By The Wandering Child | Sushant Thapa
After long hours in class, Saroj yawned and his world could be seen in his wide opened mouth; like lord Krishna who opened his wide mouth containing the universe, the galaxies and planets.
Even things like eating in class and dreaming in the day was his pastime. Belly full of comestibles and mind full of questions were his forte. Just like the galaxies and the moving planet earth, his mind revolved with questions about music, culture, politics and history. Literature too was his subject of interest.
Teachers in school never gave much attention to what he thought outside of the syllabus. Saroj would question everything and he would do what he wanted with his time at home, even during his study. Tasting chapatis filled with rice and fresh chutneys was how he would savour the boredom in class.
In his study time, he enjoyed stories and someday he wanted to write like great writers do. He wanted a leisure life, filled with books. He wondered if he can spend life reading and get paid for it.
Saroj filled his mind with good things. He listened more and spoke less. He was always attentive to changes around him. Politics drove him mad sometimes. He analyzed that people always blamed governments for the lack of things. He sensed that changes should come from an individual and their deeds.
He believed in luck, but he worshipped work. He believed in god, but he valued human consciousness. Greater than god, the common good was what he would want to partake in. Religion divided mankind, he thought. But he believed in the faith of the spirit.
One day as he was reading poetry beside his window, he saw a small child who seemed alone on the road. The child was carrying a book in his hand, and he seemed lost in the vastness of the city.
Lots of people came and went on the road, but they never stopped by to talk to the child. It seemed people lacked the motive or the reason to talk to the child.
The child had dark curly hair, a fair complexion, bright blue eyes and a good physique. Yet, the child seemed to be too silent.
Perhaps he had no stories to tell, but if Saroj could get stories out of the child—he assumed it to be more interesting than the stories in the book which the child carried.
It was a story book; Saroj saw it from his window. The book was very colorful and it caught his eye. Two things were colorful as he noticed—they were colorful and unusual. It was the blue color of the child’s eye and the colorful book.
As Saroj went near to the child, the child looked up to him and seemed very blank in his expressions. It seemed there arose a vast confluence of questions in the child’s mind—the child seemed little agitated and nervous.
Saroj had gone out; climbing down the staircase and taking a turn down the shutters of shops. The child immediately felt Saroj approaching. He was standing in the sun, and wanted a shade. However, he seemed nervous as Saroj was approaching near. Therefore, Saroj did not approach the child directly. Saroj stopped by a shop nearby and bought a packet of Bonbon biscuit for the child. The child was sitting under the shade beside the stairs leading to Saroj’s residence. Saroj also bought for himself another packet of the same biscuit. Saroj assumed that the child wanted some love and someone to hear his story.
He handed the biscuit to the child and the child took it without hesitation. Maybe it was the hunger rumbling in him.
“You can keep the packet,” Saroj said lovingly to the child.
The child smiled at him and erased the sweat from his forehead. The shade had given him a good shelter. The child had begun to eat the biscuit like anything. Saroj also ordered a fruit juice for the child and handed it to him.
“What is your name brother?”
“Where have you come from?”
“My name is Sakar; I have come from the hills of Hile.”
“Why are you alone?”
“With who have you descended down?”
“I came down by myself; I want to go to school,” The child answered.
“The earthquake broke down my school last year, since then we haven’t been receiving proper education,” The child broke with ease.
In the plains of Terai region earthquake did not cause much damage last year. Saroj remembered his school which was functioning well; this was his last year in school.
He would finish his 10th grade and would apply for college in the city where he was living. That was his plan. The child had descended to the city from the hill for good education. It was so easy for Saroj to carry out his plan, but the child had to carry such a huge step leaving his family and travelling all alone. Still, good education was not easy to be received because the child was all alone.
The colorful book was his English book and it had all the stories. The child was carrying a 2nd grade book. Saroj assumed him to be of 2nd grade, but later on he remembered that since last year there was no proper school in the hills of Hile and the child should get admitted to 3rd grade.
The evening had dropped its curtain already and it was dark. Saroj thought to make some preparations so that the child can stay with him.
Saroj was also alone as his mother had gone to her paternal home. Saroj lived with his mother. His dad gave his life for the service during the civil war.
Saroj knew the hardship of providing education to the child and efforts which parents have to bear. The bearing of a child and making him a grown-up requires huge incessant efforts.
When every little demands of the child has to be fulfilled and every little moments of betterment expected; parents have some hopes from the child too.
Parents wanted to see their child growing successfully in school and in life. His single mother invested all her time and efforts in his schooling in school and outside school—in life.
His mother still had hopes and expectations from him. And for Saroj nobody understood the struggle better than his mother because she was all alone from the beginning of time, he was a little kid when his father left the world.
“Sakar has to be taken back to his home,” Thought Saroj.
“His parents must be worried,” Saroj said to the shopkeeper who stood nearby.
The shopkeeper told Saroj that he had heard the news on the radio regarding the lost child named Sakar.
Sakar took the child back to his parents that evening in the local bus.
Saroj wrote letter to the District Administration Office of the region of Hile that evening after handing Sakar to his parents.
Sakar’s parents offered shelter to Saroj that evening although they were poor. They shared a common meal.
Saroj missed his dad, but it felt like he would forever remember this affection and warmth which Sakar’s family exhibited to guests.
The letter contained issues of education and opening of schools after earthquake.
-Story written by Sushant Thapa
(Author is a graduate in M.A. in English Literature from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India. He is the author of the poetry collection “The Poetic Burden and Other Poems.” The book is available in Daraz and Thuprai. He currently lives in Biratnagar-13, Morang, Nepal. )
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