Heart of geld

My parents decided to send me to my uncle's place for a while. They felt this would help to discipline me.

"Study seriously. I've placed high hopes on you, my child," warned Father as I was leaving.

"Don't bother your aunt and don't play with the bad boys there," was Mother's parting advice.

At the new place I felt lonely. Foi a few days, after returning from school, I stayed at home and spent the time doing home-work and revising lessons.

Soon I made friends. All of them were fond of playing games. We went to school together and came back in a group.

The temple priest gave me sweets every Tuesday. The carpenter made a gulli danda* for me. The black-smith gladly sharpened my khurpi** But I liked Faqira, the chowkidar,*** most of all. He loved children. We all enjoyed his jokes. His voice was husky and he had a shrill laugh.

One evening, I came home late. "Where have you been all day?" asked aunt sternly.

"I went with Shankara to his fields," I replied meekly.

"You're in our charge. I won't allow you to neglect your studies," she warned.

I opened my satchel and started studying.

"If you do this again, I'll have to tell Chachu Chawdhary," she continued. I looked at her, but did not daie ask who Chachu Chawdhary was.

"Have you seen Chachu Chawdhary?" asked Shankara on the way to school the next morning.

"Chachu Chawdhary?" I was surprised to hear the same name again. "Who is he?" I asked.

"Look there," he pointed towards a nearby field.

I craned my neck. A big able - bodied man was fighting with a bull. He was pushing the strong animal.

On the way back I asked Shankara about Chachu. "Chachu has wild red eyes and a wide jaw," said

Shankara.

Dalipu confirmed Shankara's description of Chachu by imitating his waddling gait, while Ahmedi added, "Chachu is six feet three inches tall and quite fat."

"The strongest and most feaied person in our village," said Rinu.

"No, not only in our village, but in the whole area right upto the canal. No one dare oppose him." To make his point Shankara emphasized every word.

As we approached the house I saw aunt standing at the door. I ran home without even saying good-bye to my friends. I had some milk and quickly sat down to do my home- work. But Chachu remained in my mind all the time. 'Chachu is the most feared person in our village', I repeated the words to myself.

At night I asked Uncle about Chachu.

"He is a brave man with a lion's heart," said Uncle. "He killed three dacoits who had come to loot our village once."

"He killed them alone?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes, no dacoit has ever dared to come anywhere
near our village after that," Uncle said proudly.
"Then he must have got a big prize for bravery."
"Would you like to meet Chachu?" asked Uncle
abruptly.
"No, no, I'm afraid of him. I don't want to see
him,"  I  said  frightened.  Uncle  laughed,  but  Aunt
suppressed her smile.
I also came to know that the village Sarhala was
popularly known as Khooni Sarhala, because of the
murders that had taken place there. For a while, I felt
ashamed of studying in a village with such a nickname.
One day, while returning from school, we saw a
man digging a grave. That was the first time I was
seeing a grave. It was a deep, dark pit.
At noon, one Sunday, when everybody was indoors,
I decided to dig the ground in front of our house.
"What are you doing, dear?" I heard a throaty voice.
"Digging a grave," I replied without looking up.
I was sure it was Faqira.
"For whom is this grave?"
"For your ghost, Faqira."
"But I'm too big for this small grave."
"I'll cut you into pieces and	"
A resonant laughter followed.
I turned. It was Chachu. I couldn't find my voice.
"Why are you upset, dear?" he asked affectionately.
I~ran for shelter, leaving my khurpi and chappals*
behind.  I didn't enter the house,	for  I was afraid
Chachu would come in.

"Why are you running away from me? I'm Chachu —your own Chachu," he spoke loudly.

I heard something more which I could not under-stand

For three hours I hid behind a bush. The butter-flies didn't interest me. It appeared they spied on me and would report back to Chachu about his 'grave digger'.

After this incident, I avoided Chachu as much as possible.

One rainy morning, five of us class-mates were wading happily through ankle -deep water. It was Chachu who came to our help by warning us of a nullah* ahead.

"Chachu is really great," said Dalipu. I could only nod my head.

One evening, when we were playing on a sand mound, Dalipu boasted, "I'll catch hold of Chachu's neck when I grow stronger."

"But he has no neck," retorted Ahmedi. All of them laughed. But I did not.

"Chachu's head is like a truck's headlight," said Rinu. There was another ripple of laughter. This time I smiled, a feeble artificial smile.

"Here comes Chachu," cried Shankara. I broke into a cold sweat. But thank God, it was only a joke. My heart was still pounding.

I stood first in my class in the first quarterly test. Uncle patted me on the back. Aunt gave me a piece of sweet bread. My triends demanded a treat.

Chachu, too, came to congratulate me. On seeing him, I shut myself in the bathroom. But I could hear him talking to Uncle and Aunt.

"Where's our little nephew—our good nephew?" asked Chachu.

"He must be playing outside," said uncle.

"I'll give him a prize if he stands first in his final examination," announced Chachu.

I felt proud and decided to step out. But when I saw Chachu at a distance, I beat a hasty retreat.

One afternoon, I was watching a juggler's show. "Is my grave ready, Pashu?" a voice asked from behind. Without looking back, I ran from the scene.

I was sure Chachu would one day catch hold of me and punish me.

In the half- yearly test, too, I stood first, in spite of the fact that I deliberately left two questions in one paper unanswered. Once again, my friends and others flocked to our house to congratulate me. My parents, too, sent me a letter of congratulation. Thank heavens, Chachu didn't come this time.

That night Uncle told me, "Chachu is quite generous to the poor."

"Does he really help them?" I asked. "Yes," said Uncle. "Also, he loves childien."

I was stunned. "Then why does he frighten us?" I asked.

"Maybe for the fun of it."

"Does Chachu beat those who don't study?" Uncle smiled, shaking his head. But Aunt hastened

to say, "Chachu never spares those who do not obey their elders."

Examinations over, I went back to my parents. I knew I would have to discontinue my studies as there was no high school in our village. Moreover, my father had a limited income. I did not want to return to Khooni Sarhala because of Chachu. Deep, in my heart, I did have a sneaking regard for him. I cursed myself for being so afraid of him.

The results were out.

"Pashu, you have broken the school record. You got more than 80 per cent." Uncle himself brought us the good news.

I was thrilled. But, when he said, "Chachu has not forgotten his promise," I turned pale.

"I'm not going to the village just for the sake of receiving from Chachu a gift of a couple of notebooks and pencils," I said curtly but firmly.

"Chachu won't eat you," said uncle.

"A present is a present, however small," said father. Mother intervened.  "Pashu won't go now. He'll go there after some time with me. I know Chachu loves

children."

The next week, a message came from Sarhala. "Chachu is ill. He wants to see Pashu."

I thought it was only an excuse. I didn't go. But I thought of Chachu and prayed for his recovery.

Three days later, another person came from Sarhala. "Chachu Chawdhary has sent this so that Pashu can pursue his studies," said the messenger, thrusting a few currency notes into my hands.

'Why has he sent money? Isn't he well?' These questions raced through my mind as my eyes welled up with tears.

"How's my Chachu? I'll go to him. I'm not afraid of him," I cried, quite overwhelmed by now.

Mother counted the money. Five hundred rupees! "Chachu has no child of his own and feels lonely,"

said the man fiom the village.

"I'll go there. I'll study there," I said, tears pouring down my cheeks.