Babu Paka

Abstract Romance Fantasy

3.6  

Babu Paka

Abstract Romance Fantasy

The Fire and The Touch

The Fire and The Touch

3 mins
223


“Don’t you dare talk to my friend like that! I will bloody slit your throat and burn you alive, if ever you think of screaming at him.” Jwala rebuked one of my college mates. I was still perplexed, how could she burn alive anyone if she slits their throat first! She was so in love with me, that she never could imagine my humiliation by anyone. She was the best in almost all the activities: studies, sports, cultural function, you name it. She was the mixture of both affectionate and fiery belligerent. Fire in her eyes, was sometimes unbearable. She could even heal people who had been downhearted and dejected by her mysterious touch. Her enigma was unfathomable to many. Nobody in the college dared to go against her words. 


“Why don’t you employ people above 18 years old in your Dhaba, paaji? Do you think, god will do justice to you, if you employ such small children and make them work so hard in your Dhaba?” 


She asked a dhabawala after spotting a small child of 10 years old wiping the tables with a tattered cloth. “Didiji, I thought by employing him here, he will earn some money, and also get to eat and live here. I didn’t have any evil intentions.” The owner of the Dhaba replied humbly. Since she didn’t know the child’s name, she addressed him ‘Chottu’.

“Chottu, come here beta.” She requested him to come near her and touched his tiny shoulder and looked into his sparkling eyes. He was a bit petrified initially, but got along well after few minutes of their conversation. It seemed that he smiled wholeheartedly after a very long time and I could even hear their chuckles. That child felt so happy that he allowed her gather all his details merrily.


She then contacted NGO of that town and even visited to Governmental organisations to take the child’s custody. And finally, she had him admitted to one of the reputed Child’s Care Centre. “You really are my hero. I can’t imagine my life with out you, Jwala.” I uttered it piously looking squarely into her eyes. She blushingly took my hand in hers and walked home. Although we did not talk throughout our way towards home, yet our palms conversed. The frequent rubbing of our shoulders and the sense of our squishy, warm palms led the talk all the way. The fire in us surged while we were walking, holding hands. Her touch made me feel heavenly. Although we were in the hustle and bustle of the city, passing by the traffic around, I perceived as if we were lost in the deep woods. Such was the magic of our fire and the touch. 


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