The Enigma of The Rains

It's a rainy day and the soft patter accompanies nostalgia in my mind. I once knew a boy who seemed to love the rain. His eyes and his smile were enough to make you wonder about the story behind them. In my 20s, studying in a renowned university where you can't think of anything else let me ponder on the child's smile. I couldn't figure out why.

         The boy was a thin and silent teenager. His eyes used to sparkle with curiosity to speak but he never did. He lived several yards away from my house and used to join the same road I did. He had a yellow bicycle which was slowly rusting into black on the days we crossed each other. At 9 am, I used to watch him rushing with his bicycle to the hilltop near the university and rushing back again when I returned back home. I used to stay in a hilly area and it was always raining. I did meet him twice in the rain, but as random strangers. There was something that struck my attention to the young guy a dozen times.

         One busy day, he was following his routine when he hit himself at the turning point of the road. I moved forward and tried to help. He straightened his bicycle and started pedaling, without looking back at me. I asked a local goldsmith but he was unaware of this young guy who passes by his shop regularly. I met a reticent blacksmith and he pointed me to a street. I decided to follow that path.

         The road was narrow, steep, and uneven. Not an easy one to ride something over. I trekked for two kilometers and my eyes caught a house in the middle of nowhere. The small stairs were broken and the door knob was absent. The wind pushed open the door. I walked in slowly passing through the hallway with some old pictures of the child and his parents, presumably. I was climbing up the long stairs when I heard the bell of the cycle ringing. I hid beneath a table and watched him move here and there in the house. I was shocked at how he returned back so early. "Hiroo, are you home early today? How are they?" A trembling voice spoke up from a dusty room.

         "Yes, grandma, don't you worry, they will come here very soon. Papa sends his regards to you. I had my breakfast there. Just came here because I was missing you so much. Here, have some rice and dal."

         He walked in with a plate and hurried out of the house again. It was raining. I peeked at the grandma from the door. She was weak, old, and shivering. I was able to assume that her days were numbered. I saw another picture by her bed with four of the family members altogether in the frame.

         I sneaked out of the house and watched him move down the road. I started chasing him, though in secret. We stopped at the hilltop, both at different meters. I hid beside a large rock. I spied on him for two hours but all I saw was him sitting alone with his eyes pointing at something. Soon, it was evening, and I fell asleep awakening to have a cold. He was not there now and the rain stopped. My footsteps were keen to see what he looked at for hours, and they sped towards the point, and so was me and my body with it. There was a house down the hill, which maybe was his parents', as he mentioned previously. I could slowly link the story with him, his cycle, his speedy nature, his grandma, his parents, the hill, and the rain.

         I walked down the hill, and my eyesight got hold of a large luxurious building. I saw him rushing with his bicycle again to the house. I watched from a safer place this time. "Papa, I am home. I will always be a good boy. Don't leave us. I and grandma will never bother you. She is in her last days. She misses you. I just want to be by your side." He cried out loud. A fair tall lady came out and bashed him with sticks. "Your father doesn't want you here. Get out of this place or else you will see you and grandma nowhere by tomorrow."

         The house had everything you would long for, and maybe the child did the same. He was longing for the life he was supposed to live.

         I climbed up the hill and moved down the road. It was raining again and I didn't want to have another cold. I sped to the narrow steep road and there was only his house to give me shelter. All shops were closed as the darkness of the night grew denser. "Hiroo, is that you? Please give me my medicines." I walked into the room and she saw me. She was not scared but happy. "Hey, dear, how are you? Have a seat."

         "Are you not scared of a random stranger sitting beside you?"

         "I already had enough known people to be strangers. It's common. You have nothing to steal here and you will gain not a single penny if you kill me. My family doesn't live here."

         "I know where they do. It's a great place. There are kind people all around and you can't even steal there. They have so many things to be dependent on but nothing so pricy."

         "Oh! Then, you must know Hiroo. He is my grandson and he lives there. He spends the night here with me, and the day with them. He is always out in the rain. He says he loves it. I am happy that they have accepted him. My daughter-in-law died years back in a road accident. Her husband brought home a second wife. I was against it and Hiroo was so ignored. They together had two children and later shifted their home near the hilltop. They never accepted me but I am glad Hiroo has been so. He says he will bring them back to me." The old grandma wept and smiled in hope.

         "He will, for sure. Here are your medicines, and I may take your leave now." I walked out and didn't look back.

          Tears rolled down my eyes beneath the heavy rain which was now on a higher pace. A thunderstorm broke out. I realized that day that he never loved the rain but the drops that let him hide his tears. But, I never could unfold the enigma of the rains, why I now see my younger self in him, why he seemed to share the same childhood I had.

          Oh! It's raining heavily again! The hard patter accompanies nostalgia back to my mind. I was once a boy who loved the rain. My parents left me at a very young age with my grandma. I had a faded bicycle, with dark black indelible spots.