What a lovely sunset! I never realized how many sunsets I have witnessed in this small town. It has become a daily practice. Everyday I decide not to come to the beach, but it never happens. As soon as the office hours are over, within half an hour I find myself here.
That is what happened on that day, about six months ago.
As usual I came here direct from my office. Tired.
I always preferred to sit on this particular bench, away from the road in a dark corner under a coconut tree. An elderly couple always occupies the adjacent bench, behind me, facing the church. I do not get to hear each and every word of their conversation but they always talk about someone – “Govind”.
I never see them coming, because I get here between six and quarter past six. They are always there before my arrival. They get up at the stroke of seven on the church-clock.
On that day ‘they’ didn’t turn up. I was a bit surprised but then I thought that they must have gone out of town. I was enjoying the view of the sunset, the beach, the soft sand, the pleasant breeze, the colorful sky and golden frilled clouds. I never take off the setting sun. When it descends slowly towards the water I feel like I can touch the horizon; it appears to be so near.
On that day, on ‘their’ bench there was a small boy. He looked about nine or ten years old, wearing blue shorts, an old shirt that showed signs of being white once upon a time.
He had placed a small basket on his right and was keeping it in place by resting his hand on it. That’s all I noticed before I settled on my bench.
It was vacation time and many small children were wandering on the seashore. In this small town, the natives come to the beach rarely and very few people like me are regulars. Since this town is not very far from the city, the urban touch can be seen in its residents.
I had not seen this boy before or at least I thought I had not. Perhaps I had not noticed as I am usually immersed in my thoughts.
After a few minutes he broke the silence.
“Would you like to buy this ginger-sweet, Sir?”
“What’s the price?”
“Quite cheap, Sir.”
“Yes, it’s ok but let me know the price.”
“A rupee each ”
“Ok, give me five . . . what’s your name by the way . . .”
He kept quiet. I never understood why small children do not mind talking about anything but never mention their names.
I continued.
“ I never saw you here before.”
“Yes”
“Are you coming here for the first time?”
He didn’t say anything. His eyes were full of mixed emotions. I felt that he wanted to be away from me, but I didn’t give up. I remembered my childhood. A carefree butterfly-like existence, but for him it was different. He was earning his bread as a child. However, somewhere I thought that the boy might be from a good family.
“Do you go to school?”
“Yes!”
“Who all are there at home?”
“My aunt and me.”
“What? And where are your parents then?”
He kept quiet. He picked up his basket and got up. Again I asked for some sweets for ten rupees. I did not give him that money but just held it in my hand instead and continued the conversation. I was not in a hurry at all. My roommates would come in only after half past eight. I thought of killing time by talking to the boy.
“Hey, what happened?”
He looked down and said, “They are no more”
I understood my mistake and did not have words to continue.
This time he continued.
“I was staying in the city before.”
“When did you come here?”
“Two years before.”
“Then . . .”
“It was my seventh birthday. My uncle, aunt and grandparents had come to visit us. On that day my parents and uncle went out to shop for a gift for me. We four were at home. Then I don’t remember what happened. What I remember is that there was a huge commotion everywhere. Something had gone wrong in the city, people were running here and there and my grandparents and aunt were crying. My parents and uncle never returned. Three or four days later we packed everything and came here, but soon after that my grandfather took ill. My aunt says that they had to spend a lot of money during his illness. Now my aunt prepares some eatables at home and in the evening I sell them in the market.”
“Then how come you are here today?”
He just looked at me and couldn’t control his tears. I patted him on his head and pulled him a little nearer. I kept the ten-rupee note in his shirt pocket.
“Today is my birthday.”
I found my eyes dampening.
“My grandparents loved me a lot.”
“Doesn’t your aunt love you?”
“She does .”
“Then?”
“No, nothing as such, but I remember my grandparents. When my grandfather was feeling a bit better he would bring me here everyday. I would sit between my grandfather and grandmother. On this bench where I am sitting today.”
“So?”
“Just on the day after my birthday my grandfather fell sick. The doctor had come to see him but didn’t say anything. I remember that my grandmother gave a cry and fell on the ground. Then in the evening people from our neighborhood came and took them away. My aunt was holding me and weeping.
Now my lips were becoming dry.
“This morning my aunt reminded me about my birthday. I remembered my grandparents so much that I came here just to sit on this bench, instead of going to the market.”
My legs were trembling.
Gathering my courage I said, “What is your name?”
“Govind.”
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Varsha writes for chillibreeze.
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