The heat wave had given way to humidity and the humidity had been replaced by erratic rainfall, which had made the weather quite pleasant. Consequently, the footfall on the road fronting my house, appeared to have increased. I was intrigued by the sight of a tiny tot riding a tricycle, while three tinier tots chased the tricyclist, with heart – rending pleas, of letting them ride too. Soon tiny tots of different shapes converged on the road. Happy faces, cheerful camaraderie.
The sunbeams were also in a playful mood, bouncing off their heads to splash their golden luminescence on the ground below – these drops of the golden sun were all around me. On the grimy skin of the mangy mongrel, the tiny kitten playing with its tail, on the silver hair of the grandparents sitting outside their house, unaware of their silver turning into gold.
“Mujhey dey dey, naa,” the tiniest of the tots was screaming at the top of his voice, and when the tricyclist paid no heed to his pleas, he threw himself on the ground, flailing his limbs in all directions, bawling the skies down. The plane flying overhead appeared to have lessened its speed, distracted by the hullaballoo on the ground, and the garrulous parakeets in the trees, stopped their chatter, and tuned their ears to the matter down below.
A mother and son were heading towards me with bundles of firewood on their heads, the mother’s bundle bigger. “Namaste madam,” they greeted me, their smiles also touched by the brilliance of the sunrays.
After almost a week of not selling eggs, Dharmendra, was once again all set with a cart load of freshly boiled eggs. His wife, Meena, stood outside their shack, with a huge smile on her face. Next to her, sat the three black dogs that I often see on my morning walks, the vestiges of sleep still clinging to them. A man was heading back from the grocery shop, with two packets of milk in his hand, another obese one walked next to him, rather dragged his heavy body, in deep introspection.
In the vacant plot, next to the egg-seller’s shack, a huge flock of sheep were grazing and the shepherd sat on the wall, a cane by his side, looking around warily. Suddenly, the air was rent by loud cries. I turned in that direction and was aghast to see a tiny lamb entangled in the bushes next to the boundary wall, bleating away piteously. On hearing the bleats, which had become heart-piercing now, a tiny boy passing by, jumped down from his bicycle and raced towards the bush. With immense care, he slowly disentangled the lamb, lisping soothing words to it all the time. Then very carefully, he headed towards the shepherd, who, by now, had also noticed the absence of the lamb, and was looking around frantically for it. The boy handed it over to him, with words I could not hear. The shepherd thanked him profusely and kissed the boy’s hands, who, to my amusement, turned red in embarrassment.
By now, the east was turning red too. The sunrays embraced the shepherd and the lamb, in a fiery embrace, and the boy looked on at the lamb for some time, and then raced towards his bicycle humming a happy song.
(Pictures: Santosh Bakaya and Pixabay)
