Growing Up In The Mountains -2

"Do you want some?" asked Prakash taking out a small polythene bag from his pocket. Inside the bag were small balls of jaggery wrapped in paper. "No" Arun replied. "My mother says it'll help keep me warm" explained Prakash.

Prakash and Arun were returning from school after their last final term exam.

It was a cold December. People were less on the streets. Those who were outside were seated around small fires like bees circling a flower.

Prakash and Arun had been best friends for the past two years and yet Arun knew less about Prakash owing to his shy nature. Arun's family lived a few hundred meters away from school. Every day after school the duo walked through the usually busy, hustling and bustling street after which they parted ways for their respective houses. Prakash had been to Arun's house on several occasions specially during festivals.

As they walked past the almost empty street Arun asked Prakash "How big is your house? Is it as big as mine?"

"Yes as big as yours. Maybe bigger"

"You must be lying. Ranjit says ours is the biggest house in the entire world."

"Would you like to go see my house? My mother is home today. She'll make murai ko dalla(puffed rice mixed in liquid jaggery and shaped into balls) for us" Prakash wiped his nose with the sleeve of his sweater leaving behind a horizontal trail of snot on his dry left cheek.

Arun thought for a while then replied "Ok. Let's go, but I have to be back early. It'll be dark soon. I don't want that wooden ruler's impression on my butt cheek again"

Both started laughing heartily as they headed towards Prakash's house.

They walked through the narrow streets passing through the regular paan shops, samosa shops and roadside pakoda makeshift shop cum van. After a few blocks, the narrow streets gave way to a large pavement that circumvents a large playground.

As they made their way along the pavement, Arun asked, "So if your house is big then you must be having many servants". "No. We don't have any. Actually our house is not our own."

"Oh! So yours is a rented house", concluded Arun.

"No"

"Then?"

"It is our own house, but we pay rent to the house owner"

Perplexed Arun stopped walking and asked, "So, you live in your own house and yet you pay rent to the house owner. But the house owner is supposed to be your family if you consider it your own house."

Prakash didn't reply. He recalled the explanation his mother had given to him on this topic a long time back. He still could not come in terms with the fact that his mother had to pay someone to live in their own house.

After walking for another five minutes Prakash stopped. "This is my house".

They stood in front of a large gate. The rust eating the iron and the creaky sound it made while Prakash opened it was testimony to the fact that the gate had seen better days. The house was big indeed. Arun was in awe and sad as well after realizing that his house was not the biggest in town as Ranjit had made him believe. The house was three stories tall with red paint on the wall and green paint on the wooden windows. But on closer inspection, one could see the sad state of the house. The paint had peeled off from parts of the wall. Termites had eaten away the wooden window and the tin on the roof was reddish-brown due to rust. As they made their way through the gate and towards a short flight of steps, one could not help but notice the owners attempt at renovating the dilapidated floor. Obviously the owner must have used some cheap grade cement to cover the cracks that crisscrossed the floor of the veranda. The veranda gave way to a passage with rooms on either side. People went in and out of the rooms, but Prakash did not speak to anyone. There was an open area with green grass at the end of the passage. As they made their way through the open area Prakash said pointing to a small wooden cottage, "Look that is where my mother and I live." As they neared the cottage, Arun noticed that this part of the house was more open and in a far better condition than the house through which they had passed a minute ago. The cottage was a simple wooden structure but well maintained. There were few bamboo chairs on the front porch with a table at the center. All sides of the house were lined up with small flower pots with various kinds of flowers ranging from Angelia, different variants of orchid, and many more. On seeing the door locked from outside, Prakash bent to take out the key from underneath the doormat. "Come in. My mother must be outside working," said Prakash entering the house.

He kept his bag on the bed and indicated Arun to do the same.

From the open window, Prakash called out for his mother. "Aaaaamaaaaa!"

"Awdaichu parkhi" (I'm coming) came the reply instantly.

"Arun ako cha, murai ko dalla khancha harey,"(Arun has come, says he will have murai ko dalla) Prakash shouted back.

"Arun, I'll go get my mom and come. She'll be happy you came".

Arun stood from the chair he was sitting on and took a look around. On one side of the wall was a wooden shelf with copper and brass vessels shining like they had been cleaned and polished just a day ago. Below the shelf was a bamboo mat with paintings of two deers drinking water from a pond while birds were flying on the sunset sky. On the other wall was another shelf with books and below the shelf was a photo frame of a young person in his late twenties. The person was wearing a black hat with two small miniature knives crossing each other. It was the same hat Prakash had worn on the annual school cultural program just a few months back. There was a garland placed around the frame. His face had a strong resemblance to Prakash. Arun had never asked Prakash about his father, and Prakash never mentioned his father during their conversations. Arun assumed that he must be Prakash's father.

"He is my father," said Prakash from behind as he entered accompanied by his mother Sharda.

Sharda had a bamboo basket supported on her hips. The basket contained radish, carrots and fresh tomatoes she had picked from their kitchen garden just a few meters behind the house.

"Prakash. Go clean the vegetables. I don't want to see any mud on them when you're done."

Prakash picked up the basket Sharda had left on the porch and asked Arun to accompany him to the tap.

As Prakash started with the vegetables, Arun asked, "Where is your father Prakash?" Without looking up Prakash replied, "He has gone far away from us, closer to God. My mother says he has given the Supreme Sacrifice for the country. Though I do not understand what that means she says I should be proud of him".

Arun said nothing. He took one carrot and start cleaning it.

Prakash's father Kamal, was in the army. When Prakash was just six months old he was wounded in a combing operation in the Kashmir valley. Three days he had fought for his life but ultimately succumbed to his injuries. Kamal had left behind his mourning wife with a six months old baby. For Prakash, his father was just a person in uniform hung on the wall of his house. He could not relate emotionally to his father while turning through the pages of the family photo album. Sharda never let Prakash feel the absence of a father.

After Kamal passed away she started working more in the garden. She made a living by selling fruits and vegetables. Realizing that flowers had a good market and money, she started cultivating different types of flowers. Income was just enough to survive the two of them. But it was not easy at the beginning. Just a few months after Kamal's death the old babu from the big house had forcefully ordered to bring down the boundary that once existed between the big house and the cottage. He claimed that the land on which the cottage was built had always been their land. The old man built another boundary instead, keeping the cottage within the boundary. As if that were not enough problems for Sharda, the old man even asked her to pay rent for living on his land.

When Sharda went to the neighbors for help they had turned a blind eye to her.

One of them said, "How are you going to survive without the old man's family to take care of you."

Some said it is for her own good that she lives within the old man's family

Once both were done with their job, they headed back to the cottage. Sharda had already heated jaggery on a vessel. She would add puffed rice into it and later make round balls out of it.

Sharda kept a plate with a few of those balls on the table.

"Take, taste it," said Prakash.

Arun took a bite and immediately took it out from his mouth. He took out his tongue and made a funny face. Prakash started laughing. "I knew you would burn your tongue"

He laughed even louder.

It was darker and colder by the time they had finished eating. Sharda packed some more murai ko dalla and put it in Arun's bag. Then she asked Prakash to accompany Arun to the market.

On the way, Arun asked Prakash, "So where are you going for winter vacation? Do you know we are going to the city? Father says it is very far away from here. We have to travel on a train. He says there are big buildings and we will also get to see the airplanes. Tell me where are you going"

"I will help mother with the gardening. Every morning while she prepares breakfast, I will take the vegetables to the market. And in the afternoon I will help her clean the vegetables. I did it last year also. Do you know I earned five rupees for every basket of vegetables I washed? I will buy sweets for you next year when we meet at school. Ok?"

As they reached the samosa shop which was their parting point after school Arun left for his house.

Prakash turned around, put his hands on his pant pockets and headed home.