EPHIPHANY

The enchanting breeze flirted with the lush green fields before falling upon the clear stream flowing by. The wild roses took pride in their manifestation and the soft rays of the sun wrapped the little village in its warmth. This essence though insignificant to the world it was Hari’s world. He wowed never to trade his heavenly village with the glitter of city life. His fifth winter imparted him the wisdom that big cities cajole people with its shimmer and finally imprison them, perhaps his father too was trapped somewhere.

As he strolled to school he had a strong urge to go back and he had a good reason to do so, moreover the boys had threatened him that they would beat him up again if he complains. He must keep quiet, for disclosing his anguish would invite more trouble.

 If they did not learn the tables and he did was it his fault? He just did what he was asked to do but perhaps he slapped them too hard after all they were considered to be the strongest boys in the school and their reputation was at stake.  The repercussions of such a misadventure were inevitable. But was disobeying the teacher feasible for it too must have come with consequences. Nobody in the history of Dera School had ever disobeyed Lokhan Pal Singh because he was the most qualified man in the entire village thus on his frail shoulders lay the onus of classes IV and V. Shyam Lal taught classes I, II, III and his versatility would be at its best while hoping from one class to the other though he never knew what to teach. The lessons always got mixed up and that was a minuscule mistake as he was fully convinced that neither there was much difference between the difficulty levels nor between the students. All were wretched and education won’t do much for their fates were already sealed.

It was a fine Monday morning, all the classes were asked to come out and sit in the sun. The children were more than happy to be set free from the dingy classrooms. After a hectic Sunday the two masters did deserve a restful Monday. Bunty and Mistri carried two chairs and placed them outside .Dera Primary school had a total strength of 50 students from class I to class V not that population was under control but bread and butter were  more valuable than the alphabets.

Hari quickly climbed the steep hill from there he would be able to see the road. The scenic beauty of the hill would give joy to any heart , the fields exuberant with the trees standing tall gave rhythm to the soul and the wind sang songs of harmony with nature and the small village at its foothill seemed to be God’s chosen place. But this joy was elusive to Hari’s heart; he yearned only for his father.  It had been his daily ritual for past six months ever since his father had left with a promise that he would come back soon. Each uphill climb was filled with hope, may be today is the day, may be today he will disembark the bus. Hari would rehearse what he would say to his father, how he would pretend to be mad at him, how he would hug him and most importantly make him promise that he would never leave him and go away ever but each day the heavy steps downhill would fill his heart with utter despair.

By the time Hari reached the top of the hill he was out of breath. He anxiously fixed his gaze at the road. He had no watch to keep a track of time, with a pounding heart he said a silent prayer and the sight of the bus on the meandering road did give delight to him. But his exuberance was short lived, the bus passed by without stopping. With his head stooping down he trailed back, climbing down was always wearisome for him.  This winter was adamant to bite into his body and heart alike.

His mother knew how badly he missed his father but when you are living in penury the never ending grind to make two ends meet smothers such emotions with a thick blanket of helplessness. Finding the missing pieces of a puzzle would mean going out on an extravagant journey with an empty stomach without any outcome. The heart of a woman can bear several blows but she cannot see her children suffer. She had to cheer him up; she dug out her hidden wooden box and counted the money that she had managed to save to repair their wobbly door which no longer had the strength to fight the wind and keep it at bay, but the door could wait. She had enough to make Hari’s favourite dish. She needed to buy some ghee, good quality rice, dry coconut, fennel seeds and jaggery.

Kishan lal the village postmaster respectfully handed over the letter to Lokhan Pal Singh. The contents of it brew a storm in his cup and it broke the peace of the fine Monday morning. The records need to be set right, the attendance register had to be inaugurated and the students had to be taught thoroughly: all in a week. A poor inspection report could ruin him.

Hell broke loose, and it interrupted the peaceful Monday. All the students were asked to sit class wise and both the masters concluded that Festivals are Fun would be a good topic for the inspection. For Hari the real fun was waiting back at home. When others were learning about Festivals he was lost in the memory of fragrance of sweet yellow rice. How he waited for the school to get over. All the festival fun was imprisoned elsewhere.

The morning was as usual, Moti incessantly barking and annoying everybody, his sisters bickering, his grandfather coughing, his mother throwing the cow dung in the field and shouting simultaneously. Amidst his Hari woke up and soon realized that his little hut was full of aromatic air, He jumped with joy, the aroma of his favourite dish assuaged his anguish and he could not wait further to relish the delicacy. He carefully placed the sweet yellow rice in his tiny hands and the journey from his hand to mouth was full of caution for he did not want even a single grain to fall.  He chewed it slowly to savour every ingredient of it. He was jealous when his sisters finished their share and asked for more. Though his plate had more than what his stomach could hold he still asked for more. When they all left he got up and kept a portion of it in an earthen pot and looked around to find a safe place where he could hide his wealth. Finally he hid it below the bed the only piece of furniture in his hut.

 In the midst of rattling of names of different festivals, the safety of his asset would keep troubling him, what if his sisters chance upon his earthen pot, they would conveniently forget him and rob him, it is a big family thus the traces of such a rare royalty must have been wiped out by now. He just wanted the school to be over and run back.  Monday seemed to tease Hari as it was in no hurry to pass by.

When the masters called it a day, it was music to his ears; he dashed out of the class pushing away other boys. His wings were on fire, beating the dancing bridge, the brook, the inquisitive amma of the village, the herd of cattle that refused to budge, jumping from on field to another, ignoring Moti’s aggressive barking, the palpitating heart was about to tear his tiny chest and he was just a few moments away to know whether he was victorious or not. With his torn school bag still on his back he peeped underneath the bed, his hands frantically searching for his prize and to his relief he found his earthen pot patiently waiting for him.

He heard footsteps, must be his sister, he looked at his sweet yellow rice and considered them to be too precious to be shared with anybody he ran out with his earthen pot, he raced towards a secluded spot but as he spotted his coveted place he tripped and the pot broke and the rice scattered all over ,the rice that he wanted to put into his mouth lay all over, tears rolling down his cheeks he wondered  when next would he get this, he stood there frozen , Moti came and savoured his sweet yellow rice.

Hari annoyingly glowered at Moti.  He was full of disgust for him and wondered why didn’t his master kill him instead of just letting him lose to live a stray and irk others. But this vicissitude led to a moment of epiphany, somewhere both of them were betrayed by their own. Moti licked every grain, he too got a royal treat after a long time, compassion made way for a smile and Hari  patted Moti and sauntered back towards his hut.