Runaway

Runaway

“Bhai sahab, look at his face. Who could beat someone like that. Look at his ripped teeth -- blood here, here and here.” Tejpal said half-angry, half-complaining, though still maintaining the code of respect. The boy -- this man’s son -- was sobbing and was bruised badly as after a brutal beating.

“My apologies Bhai sahab -- I assure you, this will never happen again.” Bijendera said taking a serious look at the bruised child.

“Bijendra Bhai, I respect you. You are like family. But I am warning you, if that happen again I will forget everything. No one can save Maanav from me, then.”

“Needn’t to. I am assuring you Tejpal Bhai, you never need to. Today, I will teach a good lesson to him. Don’t worry.”

“Bilkul Bhai sahab, he needed that lesson. Brats like him only understands the language of beating. It will be good to catch him before he slips away totally.” Tejpal suggested and leave with his bruised son.

Yet again, Maanav had beaten some kid; this is his 5^th complain of this month which was bought for his father’s concern.

Bijendra entered the house striding, anger oozing out from his manner.

“Where is Maanav?” he asked just the moment he stopped.

“Bhaiya, is outside.” Payal, who is helping his mother in preparing evening meal answered.

“What happened Babua? Why are you in such anger? Maanav did something again?” the old lady sat on the charpai enjoying smoking her kali asked.

“What else, same story. Today, he beats Tejpal’s son, break his mouth, the poor child has wounds and sign of being beaten everywhere on his body. Everyday his mischievousness is increasing. He is escaping out of our hands.”

“Oh, calm down. He is just a kid. I will talk to him.”

“Maa, he is not just a kid, next year he will be in his higher secondary. At his age I --”

“What are you saying? You know what I was doing at your age, should you do the same?”

“Maa, enough of your love, now you are spoiling him. I will handle him today. No one will come between me and him.” Bijendra declared with a sense of authority.

“Papa, food.” Payal was standing beside Bijendra with plate of food in her hand.

“Put it there,” Bijendra beckoned, and disappeared with quick steps into the living room and come out carrying a long and strong stick in his hand, for he feared losing it like it always did at situation like this. He placed the stick beside him and started eating food. Everyone gaped at the sight of the stick, but no one spoke a word.

It was already dark when Maanav entered the home cautiously, his entire weight on his two toes -- he was walking like a bird wadding in the shallow water. But as soon as he was in the house he confronted his father who was standing by the pillar waiting for him with that long stick in his hand. Clearly, not a good omen for Maanav. He turned white at once.

“Where you have been that late?” Bijendra shouted.

“Pa-pa…” Maanav succeed in uttering that much and then his voice fade away.

“Nalayak, the whole day you remain outside the house and waste your time with those rouge kids. And, what you did today? Tell me, why you beat Tejpal’s son? What are you planning to be - a Gunda. Maanav, I am asking you. Are you deaf or dumb? ”

Maanav remained dead silence, even the sound of his breathing wasn’t audible. You could only recognize his presence by seeing him, you couldn’t felt him.

“You listening me?” Biendra held Maanav by his shoulder, “Tell me, why you beat Tejpal’s son?”

“Papa, he started first.”

Just then a slap came flying on the face of Maanav which jostled him thoroughly.

“Lie. Now you had started telling us lies as well. You, makkar,” Bijendra picked the stick and started thrashing Maanav. “Lie. You think me a fool. Ah…”

“No, Papa. I will never do this again.” Maanav started pleading fervorously, making twist and turns so as to get away from the stick’s blow but with no help. His father continued to thrash him never looking at where his blows were landing -- hands, butts, shoulder, back. The noise of Maanav’s yelling and all that thrashing had attracted attention of neighbour, they reached their roofs in either their vest or bare bodied; they were curious to know what was happening in Bijendera’s home that late at night.

Bijendra stopped for a second, not because he had was planning something else, but because he was panting, as soon as he got to his breathe he started beating Maanav again. “Will, do that again?” he said.

“No papa, never. I promise. Promise, promise…” Maanav pleaded again.

“Maakar, what do you think I will never say you anything?”

It was after he hit Maanav for 17^th time when old lady intervened, “Babua, that’s enough! Gave that stick to me.”And she took hold of the stick from the other end.

“Maa, not today. You had already spoiled him that much.”

“Bijendra, have you gone mad. Let go that stick - You want to kill him.” the old lady said firming her grip on the stick further.

“Dadi, bacha le. Bas aaj bacha le.” Maanav pleaded as he saw a ray of hope in his Grandmother.

“This much of beating is not enough for him, I am telling you. Don’t stop me. Let me put an end to his stubbornness for once and all.”

But the bossy grandmother took away the stick from Bijendra’s hold.

“Maa!” he shouted disappointed by that act. He looked at Maanav who was still in his tight grip. He slapped him.

Grabbing Maanav by his shoulder as before, Bijendra dragged Maanav all the way through the courtyard into the dark storeroom. Coming out alone he closed the door and bolted it.

“No food for him today. No one will go near to this room. Only I will unbolt the door.” he announced.

The neighbours started shattering quietly, the show was over. But Geeta Chachi who is the source of every single news in the locality want to see more -- know more, so she stayed.

Shut down alone in the dark room and denied to food, Maanav felt miserable. He was lying dead still on the floor, sobbing occasionally. Overcoming his misery Maanav sat down straight on the floor, then slowly dragged him to the wall to lay his back over it.

Sitting quiet, sobbing under his breathe, gazing at the dim moon light falling through the window as silently as the sorrow in the room, he started brooding over the events just happened. The horrible scene of thrashing came to his mind and passed into the whole body with a severe pain. He switched his whole attention to the slanted moonlight at once.

He tried hard not to think but he failed again and again; the thought came to his mind -- attacked him, made him feel vulnerable and he curled up. Soon, unnoticed, wild thoughts started pouring his brain. He started thinking of him living a deserted life -- never speaking to anyone, never going outside his room. Though, after some time, he started feeling guilty of his previous acts, misdoings and carelessness. And at last all these thoughts left his mind, they were replaced by the thought of food -- he was feeling hungry. To get away from that nagging feeling of hunger he started moving around the room. Two hours past in the same way. Now, the feeling of hunger was back and it was very strong to put that temptation away this time. Feeling uneasy he paced around the room, which helped a little. For no reason, he took hold of an old wooden stool and put it on the ground in order to reach the attic, inconsiderate to what he wanted and he was doing he started lifting and putting things randomly. He had no idea what he was searching. He found some ropes, plastic bags and other such stuffs. As the moon was slanting its cool white light through the large window, so there was enough light in the room to distinguish between what is what.

Placed in a corner, Maanav found a small red pouch, curiously he grabbed it open. In it he found a pink note -- the two thousands rupee note. For some time he forgot where he was standing -- he saw only the pink note, and only the pink note, he was Arjun pointing at the eye of bird.

Again, sat on the floor with back on the wall two thousand rupee in his hand, wild thoughts started invading Maanav’s mind.

What if he ran away with that pink note to somewhere far away, away from this house, somewhere into the forest, or mountains, or probably in vast city -- this idea struck him as a great deal. Over the entire night he kept thinking over this idea; though it felt reckless but apt to him. At around quarter past four, some fifteen minutes before the morning aazan, he busted out of the room -- his prison. He put a twisted wire, shaped to letter L, through the gap between the set of door, hooked one end to the lock and then pulled it open. Cautiously walking on toes he got away slightly opening the front gate.

The morning for rest of the family started with news of Maanav’s escape, his father whom anger seemed to settle down in the peace of night was in full agony -- his anger shot up at once. He declared this outrage of Maanav as the utmost point of doom, so pointing at the vulnerability of this situation he bought the entire matter under his authority : No one will interfere between him and Maanav, until he bring him to the right track, he declared. No one protested, or they thought useless to protest at that moment.

Maanav after escaping the room -- his cage and caged life-- took 5:15 am train to Delhi; a milk van gave him a lift up to Ramala -- a village five kilometers from Kirthal -- and from there he walked to the station to board the train. For the time being, he had decided to went to his bua -- his father’s sister -- who lives somewhere in Delhi -- he had been there years ago when he was a kid but he was quite positive to search out the home, and anyway he had two thousand rupees as a backup so he need not worry, he thought.

As soon as he sat down on a seat in the train he fall asleep, for he wasn’t slept the whole night even for a second. The time he opened his eyes, because of increased clamour around him, he saw the train was standing still at a station -- as if waiting. The train, unlike before, was crowded to its fullest; people and their belonging crammed all over in his coach, even Maanav himself with his skinny figure was cornered to a side. A man probably in his 50’s was sitting beside him, he made a scorn glance of suspicion at Maanav; a look that Maanav had never encountered before in his life.

“What is this station? Have I missed Delhi?” Maanav asked, with an uncomfortable ease as he feared he had missed the Delhi station.

Talking a moment the man answered, “No, it is still Baghpat and the train is at halt since the last twenty minutes for crossing.” he gave a disgusted sigh as he spoke the last words revealing his irritation, though quite the opposite Maanav got a sigh of relief for that part. They fall silent.

A comb seller arrived into the coach, who was advertising his combs reciting some lines, again and again, in a monotone.

"Comb, big comb, small comb, unbreakable comb, colourful comb - pink, orange, red, green - colourful."

"How much this one will cost me?" a woman who was hanging a one year old baby to his waist asked showing her interest.

"Fifteen rupees. No one will give you such superior combs in such low prices, I bet."

"I can buy two combs like this with that much rupees." -- Woman are the hardest bargainers, you tell them the least price still then they will force you to drop a little more.

The woman slid the nails of the comb in her long uncombed hairs, then she picked another comb and tried and then another; every time she changed to try, the vendor rub the tried comb to his shirt to make it clean as new, the part of his shirt where he was rubbing had went black.

After checking a dozen samples she chose an orange one.

"Comb, comb, Comb, big comb, small comb..." the vendor went away.

"Oh, come on. Run this thing. I will be late today as well." the man sitting opposite Maanav shouted suddenly, his fists clenched as if ready to attack the train if it wouldn’t run.

"Where are you going?" Maanav asked that man.

"Delhi, I had a job there." he answered plainly."And you, Where have you been to?"

"I am...I am to Delhi as well."

"Delhi. Where?" the man asked narrowing his eyes.

"To Delhi!" Maanav repeated as if that word contained all the genuine answer, then turned his head away -- fixed to somewhere outside the window. The same instant, the train blew a horn and with some jerks it started running.

While sitting on the opposite seat of Maanav, a young boy -- probably a college student -- was telling his story of being a prey to a pick pocketing incident, whereupon everyone added some of their own wild tales on the same matter.

“It has started happening on our route as well. What time has come!” the man sitting beside Maanav added, to which others agreed by nodding. Frightened by the remark, Maanav went wildly for his pocket with a sudden impulse to check whether the big pink note was still there intact in his pocket or not. At first he did not noticed it in his pocket, he went pale, but on a second check he found it safely inside his pocket, although because of men’s remark Maanav was too frightened to let his hand out of his pocket -- he wanted to keep a live check on note.

Near the next station another vendor entered the coach shouting in an articulate manner - “Chane, Chane, Chane…”. He was looking into each of the peering eyes whom he caught the attention, as if to catch their desire for his fresh, fragrant grams which he had decorated with onion cut pieces and lemon scent and Chana Masala - his special ingredient . Looking at a young man he said, “Bhai sahab, ekdum fresh chane hai.” But the man showed no interest.

The man was fetching those boiled grams in a bucket, laboriously taking all nudging and kicking and stamping as he went passed the crowd packed coaches. The same woman who bought the comb earlier purchased some gram from the seller. Maanav was feeling hungry and he wanted to buy them as well but too afraid to let out such a big note in the public, he decided on straining his appetite.

As the train started with a lurch from the next station, Maanav generously asked the man sitting beside him, “How much is Delhi?”

 “Around one hour away.” the man answered instantly as if he was prepared for the question in advance. Some ten minutes later Maanav asked the same question and again after ten minutes he asked, and again. Irritated by constant questioning the man baffled at last and said scowling, “Look kid, don’t be paranoid. I will tell you when it will come. But till then sit quiet.”

“By the way, which station you want to board, kid?” he added a question in last.

“Delhi” Maanav said in pressed voice.

“Old Delhi?”

“No, Delhi only”

“Look kid,” the man despite of his mood strained on explaining, “There are three station for Delhi : Shahdara, Old Delhi, New Delhi. Which one is yours?”

 Maanav got puzzled, he had no idea of that thing; he failed to gave any answer at the moment. At that, a man who was tracking the conversation quietly, interrupted, “Must be to Shahdara. This is where everyone goes --- Must be to some relative, ah… kid.”

This small remark has such a deep impression on Maanav that he, all of a sudden, started getting the notion as if he had listened the name of this station many times before, and as if he had destined to that station, though he was still sceptical of the whole thing. In spite, he verified, nodding he answered, “Shahdara.”

After around an hour as the slow running train approached a station ready to stop, the man notified Maanav that this station was Shahdara. He went out of the train with heavy steps feeling extremely unsecured, his heart throbbing and beating his forehead. He stood outside, near the foot overbridge, never letting his eyes away from the train for even a second, staring at the train ready to run in case he found him wrong about the station. But no such thing happened and the train went away slowly running over the parallel endless rails.

So there he was standing at a totally strange place -- the platform -- alone, undecided, afraid, sceptical, unmoved. This was not how he thought the expedition would go. He had fancied Delhi as some simple place where he would ask anyone for his bua’s house direction, but it turned out to be another vast puzzled world.

He felt unsecured, afraid to move even a step -- if it had been his village area, he, without any fear could have ventured to many villages in the broad vicinity, but at that moment he felt as if any moment from there and he would lost the sense of direction completely. He started feeling guilty of his decision. He was missing his mother and his grandmother, and his father as well. But coming out of melancholic trauma he made a check on the note, feeling it in his pocket he felt slightly relived on that part at least.

Coming to his senses Maanav looked around, he saw people - more than he had seen in his entire life - train, tracks, he felt alienated. Painstakingly he went up to the foot overbridge, puzzled to decide where to proceed, he started going upstairs, before he noticed he was already standing at the main platform of the station - Platform no. 1.

“Passengers please pay attention, the next train to Shamli via Baghpat, Baraut running twenty minutes late is bound to arrive at 10:30 hrs at Platform no. - 3. We are sorry for any inconvenience.” an announcement came. Maanav felt extremely vulnerable, he was unable to decide, unable to move. The world seemed to him spiraled down to a single place. Suddenly a boy -- skinnier even than Maanav as if starved to death many times -- tucked Maanav’s pants, “Ek paisa de de bhai.”, he urged. Shocked by such an interruption, Maanav was taken aback, he felt the pink note -- his treasure -- sinking out from his pocket into this boy’s hands. Jerking, Maanav separated him from him. “No, I had nothing, go.” he said, his voice baffling entirely.

The boy went away and proceeded the same with another man who gave him a ten rupee coin; the man was busy on a call. Maanav watched everything closely. Reverting back the boy sat under the base of the foot overbridge and started counting his coins taking all of them out of his big pockets at once. His clumsy frail body, long pale face; hardship of his life was etched into his face, into his hand movements -- impossible to miss.

Unknowing Maanav trudged towards the boy. Halting near him, he asked innocently, “You beg for money. Don’t you have your father?” The body glanced at Maanav, but took no interest in answering, he continued counting his money. Completing counting he stood up on his matchstick thin legs. “You have no father?” he asked Maanav who for no reason was standing there, as for him watching a kid counting his earned/begged money was better than watching rushing people.

“I had… I left.” Maanav answered uncomfortably.

“Why? For begging and starving like me!?”

“No, not for…”

Before Maanav completed his explanation the boy interrupted -- “You have a ticket?”

It is then Maanav realized he hadn’t purchased a ticket in the morning.

“No, why?”

“Then, you know the trick?”

“What trick?”

Looking surprised the boy said, “You really don’t know the trick. Then, you should run away.”

“What about you. You had one?” Maanav asked.

“No, I needn’t. I live here. I gave commission.”

This was then Maanav saw white shirt man nearing them, “Where should I ran?”

“Straight. Take exist to that end, a narrow pass open into the low dwelling area.”

Maanav did the same and ran without much brooding at the situation, his hand firmly tucked to his pocket, squeezing his note -- his only lifeline in any case.

Escaped -- coming out of the station, he analyzed his situation. But right then he felt sudden-strong urge to eat something, so he went further into the area -- the area opposite to the well developed metro side -- an underdeveloped area that exist around each railway station in a big city of India.

 He moved along the lowly streets of underdeveloped lowly dwelling area, his heart throbbing as it would came out of his mouth the any moment. He was puzzled by the look of the Delhi entirely, for he had never imagined this city to be like this -- not even near. Unconcerned with the passersby he continued to walk along the road with timid short steps. A few meters away beside an abandoned factory of which all the windows and doors were stolen, leaving gaping holes in the walls, stood a small shop built of asbestos sheets with corrugated roof. The shop's condition was giving the shop a belonging to the factory, but in fact it entirely lie on the street. The shop was sparsely packed with cheap edible items on display. Maanav halted in front of the shop, he hesitated, but then found it better to not went too far from the railway station, as he feared getting lost. Poking his finger on the thin slender arm of the shopkeeper who was drooling on the counter table, he demanded a biscuit. On seeing a customer the shopkeeper lit up instantly, presented his all 32 black pieces and very generously gave a packet of biscuit to Maanav. "Is that it, beta?" he asked.

Weakly smiling at the warm voice of the shopkeeper Maanv told him that he had only two thousand rupee note to pay.

"Bring a change son, I am no rich seth." he said looking at the pink note in awe.

"I have a change." a man standing by the electric pole and watching the conversation said.

For Maanav two thousand rupee note meant too much and this was a fairly big amount to hold and he was confused how to handle that big amount in his hands, so he had the note in both his palm gripped tight. He looked at the man who had already started picking out money from his purse.

"Come" he said, handling out some black and yellow notes.

With cautious steps Maanav moved to him, something like a person approach towards an unpredictable animal. He handed his note to the man. The man looked at it carefully and out of the lot he took out a hundred rupee note and gave it to Maanav. Maanav looked at him in hope he would gave him more, but he simply started walking away.

"My money, gave me my money." Maanav yelled.

"Which money?"

"My rupee, my two thousand rupee note."

The man said nothing and continued to walk straight. On that Maanav clung on the right arm of the man. "Give back my money!"

"Hey, get off me, mad child."

Maanav struggled hard to take his money back,and because of the struggle the man fall off the ground  Maanav along with him, and in the same state both of them continued to struggle for some minutes, when a man arrived and took the note from the the man with which Maanav was struggling. Seeing his note going away Maanav disengaged him from the man in an instant, kicking and punching furiously, though battered, he run in order to catch the man. The man with whom he was struggling tried to grabbed him from his trouser’s hem but he kicked him away.

Kicking and struggling he managed to escape quickly from the clutches of the prime thug. For Maanav was desperate to get his money back, so he saw nothing but his money between him and the running man -- the second thug; he was Arjun again. So Maanav saw nothing; running, he stepped on poop, almost toppled a child and nearly hit a pole. He took turn as the thug took turn, but it was hard for the thug to make a good distance as it was not only the long legs of Maanav but his fear, his anxiety, his sense that he would loose everything that was pushing him to run like that. The thug rounded at yet another corner and both of them were on the solid concrete road, though this sharp turn cost Maanav his one slipper, but he didn’t care, he keep on his chasing, as it was a little obstructive to run in one slipper he let off another as well, he run barefooted, he didn’t care, he cared just for the money -- his pink note. With bare foot he run with even greater speed, though this snapping of few seconds gave thug some distance.

A policeman, standing at the corner of the next street, got alert seeing two person running one after another, in an instant he figured out that the duo must be some culprit though small, and have no weapons. Swinging his lathi in the air he charged, blocking the way ahead. Because of sudden appearance of the cop in the middle of the road the thug was taken aback, he halted at once, took two steps back but then saw Maanav snapping wildly at him. “My money, my money…” Maanav was repeating, he was unaware of the condition and the place, he was still that Arjun aiming at the bird’s eye.

But the moment Maanav jumped over the thug the thug fall off to the road, the pink note went away from his grip, swinging the note went into the large sewage. Maanav followed it, without flinching for a second he got down on his knees and clutched the note before it went any far away and disappear, his hands all black, black water dripping from his hand, the note turned slightly black, but he saw nothing but the pink note, he was still that Arjun.

Meanwhile, the cop took hold of the thug and then he did the same with Maanav, the happiness was short lived for the Maanav. They were bought to the nearest police station, the money was taken away from them. The case was bought in front of the inspector.

“So, who’s money is this?” the inspector asked.

“Sir, my money.” thug said.

“My money. Not his. My money. My…you are lying.” Maanav defended, he had no idea what to say or how to prove. He just thought he know this money belonged to him and so others should believe him.

“Silent,” the inspector shouted, turning to the thug he said in hard voice, “So, this money belongs to you. Tell the truth, or else I will shut you into the lockup.”

“No Sir, it is this brat’s.” the thug confessed at last. The constable standing beside him slapped him, “Scum, lying to Sir.”

“Run away, before I change my mind. And if I caught you again then this will be worse. Now, run.” the inspector said. Thug disappeared quickly the very next second.

The inspector called Maanav to come near him. Maanav stepping guiltily went to him. Placing the wretched, blackish pink note in his palm the inspector asked, “From where you came here?” Maanav kept quiet but stooped his head down, admitting his guilt.

“Listen kid, this is no fun city. Everyday, lakhs came here and struggle for the bread. It is better to be with your family than here, you understand.”

 

The family got to know about the full recklessness of Maanav only in the evening; the driver of the milk van told Bijendra about Maanav. Bijendra contacted each of Maanav’s friend but no one had any clue, he phoned his sister, to check whether Maanav came to them. He got no positive result or any lead. He was feeling guilty for his actions. He felt broken all of a sudden. The news bought with it huge waves of worries in the whole family as well. The chulla remained cold the entire evening, no one cooked, no one ate, as the mother sat praying in the praying room, mumbling names of each of her Gods and Goddesses. Grandmother keep accusing Bijendra for his act, and considered him responsible for all consequences.

In the silence of din, Maanav entered the house silently, he picked the scent of atmosphere from the door itself, he maintained the dark silence. His father was standing facing the wall, the grandmother was sitting on the charpai as always. The mother was sitting by her temple restlessly mumbling some prayers.

“BHAIYAA!” Payal who saw Maanav first screamed at once.

“Stop!” Bijendra ordered her and everyone else. But he said nothing further, the silence poured again, but it was talking -- through eyes, through hands, through flinching faces. The father was trying hard to hide the water in his eyes for he want to teach Maanav a lesson as he had planned to, the sense of him being father  kept him strict.

Maanav, who was standing, his head down, piercing the ground, mumbled something under his sobbing, then stretched both his hands forward. He was froze, wretched dirty pink note placed in his small palms, mouth open, lips parted. Mute. He started crying loudly, big tears dropping his eyes.

“Punish…” he said guiltily but with a sense of acceptance.

Bijendra gazing at the shadow of his son, felt a lump around his throat. He felt heavy. Unconsciously, he stepped forward -- the big sturdy stick in his hand. He swung it but failed to land on his son’s palms, the stick dropped from his hand, as if Bijendra had no strength left in his arms. Lunging forward he clasped his son by his chest, he was crying. The tears washing all the past bitterness away. The hard cover over the heart had broken.

Note - The story is completely fictional.