The Price of Victory

Every Sunday my neighborhood resounds with the shouts of happy boisterous children—bicycling children, kite-flying children, cricket-playing children, pranks-playing children, their mirth mingling with the lawn mowers humming in the distance, and the vendors selling their wares with shrill, persuasive eloquence, which sometimes jars on the ears.

Such sights and sounds have become so addictive that they oft become echoes in a chorus of sublime connectivity.

The crisp air hits you in gusts, the sun smiles, the birds chirp and the trees sway in ecstasy at the birth of another day.

As I stepped out, I found that the work at the construction site was in full swing, and the supervisor sat on a ramshackle chair, smoking and giving crisp orders to the laborers. My eyes refused to leave the smoke curling in languid tendrils around his face, and the look of absolute bliss that covered it.

Just a little distance away, a shabby little laborer was hauling a sack of cement into a handcart, looking furtively at the cigarette-smoking supervisor.

As I thoughtfully walked on, my eyes fell on a teenager racing out of his house, with the haste of a fireman dashing to an emergency call.

“Coming,” he shouted to some invisible being, and in no time, was taking long strides towards somewhere.

“Ouch,” I heard an anguished yell, and was dumbfounded to see the teenager staggering on his feet. Balance gone, his body lurched forward, and he stumbled down on the ground, his foot caught in a cable.

I am sure a gigantic wave of panicked adrenaline must have kicked in, as he craned his neck this way and that, absolutely dazed.

Lying on the ground, his eyes were still frantically looking around. Some joggers ran to his side in horrified concern, but he merely made a futile effort at trying to laugh at what he called the “absurdity” of the situation. But it was obvious his leg was hurting.

“This is not absurd. You might have hurt your leg,” opined an elderly gentleman.

“No way. Please don’t stop me. I have to go.”

And in no time, he stood up and while the others looked on, stupefied, he raced a one-legged race towards the cricket field half a km away.

“I am the opening batsman of my team. I cannot let the other team win,” he shouted over his shoulder.

I kept looking at him as he hobbled on.

Three hours later, I was yanked away from the book that I was reading, by loud victorious yells. I peeped through the window. A group of boys in whites was on the road in front of our house, mouthing victory slogans.

The injured boy was sitting on the shoulders of one of the boys, while the others thumped his back.

“Tune kamaal kar diya!”

“Humein jita diya.”

The boy smiled and flashed a victory sign.

Thud!

The boy had fallen on the ground, in a faint.

Morning Meanderings Season 4 – the weekly column by Santosh Bakaya

There was a doctor drinking tea at the tea stall; he came running, upturning his stool in the haste. Casting one look at the boy’s swollen leg, he pronounced:

“He needs to be rushed to the hospital immediately.”

He put him in his car, two more boys jumped in, and the car raced away to the hospital to tend to the boy’s wounds.

No onlooker could have missed the radiant look on the injured boy’s face.

After all, a broken leg was a small price to pay for winning a cricket match!

I will never forget the victory sign that the spunky boy had flashed, through a grimace of pain.

Raising triumphant fists in the air, the rest of the boys raced after the car shouting,

“Hamara sher! Hamara sher!”

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About the Author

Santosh Bakaya ( 174 Posts)

Dr Santosh Bakaya is the author of three mystery novels for young adults, and a book of essays titled Flights From My Terrace, which was recently published as an e-book on Smashwords. Her poetic biography of Mahatma Gandhi, Ballad Of Bapu has been published by Vitasta Publishers, Delhi, India in May 2015 and has been receiving rave reviews from everywhere. Although a Political theorist, with a doctorate in political theory, it is literature which has been her first love. She was awarded the Reuel international award for language and literature 2014 for her long poem Oh Hark!, which forms part of the Significant Anthology. Many of her poems have figured in the highly commended category in Destiny Poets, a UK based website and many are part of international anthologies. Right now, she is giving the final touches to her satirical novel, tentatively titled Sanakpur Shenanigans.
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