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First ball of the Cricket match, the bowler ran long on the mud pitch. The ten year old batsman, popular hitter, [A boundary or Sixer shot is what is termed hitting, perhaps in the cricket-pedia] waited steady with bat held tight in hands for first ball. A full swing, full motion, what a sweep, [please excuse me I am not good on commentary job] and yes. He had hit!! How's That!! There were loud noises all around, most boys fled and few ran over hither and thither . Some towards the batsman. There was more of a commotion there. The boys had been playing in open ground with boundaries stretching on to the roads connecting to local residences.The ball was not the lucky one to be kissed hard and sent for a tour in the open stadium , call it sixer. The unlucky one was a limping old man who emerged out from no where and was knocked out by the batsman in full swing. In the ears of the astonished boy rang not loud applauds but the moaning grunt of the old grumpy man. Old man was attended well by the boys until he managed to reach home. But what about the batsman? Needless to say, he had fled with heart in his mouth.
The unity amongst the boys protected the true act of honour of the boy. The hitter had made a big but the wrong hit. Alas. Few days and his friends updated him on the old man's health. Each time his friends took turns to also inform him "old man is about to die". It was that cursed evening a friend came puffing and panting into the boys house and in bated breath narrated his news in bits of words. Half eaten sentences. But the boy got the point. The old man was dead. Because the hit was on the head, and remember it was a hitting-shot. So the time had come for confession. The boy gathering all his guts revealed the story to his father. His father listened to him as he chewed his paan, spitting in between and also smiling now and then. Boy's nerves were calming down upon confiding and realizing that the father understood him and would make all efforts to help him. Soon came the shock instead. "Alright, now you can continue to play cricket-but carefully now on. As for the old man, he is hale hearty and fine"-told his father.
So the nightmare had to end. Pals played notorious prank on the poor boy including his dad in the melodrama. Like the railway engine that halts moments later after you pull the chain, all the feverish pains of the boy were more jolted and his nerves did not soothe or agree to his ears, or the brain that was manipulating the information received. Few anxious days spent speculating excuses out of false alarm of an unintentional murder he had supposedly committed, seemed to hook on to him. The pain dint budge into a laughter in spite of continual convincing from pals and father. Boy felt itchy. Brains took time to waive off the fear to replace and believe real truth. Truth had changed for him, yet so hard to believe. The survival of the old man.
Zor ka jhatka haaye dheere se lagaa [Translating in Hindi-जोर का झटका हाये धीरे से लगा ]
I would sing this number if I were there then instead of today. That boy, today my man, narrated this ,12 years after married life first time. After ages I enjoyed rolling on the carpet holding tight onto my tummy and laughing like a child. I enjoyed. Once a devilish laugh, once softly, once muffling. Discovering a secret of his childhood that had frightened him to hide under his skin, proclaim a self exile, or may be to vanish like a puff of smoke of Aladdin's lamp.I really had to admit how on earth did he not mention it to me all these years. To visualize a dramatic scene, perhaps if he dived into waters and emerged into strange land full of beautiful water mermaids, or flew with imaginary wings on to other side of hills. It goes on...
And as for me I had a hearty laugh penning this hilariously incredible incident.
And as for me I had a hearty laugh penning this hilariously incredible incident.
