Child of Spring

by Farhana Zia

  “Your dirty fingernails are longer than the dirty nails on a sadhu,” I said. “Why don’t you do something about that?”

  “Why don’t you pack yourself up in a jute bag and go far, far away and never come back!” Raju roared.

  “Oi! What’s the ruckus?” Bala called from the other end of the field. “Are you ready for battle or not?”

  “Change of plan!” Raju announced. “Change of plan! We are using Akbar-the-Great!” He held up a majestic new kite, as green as a glossy guava.

  “No fair! What happened to Jhansi-ki-Rani?” Bala asked.

  “It’s Akbar-the-Great, okay?” Paki yelled back. “Take it or leave it!”

  “Bring him on!” Bala shouted. “Akbar-the-Great, Jhansi-ki-Rani—it’s all the same to me!”

  I ran to join Lali waiting on the sideline. She moved over to make room for me. “What was all that about?” she asked.

  “Oh, just a teeny mishap,” I replied. “I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you.”

  I crossed my fingers and waited. Paki was still hopping mad, and that meant wouldn’t be at his best during the contest. I was counting on that.

  The battle of kites lasted the better part of the morning. Akbar-the-Great went up against Shivaji-the-Mighty, fierce black against brilliant green. They made a fantastic spectacle in the sky, whirling, swirling, dipping, and soaring. Paki and Bala tugged, gave slack, and maneuvered their kites into spins and loops to wild roars from the crowd.

  Paki’s Akbar-the-Great emerged victorious at the end of the first battle, but Bala didn’t appear worried. Cool as a cucumber on a hot day, he pulled out the kite he called General.

  I watched entranced, biting on my fingernails, every part of me quivering.

  And so it went. Akbar-the-Great versus General; General versus Dilip Kumar; General versus Mahatama Gandhi. On and on the war raged, battle after battle, to jubilant cries of Bo Kata! from the victors.

  “Wah! Wah!” shouted the spectators, each time a vanquished kite drifted sadly away, tail fluttering and severed line trailing.

  Two hours later, the score was dead even. Bala’s Lodhi had just defeated Mahatama Gandhi. Paki had brought out the fierce Maharani for the final round. Bala would fly Lodhi again. This was the moment everyone was waiting for.

  “Get him, Bala!” I screamed.

  Paki! Paki! Bala! Bala! The crowd was going wild.

  The combatants rolled up their sleeves and prepared for the decisive thrust. And when the wind was just right, Paki and Bala nodded. Raju and Dev got the kites into position and let go. Maharani and Lodhi rose majestically and fearlessly skyward.

  I held my breath.

  Up the kites climbed, goaded by the rush of wind. Soon they were mere specks, ready for the strike. Lodhi and Maharani dove at each other like fighting cocks, circling, sometimes teasing, sometimes enraged. They jabbed and pecked at one another, now wild and erratic, now determined and purposeful. The kites would fly close enough for an embrace, then dart away and hover at a distance from one another, tense and watchful.

  At last it was time for the kill. Who would deliver the fatal blow? Sweeping their arms wide, Paki and Bala sent their kites into the final death embrace.

  I sucked in my breath. “Do it now, Bala!” I screamed. “Slice! Kill! Pulverize!”

  Bala and Paki each galloped backwards across half the length of the field, heel over toe, raising clouds of dust under their bare feet. Hand over arm, they reeled in the string.

  Beside me, Lali sucked in her breath. “Who will it be?” she whispered.

  Our eyes were glued to the sky. Who indeed?

  And then it happened. Maharani broke away from her tether and wobbled away on a wind current. Lodhi was victorious! Bala had won!

  “Bo Kata!” Bala’s final victory cry rent the air. He grinned from ear to ear.

  The crowd lifted him onto their shoulders and cheered: “Long live Bala! Long live Bala!”

  Then I caught sight of Paki coming toward me, a threatening scowl on his face. He charged like a mad bull and kicked dust at me. “It’s your fault!” he screamed.

  “Don’t be silly!” I retorted. “Jhansi-ki-Rani was not even your trump card. How can you blame me?”

  But I didn’t push my luck. I walked away quickly because when Paki got like that, there was no telling what he might do. I ran to get the seeds and joined Lali, Nandi, Pummi, Dev, and Hari to settle our account.

  I had won big! Poor Pummi, Hari, and Dev … Well, I did feel a little sorry for them!

  Chapter 17

  Amma stoked the fire in the Big Kitchen, then kneaded the dough until it was soft and pliable. I helped chop up the onion and the fresh coriander for the egg curry. Little Bibi was waiting for her breakfast.

  “No money for food, but plenty to spend on kites!” Amma grumbled.

  “Bala collected a pile of coins at the end of the match,” I told her.

  “How so?” Amma’s fingers were now coaxing Little Bibi’s roti to puff up like a golden balloon on the smoking griddle.

  “He got other people to wager real money just like a bookie. He talked a good talk so the people who won didn’t win a lot and the people who lost, lost big—enough to give him some to keep for himself. Pretty smart, nai?”

  “Tcha!” spat Amma.

  “My pocket would be bulging with coins too if I had wagered real money,” I said.

  “Nonsense!” she snapped. “Careful what you say, little miss!”

  I quickly brought the subject back to Bala. “He’s going to be making some good investments with his money.”

  “Such as?”

  “He didn’t say exactly.”

  “That Bala,” Amma mumbled as she stirred the pot. “He’s nobody’s fool.”

  Rukmani’s chickens squawked and flapped as Dev sprayed water at them, trying to drive them away from the water pump. Little Hari was getting a thorough soaking too. His hair was plastered to his head and his shirt was stuck to his back. Dev bent over laughing at the chickens as they ran about crazily.

  “It’s not one bit funny!” I yelled. “Vimla Mausi’s going to be madder than a hornet if Hari catches a cold!”

  “Lali says it’s okay to have a little fun,” Dev whined. “She’s our big sister and she can tell us what to do but you are not allowed. You’re not our boss. So there!”

  I wanted to walk over and smack the impudent little thing right then and there, but I had more important things to attend to. “Where is Lali?” I barked.

  “Go find her yourself!” Dev said.

  I couldn’t believe it! I stomped over to their hut and found Lali picking out little stones from the rice. “Did you hear the mouth on that child?” I asked.

  Lali looked up from her winnowing basket. “Who? What child?”

  “Your brother Dev, that’s who. He’s getting too big for his britches. I can’t believe you let him talk back like that! If Durga was ever that cheeky, why, I’d pin her to the wall by her ears.”

  “Durga knows only how to coo.”

  “Lali! That is not the point!”

  “Basanta, Basanta. Tell me what you’re upset about, nai?”

  I told her everything, starting with Dev’s backtalk and ending with Hari being soaked to the bone.

  “Hari’s wet?” Lali jumped up. “Oo Maa! I didn’t know!”

  “You can’t know about everything, Lali,” I soothed. “But you should know about Dev and you should do something about him.”

  “He learns from others.” Lali rushed off to the water pump. “He follows Paki around like a puppy, lapping up everything that falls from the rascal’s mouth.”

  Lali went to find Dev and Hari and I went looking for Bala. I found him at the far rim of the field, chucking jamun berries at passing motorcars in the road. “Oi. Have you seen Kalu?” I demanded.

  “Don’t you ever give up?” Bala asked.

  “Come, come. Spit it out!”

  “He’s in Inglistan, shaking a paw with the
great rani.”

  “Rubbish!” I snapped. “Owl!”

  “You are the number one owl to carry on and on about that scrawny mongrel.”

  “You better tell,” I said. “The poor thing’s probably ready to die from hunger at this very moment and nobody else cares about him!”

  “Arrey baba, enough of your high drama!” Bala smacked his forehead with his hand. “I bet your darling puppy is hale and hearty and being looked after like a prince.”

  “Impossible! Poor Kalu’s got nowhere else to go. No one loves him like I do!”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it.” Bala turned away and threw another berry. It struck the side of a car with a thwack. And that’s when I figured out that he knew. It was written all over his face.

  “Tell me!” I demanded.

  “I don’t have to tell you anything!” Bala said. “I am a master kite fighter and you can’t make me!” He spun on his heel and ran away.

  I watched him dash to the other side of the road, where he mingled with the pedestrians, holding out his hand. In less than a minute, he had switched from master kite fighter to master beggar.

  I replayed the confrontation with Bala in my head, step by step, frontward and backward. All my shouting and yelling had gotten me nowhere. I should have stayed calm and cool. I should have reminded Bala about the promised Divali laddu. That would have been the smarter thing to do.

  I retraced my steps home. There was a boisterous game of Kabaddi underway on one side of the field. A boy sent in as the raider from his team struggled to free himself from an opponent’s grasp. He had been brought to the ground and his face was turning blue. According to the rules, he had to get back to his safety zone without taking a breath and while chanting the game chant: Kabaddi, Kabaddi, Kabaddi. But he couldn’t do it. He finally had to take a breath and his team lost that point.

  Just beyond the Gul Mohr tree, I noticed something very interesting. Ramu and Rukmani were standing together as close as two slices of bread in a sandwich! I hid behind the Gul Mohr and tried to hear the romantic rendezvous.

  “Let me have a small….” That was Ramu mumbling.

  “Na! Bring me a green mango first!” That was Rukmani commanding.

  “Please …” That was Ramu begging.

  “Tch! First, a mango!”

  “But my dearest Rukmani …”

  She crossed her arms against her chest and turned away from him.

  What was going on? Why was Ramu pleading with her so?

  He bent down and rummaged for stones, then threw them at the mango tree one by one, trying to knock down some fruit. Every stone missed its mark by a mile. Poor Ramu tried again and again.

  Rukmani just stood by and laughed at him.

  On the tenth try, he felled a mango for her. He ran to pick it up, then approached Rukmani with his lips pursed. Was he hoping for a kiss? I hugged the tree harder.

  Rukmani snatched the mango away from Ramu’s hand before the poor fellow knew what was what.

  “Oh Rukmani, do give us a small k …”

  I watched them lean into each other. The pulse in my neck raced faster than a deer on the run. Oo Ma! Did this mean a black bead necklace for Rukmani’s swan neck? Did this mean the Milk Boy was forgotten? I shifted to get a better position.

  “Oi! What are you doing behind the Gul Mohr tree?” Paki demanded loudly.

  The owls were back! I turned on my heel to run, but Rukmani’s steely voice stopped me. “Not so fast, nimble-footed missy!”

  Arrey daiyya! Thanks to the goonda boys, I’d been caught red-handed!

  “She was spying again,” Paki said to Rukmani.

  “With both ears cocked in your direction!” Raju added.

  “We were on our way to fly our kite and there she was hiding behind the tree with her lengha tucked between her legs!” Paki said.

  “Oh ho! I have an earful for you, you scrawny thing!” Rukmani hissed.

  I was really in for it! She’d rant and rave and call me all manner of names. There would be a great big storm in a tiny little teacup, thanks to the goonda boys, unless—unless I walked right up and threatened to tell Ramu about the laddu for the Milk Boy.

  “Come here, spy!” Rukmani commanded.

  I had two ways out of the mess. Either I could save my skin by lying just a little—I was merely collecting an orange flower for your lovely black hair—or I could stop her in her tracks by telling on her. But I wasn’t entirely sure she’d care if Ramu knew or not.

  But before I could do anything, Ramu stepped in. “Let the little one go, Rukmani,” he said. “She meant no harm.”

  “She meant no harm? Are you a fool?” Rukmani asked, all the softness gone from her voice.

  “She’s definitely a spy and an eavesdropper!” Paki said.

  “Yes, yes!” added Raju.

  “She meant nothing by it,” Ramu repeated, his words sharp and clear.

  “Aiyyo!” sneered Rukmani. “What are you—a champion of the little spy girl?”

  “Bas, Rukmani,” Ramu snapped. “Enough!”

  And with that, he silenced a tongue that usually wagged faster than Kalu’s tail. He told the goonda boys to scram and when he turned to me, his voice was kind. “Go home, Basanta,” he said.

  I ran away as fast as I could. Dear, dear Ramu. He was not such a timid man after all. He was good and strong and brave and kind. God promise and mother promise and swear on my head, I’d never, never spy on him again!

  Chapter 18

  The goonda boys were preparing for another kite battle. Paki waited for the wind to pick up a little. When the mango leaves began to rustle and coconut fronds swayed, he commanded Raju to walk the kite, nose up, a hundred feet upwind.

  I watched Raju back away from him, farther and farther up the field, as Paki let out the line on the spool. “Bas! Far enough!” Paki shouted.

  Raju held the kite skyward. It strained and trembled against the taut line.

  “Ub! Now!” commanded Paki, and his brother thrust the kite upward and let go.

  The wind caught the kite and lifted it up, up, up. Paki tightened the line and gave it slack, urging it skyward all the while.

  “Wah, Wah!” Raju cheered. “Nice going, Big Brother!”

  “According to Raju here, you’ve been looking high and low for the dumb dog,” Paki said to me, his eyes glued on his kite. “Have you found him yet? Not that I care very much!”

  “Na. I think Bala knows but he’s not telling,” I replied.

  “Interesting you should say that.”

  “Interesting?”

  “I saw Bala in the garbage bins the other day. ‘What are you doing?’ I asked. ‘Searching for a bone,’ he answered. ‘Why?’ I asked him. ‘Mind your own business!’ he said.”

  There it was! Bala was holding back and Paki had just confirmed my suspicion.

  “You are an owl for not telling me about this sooner,” I said. “You are a donkey and you are a liar.”

  “So are you!” Paki yelled. “You are an owl and a she-donkey and a spy and a liar too!”

  “I am not!” I screamed.

  At least I was not two of those things.

  Lali and I decided to follow Bala and see if he led us to Kalu. We looked for him near Lalla-ji’s store. We ran to the junk dealer’s shack to see if he was lurking there. We checked at the bakery, where the smell of buns was sweet and warm, then the kite seller’s shop, but we did not find him.

  At last we spotted Bala quite by chance, his scruffy head a quick dancing dot in a rushing river of pedestrians, animals, carts, and vehicles. He walked purposefully, clutching a sugarcane in one hand. He bit off sugary chunks, chewed all the juice out, then spat the pulp in the road. In his other hand, he held a parcel.

  “Let’s go!” I said to Lali.

  We dodged rickshaws and bicycles and carts to run after him, ducking quickly when he turned to look over his shoulder. It wouldn’t do to be foiled in our pursuit.

  “He’s a cagey devil,”
I whispered. “See how he looks here and there as though he’s got something to hide.”

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” panted Lali.

  “Hush! No time for questions!” It didn’t matter if I knew or not. I was operating on a hunch—a very good hunch.

  Bala turned right at the bangle woman’s shop, and we followed. He swerved at the beetle nut stand, and we swerved right behind him.

  “He’s heading for home,” I whispered.

  “What’s he got in his other hand?” Lali asked.

  “Something fishy,” I said.

  “Is it a clue?”

  “It could be.”

  The plot was thickening like top cream in Ganga’s milk pail. Surely we were close to something very big.

  “I’m tired and my foot hurts,” Lali said.

  “Shhh!” I whispered. “It won’t be long now.”

  We followed Bala out of the busy commercial streets and into the quieter alleyways where Amma said evil people snatched little children to cut off their hands and make them into beggars. But no one was lurking and no one was waiting to pounce. The alley was stinky but not sinister.

  Lali and I pinched our noses, skirted open drains, and jumped over cow droppings, dog poo, and rotting banana peels. We dodged wild cats, and hid behind posts where it smelled like piss and vomit. Tin-roofed shacks dotted a small clearing filled with a bunch of abandoned sewer pipes. Bala had led us to his home at last.

  He lifted a limp rag that covered the doorway into a shanty and went inside. “Let’s turn back,” Lali said.

  Turn back when we were this close? Was she joking?

  “We’re not going back,” I told her.

  “Okay. Now what?” Lali whispered.

  “Now we wait,” I replied.

  “For what?”

  “For … you know … something.”

  “Oh!”

  We looked around for other clues but there were none. The shack had swallowed up Bala and there was nothing to see, nothing to hear, and nothing to do except wait.

  “Let’s go home,” Lali begged again. “We shouldn’t be in these parts in the first place.”