THE CHILD AND THE BROKEN BRIDGE

            “My boy, you are the best who can take pills, look, you sister, she can’t even take in the smell of them, command my boy make it a quick shot, in one gulp.” He took the pill which he had been doing since two years and this boy studied in the fourth standard in the most sought school in the locality. His parents could only afford for him this facility among the three children. He was chosen for he was a boy and he was going to learn English which was quite an honour. His sisters were deprived of good clothes and even he had not more than the fine uniform that he wore to the school. They looked fine only because the others he had didn’t even worth a tea party wear. On Monday they looked very wearable, although the darned collar which he desperately try to hide became more evident because they were just been washed. As the days passed the uniform looked shabbier for he had no replacement on Thursday or Friday.

“Maa, why do I take pills?”

 “You have to, because you are sort of sick.”

 “No, I am not sick, look!” He dissented. He pulled out his legs to show the nails of his toes and said “look, they are clean and hefty.”

“No dear, you are sick from inside and you are getting well soon” his Maa riposted. “For that you have to take your pills like a brave boy.”

“When do I felt sick? I don’t remember grabbing the bed.”

“Why, have you forgotten last winter when you became numb playing out in the evening and we had to lay a fire in the hearth to regain your body temperature”

“And apparently, we saw you took to bed several times and weeks after that” she added.

 “There was this flood and villages were inundated with water of Brahmaputra. Houses were crossed with channels of water. You and a cousin, who was dumb compared to your speaking ability at such a tender age of one year, were amusing yourselves near the channel passing by the lawn of the house. One of you would drop the bracelets made of straw and the other would collect it from the flowing water at the edge of the channel. At one such maneuver made, you slipped through the mud and felt into the current. The current though mild carried you to the depth. You were not sunk but remained floating because of the heavy woolen that you had put on. Seeing your head protruding above the waves your dump cousin became more than mute and didn’t call for help. One of your older cousin sisters had to fetch water for her toys’ gala feast. She spotted you in the channel and raised cries for help. Felt with sudden panic seeing you, I jumped upon you, took hold of you tightly but made both of us sink. Your father, who unlike me knew swimming, brought us back to the land. You were calm until I jumped upon you when you freaked out and took nights and warmth to regain to senses. Subsequently you were haunted by humble illnesses. It was when you caught a big one that the village herbalist referred you to a physician in the town and on whose instruction you are having the pills.” This was the story behind his taking pills.

“Hey, how do you run over the wrecked part of the bridge? I incessantly tremble to step on it if I don’t shore myself up on the shaft.” He shouted out seeing her waiting for him at the turn that left the alley made up by the walls of the two high concrete buildings all along from the bridge.

 “You are late. Yeah! I understand, still losing most of your walking time crossing that silly broken bridge.”

“I close my eyes and shoot myself across it. Never mind! This piece will be least helpful to you.” She was always there to accompany him to school except for the days when she would get a pleasant ride to school on her father’s bicycle. She liked it most of the time because she felt like an alpha star of the team as she gets to decide what they should pick from the hawker and the streets. Harkha was seen most of the time dragged by her when he got stuck to the motion picture drawing him through some apertures of the electronic shop in the street or by some posters hanged on the shabby walls of illicitly set up video hall always biding him welcome.

His classmate had just return to take his seat beside him. They were awaiting the interval but there was this class which never failed to take their hearts out with loads of hassle.

“Why did the teacher call you?” Harkha was hoping to amuse himself.

“What teacher, she is no regular teacher. You have not learnt to be courteous, do you? You better call her miss or rather princess. Some freak complaint her that I do wanted to marry her.” His friend reported his scenario lowering his voice like Harkha had done.

“I guess she beat you up.” It was intriguing.

“No there was nothing of that sort. She just wanted my teeth clean so I have to brush regularly and avoid sweets.” Though he knew the fact that he would never do so and he wasn’t going to abundant today the sweets his mother had packed for the Tiffin.

The bell rang and in some fraction of seconds they drifted from their seats disturbing the sitting arrangement previously kept in check; some stood cheerfully to wish the leaving teacher and some unzipped their bags to put in the books and still some got rammed by the impact of the sudden disorder driving them out of the densely packed benches.

A bang hit her back when Deepa was picking her Tiffin box from inside her bag. Her reflex was quicker than ever and her eyes didn’t missed the two boys who hurriedly ran out of the room to get some advantage of distance before she outdo them in the ground running and taking the most sought spot for lunch. 

“Take a break, dorks…..” They left her yelling far behind and didn’t stop running until they got lost into the other side of the auditorium block. She took the long porch of the school building instead of walking through the ground in front of it, which could have saved her some steps. There were two grounds and the other was where they had their lunch. She had to walk along the alley made up by the walls of the auditorium and school building in that route and further had to cross the nursery block and the girl’s boarding house to reach the spot where they were ought to be dining for the rest of their days till summer. It was early spring and blood red flowers filled the spaces between the leafless twigs of the simul trees. From beside the boarding house she saw the two boys already seated; Harkha shoring his back at the trunk and other sitting on a protruding root of the simul tree. They were facing each other and waiting for her with the Tiffin boxes unopened and were engrossed in a game which she could promptly guess even from that distance. It was a game played with the slender stalks plucked from the whorl of fallen flowers of simul tree and the easy availability of the source unlike Mario or Contra game in the expensive video player had somehow provoked them to indulge themselves into it at a time when there was hardly any one left not feeding. Though not associated with fancy sounds the game had a unique thrill because the outcome of the game would decide the fate of the eraser, sharpener and geometry box pretty much filled with articles, although most of them broken, kept as the bet. They locked the heads of the two stalks held by their hands and pulled towards themselves at a count of three. The head remained adhered to the stalk held by Harkha after it plucked off the head from the other and undoubtedly this time the stuffs were going to Harkha’s pocket. 

           Deepa sat down and washed her hands with water from her flask poured out onto them at her side caring that the water drains away without wetting their spot. Harkha held his steel Tiffin box and pulled off the lid to find rice with taro curry. It had been three hours since his mother had poured the curry over the rice. So it was cold and only moist then. The curry seemed like a heavy coat of paste with long coriander leaves embedded into it. Though he savors it when served hot and that too only at home, he didn’t like it much to have for lunch at school.

“What do you have for lunch, Harkha?” Asish asked while tearing a piece of chapatti and wrapping an ample amount of curry with it.

“Nothing of the sort that I should be proud of.” Harkha heaved a sigh.

“Don’t take it too hard on yourself, eat it only if you like or throw it if it pleases you. Of course you can have a piece of sweet from mine.” Asish said munching a mouthful.

Deepa frowned being persistently annoyed by their activities.

“Hey what have you thought about the fight? Whose warrior will be we?” Asish asked, addressing Harkha.

 Deepa raised an eyebrow. “What fight?”

“For god sake Asish it’s not a fight it’s a game.” Harkha redressed it after a quick glance at Deepa.

“Is it the cockfight?” she condemned.

“Yeah!” She saw Harkha’s reassuring eyes which pledged that it’s a fair game played for fun.

“Whatever…” she continued.

“It’s our physical education teacher who introduced the game and it’s been a hot favorite since.” Harkha checked her from making any comment on her ‘another disagreeable boy stuff’ thing.

After Harkha and Deepa had finished their lunch they picked their bowls and headed for the hand pump leaving Asish who was still eating. The pump was installed for staff of the school that leaved in the quarter but remained unused in the whole of the day time except after lunch by the students. The cemented floor on which the pump held was layered by crusty patches of lichen creeping from the sides. The rear and the front ends of the floor were cleared of these patches due to frequent visits of footsteps and turbulent drainage of the pump water. “Watch your steps” said Deepa as Harkha advanced with the bowls.

 “Yeah I know your doings are scripted by Asish, don’t I?” She gasped for breath being exhausted with every drive of the loath handle of the pump while he was doing the dishes.

“No, Asish and I are good friends and luckily we have common taste, so our activities are at per.” Harkha dissented.

There was a state of commotion caused by crisscrossing of students on the way and across the ground. As they were heading back to the classroom they were bump into by students who tore their way from between them.

“Your better watch yourselves” bellowed Asish.

“Don’t close your eyes while you walk, you are not going to stumble upon gold. We need space for running, can’t you all get that, nut herd.” One of them stopped and yelled back.

“I swear I hate them. God please, care to reduce them to disgrace.” Asish muttered under his breath.

The boy with eyes like chink and head covered with dense bristles strode away. He was Kriti, but behind his back was nicknamed by many in their own satiating ways.

Cockfight was a game played with bare body and it had been a means of settling discrepancies at low stake between the two mobs conducted by Kriti and John Denis. Hardly anyone get hurt in this fight except on some occasions of intentionally hideous deliveries made by black sheep. The fighter had to hang his right hand on his left shoulder armoring his chest with his arm and bend his left knee to raise his sole upright where it got rested on the palm made hook. Ready in this posture he hopped with one leg as fast as he could and struck into his opponent with the arm armored chest. If he became successful in beating down his enemy along with some others of his team sparing no rival he gained the right to lay his claim on the football, volley ball and basketball along with their grounds for the week.

“Definitely we are joining John Denis.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m bound by hell.”

It was not only a matter of rejoicing at getting into the right team but also to reconsider the fact that they were making formidable enemies while doing so. A deep seated ill-will would be hovering above the ground he and Kriti set forth hereafter. Kriti hit back those whose abhorrence towards him manifested in opposition and he never spared the vulnerable. Asish’s pride and hatred had kept this danger off his mind but for Harkha it was imminent.

(not complete yet)