Saturday, July 6, 2024

A broken pane and the unspoken bond (972 words)

 


As a young boy, I played cricket in our colony several decades back. There was not much vacant space except a patch in the middle of the colony. Three sticks of different heights served as stumps, with a brick at the other end as the fourth stump. Half a dozen boys of varying ages formed our team. Discarded tennis balls were donated by the dad of one of the boys. Two hours in the evenings, until the shadows lengthened, were sheer thrill and joy for us.

While the inevitable noise and shouting during the play, were not objected to by the elders,  one old gentleman, Bhaskar Rao, living adjacent to the playing area, did not relish the game being played there. He often came out and remonstrated with us, saying, “You are all shouting too much and are a daily nuisance. This is not a playground. Why don’t you go play in the corporation ground in the adjacent street?”

We would plead with him, “Uncle, we will not shout or make noise. Please allow us to play here as older boys are playing in the corporation ground and do not allow us to enter there.”

“I don’t wish to hear all your excuses. I am not going to allow you fellows to play here. I will tell the Secretary of the Association in writing, though I know his son Mukesh is also one of your gang,” he said. Nevertheless, he never wrote or spoke to the secretary, and we continued playing merrily.

One day, Mukesh had brought his cousin, an older boy. A tall and strong fellow, he hit a ball into the window of Bhaskar Rao’s flat. Luckily, the ball hit the wooden frame, and the glass was not broken. The old man rushed out of the flat to survey whether any damage had been done to the window.

I said, “Uncle, nothing has happened. It just hit the frame. We will be careful.”

Without uttering a word, he took the ball that was lying near him and went inside. All our pleas for the ball fell on deaf ears. When he did not open the door, I remember pressing the bell at regular intervals, sometimes nonstop for a long duration. He came out seething in anger and exploded, “You rascal, how dare you press the bell like this continuously. I will complain to your father in the evening. I have no intention of returning the ball.” He slammed the door and never opened it despite our shouting.

The day’s play had to stop as there was no spare ball. As we dispersed, I took a small stone and hit the window pane directly, breaking the glass. I ran away before he came out.

I was scared that the old man would catch me the next day. But surprisingly, we found the ball lying on the ground, and he never came out to make noise about the windowpane. It pricked my heart with guilt when he remained silent about the broken glass whenever I crossed him in the colony. I could not return his smile and instead hung my head in shame. His stony silence about the incident made me all the more uncomfortable.

When I told my mom about his stopping the play one day and how I broke the glass in anger, she said that Rao had lost his only son of my age some years ago while playing cricket. When he was fielding at close quarters, it appeared the ball hit him on his head near the brow, and the poor boy died the same night.

My mom felt that he was so paranoid about youngsters playing cricket  and it stemmed basically from the fear of likely injury I could not sleep that night. I had saved about two hundred rupees from the gifts for my birthday.

The first thing in the morning I did was to go to his house and fall at his feet with profuse apologies. He lifted me and said with a smile, “Raju, why are you prostrating? Any examination today or birthday for you?” He saw me crying and asked, hugging me, “What happened? Why are you crying?”

In sobbing tone, I remember saying, “Uncle, you must pardon me. I was the wretch who broke the window that day in anger when you did not return the ball. Here is two hundred rupees that I had saved that would cover the cost of putting a new glass. Please accept it. I never knew then why you did not like us playing cricket till Mom told me last evening. Until you forgive me, I cannot look straight into your eyes.”

“Wait a minute,” he said, and came back with a new cricket bat. “This was bought by my son a week before he had the tragic accident. I am not against cricket when played with protective gears. Take this bat; I gift it to you as it can be put to better use than being an article of memory. Here is the money you gave me. I knew you had broken it. But I have left the door deliberately unrepaired as it would make you all play carefully. You can use the money to buy some protective gears like a helmet, pads, gloves, and abdomen guards. If you need some more money, I am ready to pay.”

Even after several decades, I fondly remember his kindly face that taught me a lesson on concern for others and forgiveness. As I look back now, I realize that his silent pain, hidden behind his stern exterior, was a testament to his love for his lost son. As he embraced me that morning with forgiveness and love, he mended not only a broken window but also healed a part of his heart. 

 


26 comments:

  1. Very nice story, vividly describing how cricket was played till some 40 years back. (first paragraph)
    There is always a hidden message behind the anger and scoldings of our elders that may realize immediately or may be with passage of time.
    All the learning and the morals is narrated in the past paragraph leaving no burden on us for imagination.
    Best regards Sir

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  2. Heart warming story. I like it.

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  3. Brings back memories of playing cricket on the side road in Bombay in the 1960s. Even then, there were mostly 3 storeyed flat and the ground floor had different shops. Breakage of glass was regular and one Taylor there took உண்டு pleasurec

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  4. You are a great writer. You take simple things from everyday life, and develop into a story with in-built emotions and cherished memories with them. Very nice

    Keep writing, Periappa
    Chitra

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  5. Had tears in my eyes while reading the ending of this story...very emotional story...your narration is too good. We not only read but felt the emotion in the story! Thank you, Kp....Sandhya

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  6. Beautiful narration as always. Regards - Mahesh

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  7. Beautiful story. Takes us back to our childhood days. The character of Bhaskar Rao well depicted, people like him are true gems whose value we seldom realise.

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  8. Forgiveness and repentance have taught both Bhaskar Rao and Raju their lessons. Of course time is the healer, but memories are for ever. And the story beautifully narrates the same.

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  9. Narrated straight out of the heart.

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  10. The personal loss of Bhaskar Rao is told with a lesson for children to imbibe. Regards P K Ramachandran

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  11. The personal loss of Bhaskar Rao is told nicely to the children to imbibe the lesson out of it. Regards P K Ramachandran

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  12. Very good. Thanks.ramakrishnan.a.

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  13. The story's warmth and authenticity really resonated so well with all of us.The details so meticulously crafted making the narrative incredibly rich. It is beautifully conveyed through genuine emotions.

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  14. Beautifully told :) Brings back so many memories :)

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  15. Quite an absorbing story. Nicely brought out the reason for a person to behave extremely for petty actions of children.

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  16. Extraordinary narration..this story of playing gully cricket with inadequate means used to be so real in that era..urban middle class boys of current era won't understand that fun..poignant is the response of this particular uncle..superbly told story..salute to your craft

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  17. Beautiful story with a moral that also sensitises children (even adults) to another's pain, teaching them not to judge anyone based on external and superficial parameters.

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  18. Santha SrinivasanJuly 8, 2024 at 7:01 AM

    You are a great writer. Every simple incidents ,happens in our life you bring into life by your minute details. That brings back our younger days memories

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  19. Raju's journey from anger to remorse and ultimately empathy shows his emotional maturity.
    (My latest post: UK Tour 06 - Beamish Museum)

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  20. This is truly a most beautiful short story that I have ever read. It almost brought tears to my eyes! Atin Biswas

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  21. You have narrated an emotional and impactful short story in which you have focused on creating relatable characters and a clear conflict.Also you have used vivid descriptions and sensory details to bring the story to life and make it more emotional and engaging for us, readers! Well written, KP Sir!!

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  22. Again a poignant story

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  23. Lovely prose. Legend has it that the boy went on to play 2nd division Cricket with a career best of 7 for 42, bowling his crafty off-spin Mr Rao would have approved for a batsman dismissed is a window saved 😉. (JJ)

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  24. Such a sweet story..Brought tears to my eyes.

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  25. Lovely story. So many inspirational insights. Elders most times teach us very valuable lessons. Repentance, Forgiveness, Patience and Forbearance are the values that come to my mind when I read this story. It bought tears to my eyes and also my childhood memories of seeing many having craze for cricket.

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