Children's Omnibus

by Ruskin Bond

  Nathu kept his end up while Anil scored the runs. Then Anil was out, skying a catch to mid wicket.

  25 for 2 in six overs. It could have been worse.

  "Well played!" called the bank manager to his son, and then lost interest in the proceedings. He was soon fast asleep on the cot. The flies did not seem to bother him any more.

  Nathu kept going, and there were a couple of good partnerships for the fourth and fifth wickets. When the Delhi player finished his share of overs, the batsmen became more free in their stroke-play. Then little Mani got a ball to spin sharply, and Nathu was caught by the wicket-keeper.

  It was 75 for 4 when Ranji came in to bat.

  Before he could score a run, his partner at the other end was bowled. And then Nathu's father strode up to the wicket, determined to do better than the bank manager. In this he succeeded by one run.

  The baker scored two, and then in trying to run another two when there was only one to be had, found himself stranded half-way up the wicket. The wicket-keeper knocked his stumps down.

  The boys were too polite to say anything. And as for the bank manager he was now fast asleep under the banyan tree.

  So intent was everyone on watching the cricket that no one noticed that Nakoo the crocodile had crept further up the river bank to slide beneath the cot on which the bank manager was sleeping.

  There was just room enough for Nakoo to get between the legs of the cot. He thought it was a good place to lie concealed, and he seemed not to notice the large man sleeping peacefully just above him.

  Soon the bank manager was snoring gently, and it was not long before Nakoo dozed off, too. Only, instead of snoring, Nakoo appeared to be whistling through his crooked teeth.

  75 for 5 and it looked as though Ranji's team would soon be crashing to defeat.

  Sunder joined Ranji and, to everyone's delight, played two lovely drives to the boundary. Then Ranji got into his stride and cut and drove the ball for successive fours. The score began to mount steadily. 112 for 5. Once again there were visions of victory.

  After Sunder was out, stumped, Ranji was joined by Prem, a big hitter. Runs came quickly. The score reached 140. Only six runs were needed for victory.

  Ranji decided to do it in style. Receiving a half-volley, he drove the ball hard and high towards the banyan tree.

  Thump! It struck Nakoo on the jaw and loosened one of his teeth.

  It was the second time that day he'd been caught napping. He'd had enough of it.

  Nakoo lunged forward, tail thrashing and jaws snapping. The cot, with the manager still on it, rose with him. Crocodile and cot were now jammed together, and when Nakoo rushed forward, he took the cot with him.

  The bank manager, dreaming that he was at sea in a rowing boat, woke up to find the cot pitching violently from side to •side.

  "Help!" he shouted. "Help!"

  The boys scattered in all directions, for the crocodile was low advancing down the wicket, knocking over stumps and digging up the pitch. He found an abandoned sun hat and swallowed it. A wicket-keeper's glove went the same way. A batsman's pad was caught up on his tail.

  All this time the bank manager hung on to the cot for safety, but would he be able to get out of reach of Nakoo's jaw and tail? He decided to hang on to the cot until it was dislodged.

  "Come on, boys, help!" he shouted. "Get me off!"

  But the cot remained firmly attached to the crocodile, and so did the bank manager.

  The problem was solved when Nakoo made for the river and plunged into its familiar waters. Then the bank manager tumbled into the water and scrambled up the bank, while Nakoo made for the opposite shore.

  The bank manager's ordeal was over, and so was the cricket match.

  "Did you see how I dealt with that crocodile?" he said, still dripping, but in a better humour, now that he was safe again. "By the way, who won the match?"

  "We don't know," said Ranji, as they trudged back to their bicycles. "That would have been a six if you hadn't been in the way."

  Sheroo, who had accompanied them as far as the main road, offered a return match the following week.

  "I'm busy next week," said the baker.

  "I have another game," said the bank manager.

  "What game is that, sir?" asked Ranji.

  "Chess," said the bank manager.

  Ranji and his friends began making plans for the next match.

  'You won't win without us," said the bank manager.

  "Not a chance," said the baker.

  But Ranji's team did, in fact, win the next match.

  Nakoo the crocodile did not trouble them, because the cot was still attached to his back, and it took him several weeks to get it off.

  A number of people came to the river bank to look at the crocodile who carried his own bed around.

  Some even stayed to watch the cricket.

  The Blue Umbrella

  ONE

  eelu! Neelu!" cried Binya.

  She scrambled barefoot over the rocks, ran over the short summer grass, up and over the brow of the hill, all the time calling "Neelu, Neelu!"

  Neelu — Blue — was the name of the blue-grey cow. The other cow, which was white, was called Gori, meaning Fair One. They were fond of wandering off on their own, down to the stream or into the pine forest, and sometimes they came back by themselves and sometimes they stayed away — almost deliberately, it seemed to Binya.

  If the cows didn't come home at the right time, Binya would be sent to fetch them. Sometimes her brother Bijju went with her, but these days he was busy preparing for his exams and didn't have time to help with the cows.

  Binya liked being on her own, and sometimes she allowed the cows to lead her into some distant valley, and then they would all be late coming home. The cows preferred having Binya with them, because she let them wander. Bijju pulled them by their tails if they went too far.

  Binya belonged to the mountains, to this part of the Himalayas known as Garhwal. Dark forests and lonely hilltops, held no terrors for her. It was only when she was in the market-town, jostled by the crowds in the bazaar, that she felt rather nervous and lost. The town, five miles from the village, was also a pleasure resort for tourists from all over India.

  Binya was probably ten. She may have been nine or even eleven, she couldn't be sure because no one in the village kept birthdays; but her mother told her she'd been born during a winter when the snow had come up to the windows, and that was just over ten years ago, wasn't it? Two years later her father had died; but his passing away had made no difference to their way of life. They had three tiny terraced fields on the side of the mountain, and they grew potatoes, onions, ginger, beans, mustard and maize: not enough to sell in the town, but enough to live on.

  Like most mountain girls, Binya was quite sturdy, fair of skin, with pink cheeks and dark eyes and her black hair tied in a pigtail. She wore pretty glass bangles on her wrists, and a necklace of glass beads. From the necklace hung a leopard's claw. It was a lucky charm, and Binya always wore it. Bijju had one, too, only his was attached to a string.

  Binya's full name was Binyadevi, and Bijju's real name was Vijay, but everyone called them Binya and Bijju. Binya was two years younger than her brother.

  She had stopped calling for Neelu; she had heard the cowbells tinkling, and knew the cows hadn't gone far. Singing to herself, she walked over fallen pine-needles into the forest glade on the spur of the hill. She heard voices, laughter, the clatter of plates and cups; and stepping through the trees, she came upon a party of picnickers.

  They were holiday-makers from the plains. The women were dressed in bright saris, the men wore light summer shirts, and the children had pretty new clothes. Binya, standing in the shadows between the trees, went unnoticed; and for some time she watched the picnickers, admiring their clothes, listening to their unfamiliar accents, and gazing rather hungrily at the sight of all their food. And then her gaze came to rest on a bright blue umbrella, a frilly thing for women, which lay open
on the grass beside its owner.

  Now Binya had seen umbrellas before, and her mother had a big black umbrella which nobody used any more because the field-rats had eaten holes in it, but this was the first time Binya had seen such a small, dainty, colourful umbrella; and she fell in love with it. The umbrella was like a flower, a great blue flower that had sprung up on the dry brown hillside.

  She moved forward a few paces so that she could see the umbrella better. As she came out of the shadows into the sunlight, the picnickers saw her.

  "Hello, look who's here!" exclaimed the older of the two women. "A little village girl!"

  "Isn't she pretty?" remarked the other. "But how torn and dirty her clothes are!" It did not seem to bother them that Binya could hear and understand everything they said about her.

  "They're very poor in the hills," said one of the men.

  "Then let's give her something to eat." And the older woman beckoned to Binya to come closer.

  Hesitantly nervously, Binya approached the group. Normally she would have turned and fled; but the attraction was the pretty blue umbrella. It had cast a spell over her, drawing her forward almost against her will.

  "What's that on her neck?" asked the younger woman.

  "A necklace of sorts."

  "It's a pendant — see, there's a claw hanging from it!"

  "It's a tiger's claw," said the man beside her. (He had never seen a tiger's claw.) "A lucky charm. These people wear them to keep away evil spirits." He looked to Binya for confirmation, but Binya said nothing.

  "Oh, I want one too!" said the woman, who was obviously his wife.

  'You can't get them in shops."

  "Buy hers, then. Give her two or three rupees, she's sure to need the money."

  The man, looking slightly embarrassed but anxious to please his young wife, produced a two-rupee note and offered it to Binya, indicating that he wanted the pendant in exchange. Binya put her hand to the necklace, half-afraid that the excited woman would snatch it away from her. Solemnly she shook her head. The man then showed her a five-rupee note, but again Binya shook her head.

  "How silly she is!" exclaimed the young woman.

  "It may not be hers to sell," said the man. "But I'll try again. How much do you want — what can we give you?" And he waved his hand towards the picnic things scattered about on the grass.

  Without any hesitation Binya pointed to the umbrella.

  "My umbrella!" exclaimed the young woman. "She wants my umbrella. What cheek!"

  "Well, you want her pendant, don't you?"

  "That's different."

  "Is it?"

  The man and his wife were beginning to quarrel with each other.

  "I'll ask her to go away," said the older woman. "We're making such fools of ourselves."

  "But I want the pendant!" cried the other petulantly. And then, on an impulse, she picked up the umbrella and held it out to Binya. "Here, take the umbrella!"

  Binya removed her necklace and held it out to the young woman, who immediately placed it round her own neck. Then Binya took the umbrella and held it up. It did not look so small in her hands; in fact, it was just the right size.

  She had forgotten about the picnickers, who were busy examining the pendant. She turned the blue umbrella this way and that; looked through the bright blue silk at the pulsating sun; and then, still keeping it open, turned and disappeared into the forest glade.

  TWO

  inya seldom closed the blue umbrella. Even when she had it in the house, she left it lying open in a corner of the room. Sometimes Bijju snapped it shut, complaining that it got in the way. She would open it again a little later. It wasn't beautiful when it was closed.

  Whenever Binya went out — whether it was to graze the cows, or fetch water from the spring, or carry milk to the little tea shop on the Tehri road — she took the umbrella with her. That patch of skyblue silk could always be seen on the hillside.

  Old Ram Bharosa (Ram the Trustworthy) kept the tea shop on the Tehri road. It was a dusty, unmetalled road. Once a day, the Tehri bus stopped near his shop and passengers got down to sip hot tea or drink a glass of curds. He kept a few bottles of Coca-cola too; but as there was no ice, the bottles got hot in the sun and so were seldom opened. He also kept sweets and toffees, and when Binya or Bijju had a few coins to spare they would spend them at the shop. It was only a mile from the village.

  Ram Bharosa was astonished to see Binya's blue umbrella.

  "What have you there, Binya?" he asked.

  Binya gave the umbrella a twirl and smiled at Ram Bharosa. She was always ready with her smile, and would willingly have lent it to anyone who was feeling unhappy.

  "That's a lady's umbrella,' said Ram Bharosa. "That's only for Mem-Sahibs. Where did you get it?"

  "Someone gave it to me — for my necklace."

  'You exchanged it for your lucky claw!"

  Binya nodded.

  "But what do you need it for? The sun isn't hot enough — and it isn't meant for the rain. It's just a pretty thing for rich ladies to play with!"

  Binya nodded and smiled again. Ram Bharosa was quite right; it was just a beautiful plaything. And that was exactly why she had fallen in love with it.

  "I have an idea," said the shopkeeper.

  "It's no use to you, that umbrella. Why not sell it to me? I'll give you five rupees for it."

  "It's worth fifteen," said Binya.

  "Well, then, I'll give you ten."

  Binya laughed and shook her head.

  "Twelve rupees?" said Ram Bharosa, but without much hope.

  Binya placed a five-paisa coin on the counter. "I came for a toffee," she said.

  Ram Bharosa pulled at his drooping whiskers, gave Binya a wry look, and placed a toffee in the palm of her hand. He watched Binya as she walked away along the dusty road. The blue umbrella held him fascinated, and he stared after it until it was out of sight.

  The villagers used this road to go to the market-town. Some used the bus; a few rode on mules; most people walked. Today, everyone on the road turned their heads to stare at the girl with the bright blue umbrella.

  Binya sat down in the shade of a pine tree. The umbrella, still open, lay beside her. She cradled her head in her arms, and presently she dozed off. It was that kind of day, sleepily warm and summery.

  And while she slept, a wind sprang up.

  It came quietly, swishing gently through the trees, humming softly. Then it was joined by other random gusts, bustling over the tops of the mountains. The trees shook their heads and came to life. The wind fanned Binya's cheeks. The umbrella stirred on the grass.

  The wind grew stronger, picking up dead leaves and sending them spinning and swirling through the air. It got into the umbrella and began to drag it over the grass. Suddenly it lifted the umbrella and carried it about six feet from the sleeping girl. The sound woke Binya.

  She was on her feet immediately, and then she was leaping down the steep slope. But just as she was within reach of the umbrella, the wind picked it up again and carried it further downhill.

  Binya set off in pursuit. The wind was in a wicked, playful mood. It would leave the umbrella alone for a few moments; but, as soon as Binya came near, it would pick up the umbrella again and send it bouncing, floating, dancing away from her.

  The hill grew steeper. Binya knew that after twenty yards it would fall away in a precipice. She ran faster. And the wind ran with her, ahead of her, and the blue umbrella stayed up with the wind.

  A fresh gust picked it up and carried it to the very edge of the cliff. There it balanced for a few seconds, before toppling over, out of sight.

  Binya ran to the edge of the cliff. Going down on her hands and knees, she peered down the cliff-face. About a hundred feet below, a small stream rushed between great boulders. Hardly anything grew on the cliff-face — just a few stunted bushes, and, half-way down, a wild cherry tree growing crookedly out of the rocks and hanging across the chasm. The umbrella had stuck in the cherry tree
.

  Binya didn't hesitate. She may have been timid with strangers, but she was at home on a hillside. She stuck her bare leg over the edge of the cliff and began climbing down. She kept her face to the hillside, feeling her way with her feet, only changing her handhold when she knew her feet were secure. Sometimes she held on to the thorny bilberry bushes, but she did not trust the other plants, which came away very easily.

  Loose stones rattled down the cliff. Once on their way, the stones did not stop until they reached the bottom of the hill; and they took other stones with them, so that there was soon a cascade of stones, and Binya had to be very careful not to start a landslide.

  As agile as a mountain-goat, she did not take more than five minutes to reach the crooked cherry tree. But the most difficult task remained. She had to crawl along the trunk of the tree, which stood out at right angles from the cliff. Only by doing this could she reach the trapped umbrella.

  Binya felt no fear when climbing trees. She was proud of the fact that she could climb them as well as Bijju. Gripping the rough cherry bark with her toes, and using her knees as leverage, she crawled along the trunk of the projecting tree until she was almost within reach of the umbrella. She noticed with dismay that the blue cloth was torn in a couple of places.

  She looked down; and it was only then that she felt afraid. She was right over the chasm, balanced precariously about eighty feet above the blouder-strewn stream. Looking down, she felt quite dizzy. Her hands shook, and the tree shook, too. If she slipped now, there was only one direction in which she could fall — down, down, into the depths of that dark and shadowy ravine.

  There was only one thing to do; concentrate on the patch of blue just a couple of feet away from her.

  She did not look down or up, but straight ahead; and willing herself forward, she managed to reach the umbrella.

  She could not crawl back with it in her hands. So, after dislodging it from the forked branch in which it had stuck, she let it fall, still open, into the ravine below.