The packet

 

THE PACKET

 

It was an evening in late July

When he saw him sitting under the gnarled banyan tree,

Wizened and apparently gasping-

A maniacal look on his face

Clutching an earthy brown, cloth bag 

Under his sweaty arms.

His rasping cough made him breathe heavily.

 

“Who are you”? asked the young boy- 

Just all of eight- marbles jingling in his pockets.

‘Are you waiting for someone’?

What’s in your bag’?

There were no answers forthcoming,

But the silence was broken with a ‘pechak’

As the old stranger spat his betel juice, into the dust around them.

 

He smiled- a red toothy smile and whispered- 

In almost a threatening growl

‘My boy – don’t ask me those questions- ever again’.

He bowed his head, which sunk deeper

Into the depths, of his seemingly, hollow torso

And gasped aloud.

 

There was a pregnant pause-

And the young lad was terrified.

 

In the distance the ‘kik- kik- kik’ of the ‘Koyal’ could be heard. 

Summer was coming to an end. 

Lines of soft, grey Nimbus clouds 

hung low and spelt rain- later that night.

An eerie stillness prevailed.

 

The old stranger looked crestfallen,

-utterly broken. 

But wait -there was something else-

Were those tears, amidst the wrinkles?

He fumbled with his belongings –

A bell and some beads strung together.

He took out a tattered paper bag,

And laid it on the ground. 

His scaly hands trembled and beads of perspiration- 

Appeared unexpectedly- trickling down,

His seemingly, scrawny neck

Losing themselves in his grimy garments.

 

They both stared at the bag in complete silence.

The ‘kik- kik- kik could be heard, in the distance. 

The echoing voice of his mother calling him home- 

‘ Balaaaaaa’- roused them from the reverie.

 

The stranger hurriedly picked himself up- 

Dusted his garments and shuffled away-

Pulling a ragged shawl 

Tightly over his long, matted hair.

He didn’t look back.

 

The young lad sat mesmerized-

Staring at the abandoned packet for a few, 

Agonizingly long moments.

This couldn’t be his birthday present in advance?

His father and twin brother

Had left for the market early that morning. 

He willed them back, as night 

Was fast approaching.

He had always been petrified of the dark 

 

The tension was palpable and 

He could contain himself no longer.

‘Balaaaaa ’- shouted the mother once again.

It was now or never.

 

Stretching his right hand forward-

He reached gingerly, for the creased packet- 

Pulling it towards himself, hesitatingly. 

Taking a deep breath – he opened it warily.

And took one furtive look

 

Screaming in abject terror 

Bala bolted towards his little thatched hut- 

At the edge of the large paddy field.

He collapsed into his mother’s arms- 

Sobbing inconsolably 

Pointing vaguely to nowhere

Muttering unintelligible sounds- 

hysterical and incoherent.

 

The family rushed out-

Just in time to see an old stranger-

Board the last bus out of the village that night. 

The lad led them to the banyan tree- 

Still sobbing and gesticulating towards the crumpled bag.

The pale crescent moon illuminated the sky-

And bathed them all in a silvery glow.

Then the skies opened and the tempestuous rain

Came down in torrents.

 

Packet in their hands- they walked home

Their sobs mingling with the thunder