Mischief-Monger

I was hardly ten years old. Only that year my father had admitted me into sixth standard in a rural school. I had to go to my school all the way by walk from my village. I had to walk three kilometers barefooted to reach my school from my village traversing agricultural fields walking through many narrow strips and then in a state highway. My family being an agricultural family had irregular income. Hence, my family could not afford to provide a pair of chappal for me. I had no other go but to bear with my family condition and so walk barefooted to my school. It was about 0430 p.m. The school was over. I was returning back from my school to home. Along with my few school mates, I was walking on the left side of the road. Some time I had sharp pain in my feet when I had to walk through small gravel stones on the road. Hence some times I had to pick and throw some of them away from my path but by not using my hands but by using my toes. I had to throw such tones at regular intervals. When I just finished throwing a small stone on the road, a passenger bus suddenly overtook us on the road. ‘Bang’ I heard a huge sound. A stone that I threw using my toes ricocheted on the road and hit the glass panel on the backside of the bus making a hole in the process. Of course, the small stone that I threw must have fell on a passenger inside the bus. After a few minutes, the bus that overtook us stopped and it was slowly coming back on the reverse gear. The bus stopped, when it reached us. ‘The bus conductor yelled: ‘’What the hell you are doing? Why did you throw a stone on the bus? You see .a passenger was hit by the stone on his shoulder. Luckily it did not hit him on his head. Many traveling passengers also climbed down from the bus and came to his rescue. ‘Who threw a stone on the bus? Tell me. Who did it?’ the conductor asked. For a while we looked at each other. It took some time for us to realize what actually happened. For fear of getting any corporal punishment I kept mum. The conductor again shouted, ‘Tell me who did this? If you don’t tell, I will get all of you and produce in the police station. Tell me .Who did this?’ For fear of getting punished for not doing anything, my friend showed his accusing finger at me. Immediately the bus conductor lifted me and threw into the bus. Then the bus proceeded. I was terribly weeping and repeatedly telling the conductor, ‘Sir, I did not do it wantonly. I just threw a stone away that pricked my palms of my feet. Please leave me. I must go back home. Otherwise, my parents will come to my school searching for me.’ Meanwhile, the bus approached the railway level crossing nearby our village. The bus stopped. A passenger got down from the bus. The bus conductor allowed me to get down from the bus with a severe warning, “If you repeat such mistakes, I will see that you are remanded in a jail.” I went to home weeping all the way. The story of my capture in the bus spread like a wild fire in the village. I was nicknamed ‘the mischief-monger’. Very soon I got a pair of chappal to go to school. But my nickname ‘the mischief-monger’ lasted longer for many years. Even today I cannot understand what mischief I committed on that day.

The Home

I was searching for my mother for the past two months. She left my home quarreling with me and my wife. I enquired about her whereabouts from my relatives but to no avail. But I knew that she was not a weakling to lose her life by committing suicide. Nor she had health or money either to travel by train or car to go to a far off place; nor did she have any close or even a distant relative to seek refuge under such circumstances. Hence, I was rather confident that she must be alive and was somewhere nearby in an unknown place.I did not have any other idea for searching her. My wife suggested that I might prefer a man-missing complaint in the police station and in a vernacular daily or any other media such as local cable TV channel or DD Pothigai channel etc.But I was afraid to make any such complaints for they might flare up the news among my relatives and friends and they might look down at me. Hence for fear of being rebuked or speaking ill of me by others I kept mum. Perhaps my ego played a crucial role in my passive attitude. But something was haunting me day by day ever since my mother was missing. After a month or so, my cousin called me over my mobile phone. ‘Mother had telephoned to my mom and dad. She is at a Home nearby Cuddalore.You can call her over phone’ and he gave me the phone number also. I heaved a big sigh of relief. I rang up the telephone number. Somebody else, perhaps a person in charge of the Home answered. I introduced myself and then enquired about my mother mentioning her name, age and complexion etc. ‘You mean Santha Ammal from Villupuram?’ ‘Exactly, How is she?’ ‘She is fine. But while joining Home she told us that she was an orphan.That’s why we admitted her.This is a Home meant for destitute, orphans and poorest among the poor. Then we cannot accommodate her. Take her back.You may have to pay for her stay here for the past two and half months.’ ‘Ok, Mam.’ ‘But your mother is hale and healthy. She is very helpful to us. In fact, she is very much interested in doing service here; she attends to the disabled people; consoles destitute; Despite her age, what is her age... you said 75, isn’t it? She is very helpful in maintaining this home. She helps in cooking too. Ok, when do you come?’ ‘Tomorrow, morning’ The next day I went to the Home in my scooter. The Home was situated at the top of a hill. My scooter refused to cooperate with me after some distance. I left it down the slope and walked about 500 meters. When I went to the Home, there was a studied silence. It was in a natural habitat.and the climate was so good. I also saw some natural fountains nearby the Home from which pure and fresh water was gushing out in plenty. I could not resist my temptation from drinking some water that was so cool and sweet. When I entered the Home it was about 11 a.m. But what I saw in the Home was simply heart breaking. Unhealthy, aged, physically challenged and destitute people, a few so thin children, but all of them were in rags. I looked for my mother. She was in the kitchen giving some instructions for the preparation of mid day meal. ‘Mom’ ‘ …’ Perhaps still her anger against me was fresh. I spoke with the person in charge of the Home. I paid the dues as demanded by her. When I tried to take back by mother, she responded as follows: ‘Ram, I am not coming with you. I do not have any grudges or ill will against you or your wife. I have already brought up my grand children and now they are grown up and well settled. They no longer need my help or support. But see these people. They always need help. So I want to stay here and spend the rest of my life meaningfully. I am really enjoying what I am doing here. I help all these hapless people and I have immense pleasure in doing this. You may even frown at me. But I don’t mind. But these people deserve our help, sympathy and support. I am going to just provide what they need in the rest of my life. I have already spoken to the management of the Home. They appreciate my gesture. You need not pay anything to the Home for my stay here. If you want to see me, you are always welcome’ Then my mother went inside the kitchen of the Home.I waited for some time. But her decision seemed to be final. I left the Home quietly with mixed feelings. I was in tears even after reaching my home at Villupuram. When I told my wife what happened at the Home, she frowned at me. I had no idea how to convince my wife but I really felt proud for my mother but I could not express it openly at my home.