that has deprived me of my
Amma " 

Gradually, as days passed, I gained confidence. I
could touch, feel and understand pretty well. My
nostrils told me a lot and I could hear extremely well.
I ventured out with Gugu and went for afternoon
strolls. 

I was not unfamiliar with the hills around. My
favourite haunt was a cluster of shady trees. There I
would sit, leaning against a tree trunk, with Gugu
sitting close to me. A cuckoo on the tree always greeted 
me with her clear call "Aa.. .koo " If I answered
back, she would call out louder still. 

One day, as I approached my usual resting place, a
gust of wind, with a familiar aroma, blew. I also noticed
that my bird friend was silent. "Aa...koo, Aa...
koo...," I called out. But there was no answer. 

I became curious and sat down to think. When I
tiied to lean against the tree, I realised there was no
tree. Just a short stump stood in its place. 

I quickly bent down and smelt the stump. 'Sandalwood'
I thought. I hastily picked up a stone and
rubbed it against the core of the stump and I could smell

sandalwood. I walked round and found three
more such stumps. 'Who has cut down these sandalwood
 trees and why?' I wondered. 

'De-nuda-tion.' I remembered Raogaru's word
and slowly repeated it to myself. 
"Bow-wow," cried Gugu.

"Come on, Gugu, let's go home," I said and we 
hastened homewards. As I entered the gates of the
house, I told Raogaru, "Uncle..., some sandalwood
trees have been felled on that side. Who has cut them?" 
"I don't know, Sunanda. I must check with
Mudaliar," said Raogaru walking away. Mudaliar was 
the head constable at the village police station.
The next day, after my usual stroll with Gugu, I 
had fresh news for Raogaru. More sandalwood trees
had been cut. 

But Raogaru was emphatic. "Sunanda, I have asked
Mudaliar. He says the area and the sandalwood trees
are well protected and no one can break a single twig." 
"Surely," said Mami, supporting me, "Sunanda
couldn't be imagining all she said." 

"In fact," continued Raogaru, "Mudaliar was quite
upset and asked me to tell Sunanda that she should not
spread such rumours any more." 
"Well! Who would take a blind girl of thirteen
seriously?" I murmured unhappily. 

"Come, Sunanda. Don't feel so upset about it."
Mami put her arm round my shoulders and comforted
me. But I was sure that valuable sandalwood was being
stolen.

Early the next morning, Gugu and I walked to the
sandalwood area. I let Gugu lead me and after a great
search found a nice hiding place behind a bush. There I
waited impatiently for a long time. 

I had almost dozed off when Gugu growled. I was
immediately alert. The next minute, Gugu sprang forward,
 barking, while I crouched well behind the bushes
and waited with bated breath. I heard footsteps
approaching. As they came nearer, Gugu stopped
barking. 

Somebody asked, "What are you doing here doggy?
Patrolling like me, eh?" 
I recognised Mudaliar's voice. He had not noticed
me, I presumed. When I could no more hear his receding
footsteps, I relaxed. However, nothing happened during
the rest of the day and I returned home.

The following night, I waited for the clock to chime

eleven. I heard Raogaru and his wife snoring. Motioning

to Gugu to follow me, I quietly slipped out

of the house.

Long before we reached the sandalwood trees. I

heard a low whirring noise. Gugu became uneasy and

growled. "Shsh.. .Gugu! Don't you make a noise,"

I whispered, holding him firmly by the collar.

We walked on and the noise became louder and

louder. Suddenly, it struck me, 'Hey! Even if there's

something fishy going on, the place must be well lit.

Men can't be working in the dark. And they will see

me.' 

Hastily I pushed Gugu to one side of the path.

Crouching low and holding the dog by the collar, I

crept forward, listening intently.

The whirring noise was incessant and there was also

the sound of moving vehicles. After what seemed an

eternity, the whirring ceased and I could hear men

speaking to one another. 

"Enough for today, Ramesh. It's getting to be

two o' clock. And remember, ten percent of the money

you earn by selling this sandalwood is mine. Otherwise

the authorities would be alerted and you would be

behind bars for the rest of your life." 

My heart skipped a beat for the voice I heard was

that of Mudaliar. I held my breath, gripping Gugu's

collar tight. 

"Of course, Sir," replied another voice.

Soon all was quiet. My heart thumped like a steam 

engine as I rushed back home with Gugu. Quietly I got

into bed, but could not sleep a wink. Mudaliar's voice

was ringing in my ears. 

In the morning, as soon as Raogaru was awake, I

told him everything. "Are you sure, Sunanda?" he 

asked me.

"Positive, Uncle."

"Then, I must take this up with police headquarters 

at Ootacamund," Raogaru said decisively.

Mami stroked my head gently. "Brave girl," she 

said.

After a few days, I was called to police headquarters 

with Raogaru. There, I was asked several questions to

confirm what I had already told Raogaru. On the way

home, I asked Raogaru what would happen to

Mudaliar. 

"If there's enough evidence against him, he will be

arrested," he said. 

A month or so later, one morning, Raogaru took

my hands in his and said warmly, "My dear Sunanda!

You have been given a reward by the police department

for helping them unravel a sandalwood racket." 

I grabbed both his hands and pressed them to my

lips. 

"Oh wonderful!" cried Mami. "I'll makepayasam*

today a#d offer it to Lakshmi Devi." 

"What is more," said Raogaru, "I have decided to

admit Sunanda in the National School for the Blind.

Sunanda, there you will learn a useful vocation. I'll

put your reward money in the bank. It will help you

get a good start in life." 

I wanted to thank Raogaru, but words failed me.

I was too overwhelmed. 

A sleuth is born

Jalaluddin was twelve when he went to the best
school in town. He was not very clever at studies but
was smart. 
When he was in the sixth class and his exams were
only two months away, some of his classmates found
that their books were missing. The thefts continued
for some days. Initially the boys suspected one another.

But, as the days passed, more and more boys started 
losing their books. They got worried because the exams
were fast approaching.

Some of the boys were afraid of telling their parents
about the loss of books for fear of punishment. They
might even be suspected of having sold the books for
a little extra spending money. 

They also thought it prudent not to report the loss
to their class teacher. "How come so many books have
been lost?" the teacher would have asked. "And who
can steal them anyway since all of you were in school
all the time?" 

To such queries, the boys had no answer. So every
one suffered in silence, hoping and praying that the
lost books might miraculously reappear. 

One day Jalaluddin found his English grammar
book missing. His parents were not rich enough to
buy him another book. He had to have the grammar 
book because his English teacher had always been
admonishing him, "Improve your English or you will
never pass." 

So Jalaluddin was determined not only to pass in
English but to top the class. Therefore, he had to regain
the grammar book. He saved his pocket money, borrowed
small amounts from some of the boys and bought a
second-hand grammar book.

When he went to school the next day, instead of
keeping his books in the desk, Jalaluddin kept his
books on top of the almirah, which stood in a corner
and in which the class teacher kept the attendance
register, books and papers. But, when he returned
from the assembly, the book was gone, as if it had
vanished into thin air. Jalaluddin was in a quandary. 

He thought and thought. It suddenly occurred to
him that for the past few days, he had been seeing a
stranger, a boy about their age, hanging about in the
school. 

'Come to think of it,' he said to himself. 'He's not
a regular student. He is there some times and not at
other times. How can that be?' 

So far Jalaluddin had paid no attention to him,
but now he was assailed with doubts. Who was this
boy? Why was he around? So preoccupied was he

with thoughts of the stranger that his teacher pulled

him up for not paying attention to him. 

The next morning, Jalaluddin entered his class

room as usual, deposited the books in his desk and

ran out for assembly as usual. But, instead of attending

assembly, he came back by a circuitous route and

hid himself in a corner of the verandah from where

he could see his class room.

As soon as assembly started, he saw the stranger 

enter the class room stealthily, pick up a book each

from three or four desks and slip out of the school

premises by the back gate. 

'So that's it', said Jalaluddin to himself.

Having found the thief, Jalaluddin was not going 

to let him escape. He followed the boy, keeping a safe

distance. The boy walked on and on and Jalaluddin

followed him. When he crossed the road, Jalaluddin

also crossed the road. Whenever he stopped, Jalaluddin

stopped too, making sure not to arouse any suspicion.

The boy entered a tall building and climbed the stairs.

Jalaluddin did not follow him lest he should be noticed.

So he waited outside the building. After what seemed

hours he started getting worried.

Perhaps the boy lives in this building, he thought.

'I can't possibly knock at every door enquiring about

a boy whose name I do not know.'

Just as he was about to give up the chase, the boy

emerged from the building, carrying a small packet

tied up in a newspaper. But Jalaluddin was not

deceived. He had no doubt that the packet contained

the books. 

Following the boy, Jalaluddin quickened his pace.

The boy sensed he was being trailed. He quickly

entered another building in an effort to dodge his

pursuer. Then, coming out, he went back in the direction

 he had come from. But, as he turned the corner

to go to the back of the tall building, he bumped right

into Jalaluddin! 

Jalaluddin pretended it was an accident and

hurried off. The boy was relieved. He was wrong he

felt in thinking that some one was shadowing him. 

That was exactly what Jalaluddin wanted and, sure

enough, the boy had fallen into the well-laid trap. 

Seeing Jalaluddin walk off, he boldly walked on to

the bazaar and entered a shop that sold second-hand 

books. Jalaluddin watched the boy from the other

side of the road and noted the name of the shop he

had entered. 

Then he rushed to the police station nearby and so

excited was he that he almost barged into the Inspector's

room. The policeman standing outside caught him by the

arm.

"Who do you think you are, barging in like this?"

Hearing the commotion, the Inspector came out.

"What's going on?" he demanded to know. "What

has this fellow been up to?" 

Jalaluddin was past caring. "There is a thief in

that bookshop, Sir," he screamed, pointing in the

direction of the bazaar. "That boy has stolen our

school books. Please, Sir, catch him before he runs

away." The words came tumbling out of his mouth.

"I followed him all the way from school, Sir. Please,

Sir, hurry or he will run away!" 

Jalaluddin was straining at the leash, as it were,

the policeman holding him firmly. 

The Inspector realised the urgency of the situation.

He sent a policeman with Jalaluddin and they reached

the shop in the nick of time. 

"There he is!" cried Jalaluddin as the boy came out. 

Seeing the policeman, the boy took to his heels.

But the constable sprinted after him and caught him

by the scruff of his neck. 

"I'm not a thief," wailed the boy. "I have not

stolen anything." "Then why were you running away?"

asked the policeman. 

They took the boy to the police station, where he

denied that he had stolen and sold any books. So the

Inspector sent for the shop-keeper. He too denied

having bought any books from the boy. 

"Let's take him to the school, Sir," pleaded Jalaluddin. 

The Inspector called for the police van and they all

went to the school. 

At the school, Jalaluddin told the Principal how

so many boys had been losing their books, but were

afraid to report the loss for fear of being reprimanded.

The Principal nodded sympathetically as he heard the

story. 

The shop-keeper kept denying that he had bought

the stolen books from the accused boy. So the Principal

and the Police Inspector took him from class to class. 

"Look at those boys," thundered the Inspector.

"Can you identify the boy who sold you the books?" 

The boys were scared. What if the shop-keeper

accused any of them? What could they say in their

defence? Wliat proof had they that they had not stolen

the books? They might even be rusticated. The prospect

was too alarming to contemplate.

As they went from one class to another thirty pairs

of frightened eyes seemed to pierce right through the

shop-keeper. He could stand the strain no longer. He

broke down and confessed that he did buy the books

from the boy. He volunteered to return the books and

even forego the money he had paid for them. 

Jalaluddin became a hero in the school. The Principal 

asked him to tell the whole story to a hastily summoned assembly. 

Jalaluddin's proudest moment was when the

Principal announced that he would be made a Prefect

even though he was only in the sixth class, the Prefects

were normally chosen from class seven and above. 

Jalaluddin's parent^ were indeed proud of him,

more so when he received a letter of Commendation

from the Police Department. 

Holi

Merry shouts of "Holi Hai!" and the beating of
drums woke me up early in the morning. I was staying
in the school hostel, sharing a common dormitory.
Rushing to the window, I looked out and saw a colourful
crowd on the road. Some boys were spraying colour
on one another and laughing loudly.

I felt sad and left out. Last year Mama and Papa
were at home for Holi. A captain in the Merchant
Navy, Papa was now at sea aboard his ship and Mama
was with him. Grandma was in Delhi, but lived far
from school. At the most I could expect a visit from
her. She was sure to bring me a big box of sweets. 
There was no sign of our warden, Miss Singh.

Perhaps she was still asleep? I bathed and put on a
white shirt and shorts and went down to join the
other hostelers for breakfast. They too had no relations
to go to. Besides, we had been strictly forbidden to
play 'Holi' in the school premises. There was, therefore,
nothing to do after breakfast but wait for Grandma. 

I stood near the main gate, my face pressed against
the iron bars. Suddenly, I heard someone call my name. 
"Dilip! Dilip!"
Looking up I saw to my great joy, my friend Raj, 
balanced on his bicycle. He was covered with all sorts
of colours. "Well, aren't you coming?" he asked. 
"Where?" I yelled.
"Home, of course. Mother has prepared a lot of 
sweets!"
I was so pleased and tempted by this chance to play 
Holi that I forgot all about Grandma. Without thinking,
I slipped out of the side gate and sped off with Raj
on the cycle. In a few minutes we were at his house.

Raj's father owned a motor workshop. In fact, my
father always got his car attended to by him. When I
reached his place, the whole family—his two brothers,
little sister, mother and father—was in the courtyard.

Each of them held a syringe. A few more syringes lay
next to a tub of coloured water. Jumping off the cycle,
both of us grabbed a syringe each. But before we could
fill them, we were sprayed by the others. 

Laughter filled the air! We ran about filling and
refilling our syringes and spraying each other. Green,
red and yellow water was squirted all over. 

We must have splashed, sprayed and dashed about
madly for more than an hour. So we were tired and
hungry. Raj's mother brought us sweets and soft drinks. 

"Now, Dilip," she said, "go take a bath and change
into Raj's clothes. Then we will have lunch." 
I ate to my heart's content and slept the whole
afternoon. 

At about 5 o'clock, Raj woke me up. "Get up,
Dilip, let's fetch milk." So, off we went with a can to
the milk-booth nearby. 
As we stood in the queue, I heard a stern voice.
"Dilip! What're you doing here? Who's this boy?" 
I turned round. It was the warden, Miss Singh, and
she was looking daggers at us. 

I was unnerved. "This is my friend, Raj," I managed
to speak. "We've come to buy milk." 
"Your grandmother came to see you, but you could

not be found anywhere. Did you take anybody's

permission to go out with your friend? " 

"No," I said softly.

"Come with me," the warden ordered. I meekly 

followed Miss Singh to school. She took me to the

headmaster. 

Mr. Kumar spoke angrily. "Dilip Chopra! You left

the school premises without permission. Do you know

the police have been asked to look for you? Your

grandmother has also sent a telegram to your father". 

I was struck dumb with fear.

"Dilip, what have you to say for yourself?" asked 

Mr. Kumar.

I kept mum. I knew there would be no pocket-

money for me for months.

As the headmaster was about to speak again, there 

was a knock and Miss Singh entered, with a police

officei. He asked me a lot of questions until he was

satisfied that I was the boy lost and found and that I

had gone to Raj's house on my own. Then he took a

big book out of a bag he was carrying, got it signed by

Mr. Kumar and left. 

The headmaster turned to the warden. "Miss Singh,

this boy should be punished. He should be confined to

the chair next Sunday and should not be allowed to

play. He must write a letter to his grandmother

apologising for the agony he caused her. He must also

ask you to forgive him." 

I looked up at Miss Singh. "There is no need to

punish him, Sir," she said calmly. "At least he told us

the truth." 

The headmaster nodded in agreement.

"Thank you, Sir, thank you, Miss," I mumbled. 

"I'm sorry. I shall never again leave the school premises

without permission." 

Cheemi

"heemi will be on my side."

"No, I asked her first, she'll be in my group."

Neither Radha nor Vimal would give in.

Cheemi was very good at langdi-tang, the hopping 

game. Every one wanted Cheemi to be on their side.

She was in a fix. She did not want to annoy anyone. 

Cheemi was a poor orphan. Nobody knew where

she had come from. Yet everyone accepted the frail

little girl and named her Cheemi—the little sparrow.

She obliged one and all by doing odd jobs for them.

Fetched vegetables from the corner shop or looked

after babies when their mothers went shopping. If the

maid didn't turn up, Cheemi was there to help, cleaning

vessels, sweeping the floor and so on. 

Cheemi lived on left-overs women in the neighbourhood

gave her. The girls of her age gave her their

discarded clothes. Everybody liked Cheemi, except Parvati Kaki*

She considered herself to be a pious and aristocratic woman.

She had a big house with a beautiful garden full of jasmines 

and roses. But nobody was ever allowed in. The flowers were meant  for puja** only. Little girls who loved flowers

envied her but were too scared to go to her garden.

Cheemi, according to Parvati Kaki belonged to a

low caste. Therefore, she looked down on the girls who

played with her. She would not allow Cheemi into her

house even on Ganesh Chaturthi, the day of the big 

puja.

Parvati Kaki's house was almost like a mansion 

built in traditional style with big wooden carved doors,

huge halls and chandeliers. Full sized mirrors and

paintings decorated the walls. Even the pillars had 

beautiful pictures painted on them.

Surprisingly, the windows especially of the rooms, 

were very small. They were decorated with beads and

zari* curtains and hangings. It was said that Parvati 

Kaki's ancestors were related to the great Peshwas who

had ruled Maharashtra during the 18th and 19th 

centuries.

The outhouses and surrounding houses, which also 

belonged to Parvati Kaki, were rented out. In the big

house Parvati Kaki lived with her son, Vinayak, his 

wife Gauri, and her chubby little grandson, Chotu.

Chotu was a great favourite with the girls. Gauri 

Bhabhi,** as Chotu's mother was called, was a very

nice, educated lady and didn't mind Chotu being

carried by others. Parvati Kaki, however, kept vigil like 

a watchdog and never allowed Cheemi to touch Chotu.

Cheemi had to be satisfied with cooing to Chotu from a 

distance. How she wished she could play with him.

Every year, during the monsoons, the river Mutha, 

near Pune, gets flooded. People gathered to watch the

flood waters. That year, when the level of the water 

rose, no one bothered. It was a Saturday and the

children had gone to school. The women folk were

busy in the kitchen making special dishes for the 

weekend. The men were in their offices and factories.

Suddenly, news came that Panshet Dam had given 

way and the waters of the Mutha river had entered the

city. Children were asked to rush home. 

Shanwar Peth, where Cheemi and her friends lived,

and other areas on the river banks were in danger of

being flooded. 

At first the water was just knee-deep, but it rose

fast. People living on the ground floors were shifted to

places of safety. Those who lived in two or threestoried

flats climbed to the top. There was confusion everywhere.

Police vans were trying to help.

Vinayak, Parvati Kaki's son, had gone to Bombay

on business. Parvati Kaki and Gauri Bhabhi were on

the ground floor. When water entered their house,

Parvati Kaki was in the puja room and Gauri Bhabhi

in the kitchen. Within seconds the water rose. The

police persuaded Parvati Kaki and Gauri Bhabhi to

climb to the top floor. In the hurry and confusion, they

forgot that Chotu was sleeping on the first floor! 

The staircases were flooded. It was impossible to

get to the bedroom on the first floor. Though the door

to the room was closed, it was not bolted. Any moment

the water could rush in. 

The women were panicky. "Chotu!" they wailed.

"What'll happen to our Chotu!" 

Suddenly the police discovered that one of the bedroom

windows was open, but it was too small for an

adult to crawl in. Only a child could. But no one was

willing to let their children take the risk.

Out of nowhere, Cheemi emerged. "Let me help. I

can easily crawl in and get Chotu out," she offered. 

There was no time to waste. The policemen lowered

Cheemi to the window. "Jump!" they told her. "We

will drop you a rope ladder through the window." 

Without a moment's hesitation Cheemi jumped

through the window. Chotu was sleeping soundly,

picking him up, Cheemi put him on her back and tied 

him tight to herself with a bedsheet.

Slowly she climbed the ladder and peeped through 

the window. Carefully she undid the bedsheet and

handed it, with the child, to a policeman. Then she

crawled out of the window. 

Both Cheemi and Chotu were taken to the second

floor where Parvati Kaki, Gauri Bhabhi and others 

were watching. Chotu, who was up by now, saw so

many people around that he burst out crying. 

Cheers greeted Cheemi.

Gauri Bhabhi hugged Cheemi while Parvati Kaki 

fondled her grandson. Cheemi did not know what the

fuss was all about. 

"Come here, Cheemi," Parvati Kaki called her.

Cheemi hesitated. But Parvati Kaki almost dragged 

Cheemi to her and hugged her. "Beti Cheemi," she

said, "you have shown that it is courage and humanity

that counts, not your caste or position." 

After two days the flood water began to recede. As

soon as life returned to normal in Pune, the Police

Inspector of the locality met Cheemi and asked her

what reward she would like to have for her bravery. 

The entire neighbourhood was there. To everyone's

surprise, Cheemi said, "I have already got the reward—

an opportunity to play with Chotu." She paused for a

while and added, "I should like to go to school if you

can help me." 

The Inspector was helpless. But Vinayak Bhai came

forward and said, "We'll bear the expenses of Cheemi's

schooling. She can stay with us as long as she wants." 

Cheemi was delighted. At last she had a place to

stay and little Chotu to play with. 

Radha and Vimal were still fighting.

"Cheemi comes to my school," cried Radha.

"Oh, that dilapidated third-rate school of yours," 

retorted Vimal. "She should be admitted to my school,

the best in Pune." 

But Cheemi couldn't be bothered. Any school was

good enough for her. She had Chotu all to herself and

was busy playing with him. 

Visitors from the village

"M a!" Rajkumar came running into the kitchen,
breathless. 
"What's the matter, Raja?" asked his mother,
adding ghee to the potato curry she was making. 
"You know, Ma!" Raja gasped, "Ahmed has come
from the village." 
"Ahmed! Will he be staying with us?"
"Don't you know? His father has been posted here. 
They will stay in Sarai Chowk."

Raja's words were interrupted by a tap on the door 
and a tall boy of about fifteen came in.
"Bansi!"
Bansi greeted Ma and Raja. "I came along with 
Rafi Saheb to the city. Thought I'd see you all and the
city too." 

Bansi, who had lost his parents when he was only
six, had been brought up by Raja's grandmother in the
village. After the old woman's death, the family had
moved to the city. But Bansi had stayed on in the
village with the Maulvi Saheb. 
As they were exchanging pleasantries, there was
another knock. "That must be Ahmed," said Bansi.
"Ever since he came he's been dying to meet you
Raja." 

Raja ran out to meet his friend. "Look who's come,

Ma!" he cried, leading Ahmed in. Ahmed was carrying

a basket of mangoes for the family. 

Ma was happy to see Ahmed. She smiled warmly at

him and, putting down the spoon with which she was 

stirring the potato curry, went up and hugged him. 

* * *

Raja and Ahmed talked and talked and Raja 

promised to show both Bansi and Ahmed the city.

As Id drew nearer, the three friends made plans to 

celebrate the festival together. Bansi, being the eldest,

was the chief advisor. 

One day, two weeks before Id, the three boys were

standing outside Ahmed's house, talking about the new

achkan* Ahmed was going to wear for the festival. 

"Ahmed!" called his mother.

"Coming, Ammi!" 

Ahmed ran inside for a few minutes and came out

wearing a broad smile. "Raja, Bansi, come with me,"

he said mysteriously. And to all his friends' questions

he would say no more as he led them to the bazaar, to 

the old tailor's shop.

"Masterji, these are my two friends that Abba** was 

talking about. Take their measurements for achkans."

And, despite all Raja and Bansi's protests, the tailor 

swooped down on them with his measuring tape and

took their measurements. 

Id was very close now. One afternoon, Raja and

Bansi were returning from Ahmed's house. 

"Raj Kumar!"

That was Chaman, a local hoodlum. He wore a 

fierce moustache and made a living by dubious means.

As the boys stopped, he came up to them, 

staggering. 

"Who's this boy?" he asked, pointing at Bansi. His

breath reeked of strong liquor. 

"O, this is Bansi Bhaiya, who is visting us from the

village." 

Bansi extended his hand, but Chaman did not shake

it. "I thought he was also a Muslim," he said. "These

days you are so lost in your Muslim friend." 

"You mean Ahmed," Raja interrupted him.

"I don't know his name. The one living in Sarai 

Chowk".

"But he is my best friend."

"Your best friend? A Muslim boy?"

Raja was too stunned to reply. But Bansi retorted 

sharply, "So what! We're like brothers."

Chaman laughed unpleasantly. "Just you wait. 

We're not going to let the residents of Sarai Chowk

pass through Hari Ka Bada on their way to the Idgah." 

"And why not?" Raja exploded.

"Will the Muslims allow the Hindus to take their 

Ram Naomi procession through Machli Bazar?" asked

Chaman, with evident glee. 

Raja and Bansi wasted no more time arguing with

Chaman's taunts and made their way home. 

"The drunken sod!" murmured Bansi.

"Disgusting fellow!" Raja supplemented. 

Back home they told Raja's father what Chaman

had said. 

"It's a pity," he said sadly, "that a handful of

jooligans like him should go about causing trouble

and creating misunderstanding. Right behind our

house, in that tumbledown, rickety old hutment, something

fishy is going on. I wonder what they are up to."

Raja and Bansi spent several sleepless nights trying

to find out what was going on in the hutment.

Crouching close to a window, they could hear the 

clinking of glasses and whispered plans. One voice they

could easily make out was Chaman's. 

Finally Bansi was able to piece together their plan.

Chaman was to knock at the door of a street vendor

called Bhadru, the night before Id. Bhadru would open

the door and lead Chaman to his terrace. There on the

terrace was to be hidden a sack filled with garbage

which was to be thrown down on the procession going

to the Idgah the next morning. 

Bansi felt his stomach lurch as he thought of what

would follow. Such an insult would surely be followed

by communal riots. 

'I won't let it happen,' Bansi vowed silently,

thinking of his friend Ahmed whose father had so

lovingly had new achkans stitched for Ahmed's two

friends in celebration of Id. 'I won't let it happen!' 

He went to the temple and bought a huge basketful

of flowers. These he filled into a large sack which he

hid under his bed. At 3 a.m., when they were sure the

household was fast asleep, Bansi and Raja crept out of

the house with the sack of flowers. Noiselessly they

made their way through Hari Ka Bada to the far end

where Bhadru lived. It was a still night. Somewhere

near by a dog barked. 

"Now," whispered Bansi. "I'm going up. Pass the

sack to me when I signal." 

He climbed up the lamppost near Bhadru's house

and swung himself over the edge on to the terrace.

Just in time. Footsteps sounded on the street. Bansi

ducked and Raja froze in the shadow of the lamppost. 

His heart was thudding as the footsteps died away.

Then Bansi took a rope from his pocket and tossed 

one end down to Raja. Quickly, Raja tied the sack to it

and Bansi hauled it up to the terrace. Untying it, he

replaced the sack of garbage with the sack of flowers. 

Then he lowered the garbage sack down to Raja. In a

moment Bansi himself followed, sliding down the

lamppost. The boys hurried home and slipped back

into the house. 

But they could not sleep. Up again before sunrise,

they bathed and, dressed in kurta and pajama, went for

a walk through Hari Ka Bada, past Bhadru's house,

into Sarai Chowk. The place was bustling with activity.

The whole chowk wore a festive look. 

After they had looked around a bit, they hurried

home, donned their new achkans and waited for

Ahmed. 

Raja's parents looked fondly at the three boys.

"How smart they look!" exclaimed his mother. 

"And how fond they are of each other! Just like

brothers!" 

The boys then headed towards Bhadru's house on

their way to the Idgah. 

The Id procession too was slowly wending its way

towards the Idgah. As it passed by Bhadru's house,

there was a sudden commotion at the far end. 

Chaman, twirling his moustache, stood leaning

against a lamppost nearby. His drink-sodden mind was

picturing a bagful of garbage being emptied on the

festive crowd. 

Instead, a rain of rose petals bathed the processionists.

The fragrance of rose filled the air.

"Hurrah!" someone shouted and the crowd took

up the cry. 

A dumbfounded Bhadru glared down from the

terrace. But no one saw him. 

Raja, Bansi, and Ahmed were busy hugging one

another. 

Payal

Adama, can I come with you?" I asked my uncle.
He paused, sipped his tea and said, "Why not?" 
I turned to Mother. She nodded saying, "But only
for ten days, not more. Remember your school opens
soon afterwards." 

And that is how I managed to board this launch
travelling to the green island of Sunderbans. Mama
was a forest officer of Pakhiralay island and I always
wanted to roam the forests with him. 

We got off near a small jetty and walked the rest of
the way through the trees. Mama's bungalow was in a
clearing in the forest. Sambhu saw us and came rush-
ing to open the garden gate. He was an elderly man
who did Mama's cooking and other household work. 
"How are you, Sambhuda?" I called out.

"I'm all right," he said, "but Payal isn't." 
Mama, who walked ahead of us, stopped.
"Why Sambhu, what is wrong with her?"
"From the day you went, she has not been eating 
properly."
Mama looked perturbed. 
"I know I shouldn't have left her lor so long," he
said. 

"Who is Payal?" I asked Sambhuda.
"Why! Don't you know? Here she is." 
I turned round. My heart skipped a beat. There
was Payal, a Royal Bengal tigress, giving Mama a
tremendous welcome by licking his face. 
Then she caught sight of me and came forward.
I stood still while she sniffed me all over. I could have
died of fright. 

Mama and Sambhuda were laughing.
"Move Payal! Move! Now go!" Mama ordered. 
Payal obeyed disdainfully as if I was a dirty rag not
worth looking at. She walked ahead of us, her tail
waving proudly in the air. 
"There's nothing to be afraid of," said Mama.
"But she's a tigress," I protested.
"Payal is only a year old. You can't call her a 
tigress. She is a mere cub. As harmless as a year old
baby!" 

Well, she certainly doesn't seem to be innocent
and playful. 
While Sambhuda helped me unpack, Payal sat
near my bedroom door watching us keenly. 
"Sambhuda, how did Mama get Payal?" I asked.
"Payal's mother was killed by poachers for her 
skin. The villagers found three cubs. Two of them had
starved to death. The third they brought to your
Mama. She was only ten days old then." 
I felt sorry for Payal. "Hello!" I said.
She did not flex a muscle and her silent stare 
drained all my friendliness away. 

* * * 
We sat in the verandah. Payal turned over while
Mama tickled her belly. 
"Don't let Payal lick you," he told me. "Her tongue
is rough. In fact, all tigers' tongues are. It may bruise
you." 

"O.K." I said, shuddering at the thought.
Soon Mama left for work. The morning was quiet 
and I wondered how to pass my time. There was a
small pond behind the house and I liked to sit beside
it watching the breeze ripple its smooth surface. I got
up. Immediately Payal moved her tail to signify she
had seen me move. I could bear it no longer, this feeling
of being constantly watched by two silent eyes.

"You can go to hell", I shouted and walked off in
a huff, hoping she would understand. I sat beside the
pond wondering why I disliked Payal. She behaved as
if she owned the place and I was a trespasser. I could
not go anywhere without being followed. That too in
my own uncle's house! What audacity! But Mama
also paid more attention to her than to me. It naturally
hurt my ego. 

WOOSH! ! ! I heard a splashing sound.
I looked up. Payal had dived into the water and 
was swimming in the pond. Soon she came out of the
pond and sat panting in front of me, waving her tail. 
Intolerable! Impossible! Her arrogance was unbearable.
She was doing it on purpose. I knew it. I jumped to my feet.
And Payal growled.

'She is offended. That's why she growled,' I thought. 
I took a haughty step forward.
Payal growled again. This time there was a note of 
urgency in her growl. I could not help turning back
and looking at her. 

She was crouching, every muscle in her body tense.
She was staring at something in front of me. 
I turned my gaze in the same direction and broke
into a cold sweat! 
Less than six feet away swayed a cobra, ready to
attack! One more step would have brought me within

striking distance of its reared hood.
For how long I stood frozen I do not know. Payal 
kept growling behind me all the time as if warning
the cobra to keep off. 
The cobra slowly backed away. Then in a flash it
was gone, into the undergrowth. I heaved a sigh of
relief. 

"Payal! Payal! Oh sweet Payal! Oh lovely Payal!"
I found myself hugging Payal. She turned over and 
I tickled her belly. She rubbed her neck against my
knee and I rubbed my cheek against her neck. She
licked me and I did not mind. We were now the best 
of friends.

From that day on Payal and I could never be 
parted. Swimming in the pond or taking a walk, we
were always together. And no matter how far we went
into the forest, Payal never lost her way and always
brought me back home before sun down.