The Tea Seller's Son
by K Hari Kumar
(An Excerpt from WHEN STRANGERS MEET..)
On a very hazily lit noon, when one could see enough to distinguish darkness from light, the little boy turned his head first to his left and then to the other side. Then he checked straight, as if in a single stride he would measure the entire length that he was meaning to cross to get to the other side of the road. His destination was a dusty container office across the road that took care of the construction site booming in that part of the village. His father had told him ‘Arshad, when you grow up this place will make you rich and we will open a bigger tea stall outside the mall so that more people can drink our tea.’
‘What is a mall, Abbu?’ he had asked innocently.
‘It is a big shop that has everything in the world. You will like it.’ His father had told him.
‘Why can’t we open a shop inside the mall?’
‘We will do that too, we will do that. But you must serve very good tea to those good people who are building it. It is your job to make them happy.’
‘Yes, Abbu!’
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| Sanjeev Verma / HT Photo |
Now after a year of serving tea, he was familiar with almost everyone at the office. He believed his father was closer to their dream as well.
He felt dizzy, almost felt like dropping the gripped semi-dozen cup holder on the road and go into deep hibernation. A slumber that would last long till all his pain would go away. He wanted to go home. He looked up at the sun that poured its rays through the clouds and the scorching light hit his little face from a distance that seemed lesser than the distance between the spot he was standing and his home. He knew the sun was closer to him than his mud house because he could see the sun from where he was standing but his little mud home was nowhere in sight.
In a most unlikely manner, he started waddling across the highway. An Outlander was speeding towards him. He did not have the patience to look around again so he started crossing the road, unaware of the giant Japanese SUV. He took two more steps and that’s when he noted that the bisonous monster was just a second away from crushing him to death. He stranded himself from taking another step, the outlander passed just millimeters off his toe and he could feel his soul almost reverberating off and back into his body. His heart pounded faster and the whole universe broke into a deafening silence. The clouds rumbled against each other and soon there were thunderous sounds of approaching rain. The thunder brought his life back to normal. He realized that he was very much alive and started his remaining journey across the road. He had life enough to reach the office, serve tea to the gentlemen and then wait outside on the torn cushion until they would call out his name. Occasionally he would be tipped by the generous supervisor. He would happily accept the one rupee coin as if it were some precious treasure.
He now stood on the divider, which meant he had crossed half the highway and had another half to cover. With another stroke of breath, he jostled through the remaining half and this time the journey was quicker. The tarred highway ended and a muddy track appeared, leading towards two containers with windows and a door. His face carried no smile, but a look of dismay.
There was no security guard at the gate or maybe he did not notice him in the haste. He moved quickly through the muddy track and in a minute, he was inside the office. Maybe the guard was calling out his name, but he did not care. He was too tired to stop by the old guard. He did not even knock on the door today.
He placed a cup of tea on each of the six tables for the officers. He had done his first task, now he had to wait outside on the cushion. He stepped outside the container and just next to the water-pot, he placed the cushion. The throne reserved for him. He rested his bottom calmly on the cushion. He was exhausted, almost dehydrated. He looked up: the sky was cloudier than it had been ten minutes ago. There were more sounds of thunder and as he looked at his wounded palms, a drop of water fell on them. Rain had started pouring. Unfortunately, it was both full of hope as well as dismay- the very sound of rain. He had prayed for rain when summer began, but the boon turned out to be a curse.
The rain would soothe his skin for the time being but few hours of continuous rain would wash away his mud house and he feared being homeless again. It was an arduous job to put the house back in shape. In the last downpour, the flood swept the house away along with his father’s savings. He had heard his father tell his mother ‘Allah had willed it this way. He must have better plans.’ His father was always optimistic.
The rain was getting heavier, little Arshad pushed the cushion backwards and sealed himself under the tin roof.
He waited till they had finished with their tea and more importantly the chit chats over tea. Usually, he would listen to their conversation from outside. They would talk about various worldly matters and most of them passed over his little head, but he liked to listen nevertheless. But, today he simply sat there- Blank!
He wished he could also dance to the tune of the rain like other kids his age, like his brothers. But he knew he couldn’t for he had responsibilities. He had to work hard for his brothers, for himself. Every rupee earned was a heartbeat added to their life.
He looked through the tinned roof and the raindrops.
He kept staring.
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