The Guardian

There was a definite poise about the young man which showed that he was from a very affluent family. His tie was elegantly fastened, his shirt neatly tucked and the shoes could have shown a reflection of the dead twigs along his path. Walking home after school was a relatively new experience for Nidhish Malhotra,who had seen the beautiful canopy of trees and the old Maratha Fort near the school only through the windows of his car. He had always wished that he could pack a picnic lunch and go around in his bicycle with his friends to visit the old fort and the little hillock nearby. His friends however had long forgotten the idea of a bicycle. Their free time usually consumed by their girlfriends and the bubbling pubs, they rarely made it to the category of ‘friends’ in Nidhish’s book.
On the wake of Globalization and India becoming a major player in the World Economics, Malhotras had an almost 150% growth in their family business of shipping which operated in the Jawaharlal Nehru Port,at Nhava Sheva[Navi Mumbai].The Jawaharlal Nehru Port now handles 65% of India’s container traffic. Nidhish always disliked his father indulging in corruption, paying the port authorities hefty amounts to get easy clearance for his carriers. When he asked him about this,” Its all a part of survival, son”, was the answer he got. His father had now made enough money to ensure that even the next generations of Malhotras could live lavishly. Nidhish’s mother however rarely questioned the virtues of her husband nor the progress of her only son. She was content as long as she got her pocket money.She spent most of her day indulged in kitty-parties, shopping, movies and other equally useless activities.
The Malhotras lived in a lavish bungalow near the Thane Creek and their little burrow had cost them 3.5 crores. They had so many servants that they could afford to have a servant exclusively to clean their pets. Nidhish always longed for a friend or a brother with whom he could share his joys and sorrows. He was very much liked by his servants as he never scorned looking at them,unlike his parents. Apt to his name, meaning ‘Lord of Treasures’, he had all the riches a boy could want.He had everything except the family bonding he wanted. And he knew all the money in the world could not buy it for him.
On a cloudy Saturday in the month of August, after yet another day of his 11th standard classes, Nidhish had walked down to the auditorium for his Drama practice.But due to some unforseen rains in the city of Mumbai, the practice was cancelled. His car was scheduled to pick him up only in the evening. He still had almost 3 hours with him. He decided against calling his Dad’s office and requesting the car. He instead wanted to walk down to his dad’s administrative office which was just around 3 km from his school.
He was studying in Embassy International School, one among the best and the costliest in his city. It was located on a hillock, near a summer fort of the Marathas. Though the fort was in ruins, Nidhish had always harboured a desire to explore it. The day provided the perfect opportunity for him to do this and thus he started walking down the rocky path, covered by a canopy of trees like a beautiful green umbrella and this was indeed ‘picture perfect’. He could get the glimpse of one of the ruined, yet beautiful, pillars of the fort. He reached for his lunch box and nibbled through the sandwich and decided to save it for later. As he walked down ,strange thoughts crossed his mind. He wondered wat he would do once he finishes his studies. Would he go into his father’s line and keep the family tradition? Would he also be consumed into this westernized world? He would have deeply appreciated someone being there with him when he wanted to discuss his dreams, his fears, his anxieties, and his thoughts. Just when he was venturing off into his other thoughts, he was brought back by a deep rumbling sound which reminded him that it was August and it was the peak of the Monsoon season in Navi Mumbai .He hurried along planning to take shelter in the fort and he also knew that there was a little settlement of sorts nearby.
Nidhish Malhotra was elated to see the Maratha fort. He was greeted by puzzled faces of little children, men in their early 60s coming down to have a peaceful lunch after working through a humid afternoon. Among the people there, a old man caught Nidhish’s eye. He was sitting by the gate, smiling at passers-by. His back was bent such that it would have done a Chalukyan-architect proud. There was something about the old man which made Nidhish believe that the old man had absolutely no worries. but the fort was more appeasing to him. so without sparing much thought to the old man, he hurried along marvelling the structure around him. As he made a quick tour of the place, he began to wonder as to why the tourism department had not maintained the place. He was among the very few who knew that the place actually existed. As he was consumed by the Maratha grandeur, the sputtering of rain drops brought him back to this world. He ran to the nearby shelter which turned out to be a ruined storehouse, but the roof was intact. He rarely carried a cell phone to school and the nearest phone booth was only 2 km ahead. So he decided to wait it out. He took out his iPOD and started humming to the tunes of Bob Marley. He had never felt the necessity to carry an umbrella or a raincoat and he found himself to be up against the fierce cold and rain with very little protection. He sat down putting all his belief in the Maratha architects and masons, hoping the roof would not crash down on him.
The black iPOD,8gb was a gift from his uncle from the US and it had proven to be a very nice companion during his lonely hours. He had put enough songs that he could play it continuously for 6 hours straight. He was now almost nearing the end of his song-list, when panic set in. it had been 4 hours and the rain showed little signs of subsiding. He received another blow when he realized that he had a 2 inch gash above his ankle and he guessed that it must have happened when he ran for shelter. He was anaemic and he had let the wound to bleed for nearly 4 hors now. He ripped a piece of his white shirt and tied it around his wound. He had learnt this in one of the scout camps. Within minutes the white cloth was fiery red. Mumbai and its surrounding areas are famous for their thunderous rains and Nidhish feared that he was caught in one. Just when he was getting bored of the sound of rain drops, he heard a light cough. The shelter was around 15 feet deep and most of it other than the entrance was shielded from the sun. Nidhish hesitantly made his way down towards the source of the sound, guided only be the glow of his iPOD. He caught the sight of a dim lamp at the corner and noticed a rock of a very peculiar shape next to it. Intrigued by it, he went close to it only to realize in amazement that it was the old man near the gate and not a rock.
“hello”, whispered Nidhish.
Speaking in classical Hindi, “wat brings u here my son? Did my lamp draw your attention like it does to an insect?”, asked the old man in the most caring of tones.
“I was just wandering around in the fort when I got caught in the rain. So I decided to wait here”
“the sky will not stop roaring for a few more days. I and you are comrades in a battle against the Rain.”
“how do u know about that ? are you from around here ?”
“I have no place I can call mine, son. I wander around and I believe God will take me my destination”. There was a tone of sadness and Nidhish was not sure if he saw the wrinkled face turn on a bland expression, the light id not let him notice this.
Before Nidhish could speak, the old man noticed the red cloth around his ankle and asked “ what is that coloured cloth ? is it another of those fancy new styles from the city?”
Nidhish laughed and said, “no sir, it is just a cut I had. Its nothing at all”.
“is it paining?”
“no. its nothing at all”, lied Nidhish.
He just sat there silently browsing through his iPOD aimlessly. Before he could realize, he had slipped into a slumber and he was woken up by the old man. Nidhish was shocked to see that the time was already 9pm. He then realized that he was about to spend the rest of the night with the old man in a century old Maratha store house.
“where do u live? Wont your parents worry about you?”
The idea of his parents worrying about him was rather strange to him. “ I am from Navi Mumbai. I live near the Thane Creek. Nidhish is my name. Nidhish Malhotra”
“Nidhish u say ? that is a very rare and also a very familiar name to me. Are u by any chance the son of Lalchand Malhotra ?”
Nidhish was awestruck on the mentioning of his father’s name. how could a total stranger recognize his name and associate it with his father’s ?
“how on earth….” His voice trailed as he felt that he was being taken on a flying saucer going round and round. He had experienced once before in his life. He had been taken to the hospital where the culprit was identified as Anaemia. The doctor had warned him about the situation and that negligence could lead to dire consequences.
“wake up son. Wake up” The old man sprinkled some fresh water and Nidhish noticed that he was now sleeping on a pillow which was made out of the old man’s turban.
“ you had passed out for almost an hour. are u inflicted by any disesase?”
Nidhish reluctantly explained his situation and admitted that he is scared of being in a new place all by himself. The old man took out a small piece of cloth and placed it on a rock nearby. He got up and his bones creaked like an old teak door in a palace. He made his way out towards the entrance and trotted back with fresh rain water collected in a small cup made out of beetle leaves. He had taken 20 min to go the distance and Nidhish could see the old man’s heart telling him to go on when his body refused. He sat down with heavy panting and poured the water on the wound and cleaned it with his bare hands. Nidhish had never felt such warmth in a living being. He was always used to being treated by his servants who were just doing their ‘duty’. But the old man had no obligation of doing this to him. He was almost 8 times his age, with physical problems, but had never lost the humanitarian heart he was blessed with.
The old man elaborately cleaned the wound, applied turmeric with his trembling fingers, and pressed the cloth on the wound.
“chacha, you knew my father? And why do you travel alone? Where is your family?”
On hearing the word chacha, his face blossomed. It had been a long time since someone addressed like that
“ my name is Ram Shankar Prasad. 65 years ago, I left my home in Karnataka and came to Mumbai to find a job. My first job was to clean the public areas where people urinated and the Britishers did not like the stink. After doing my job for 3 years, I got a promotion of working on the Jawaharlal Nehru Port. We were responsible for cleaning up the rotten left overs from the trades. It was during this time that your grandfather, Ramchand Malhotra, hired me as a porter for his shipping company. Gem of a man, your grandfather was. I worked for him for 40 years son. 40 long years I lifted sacks of silk, spices, cloth and vegetables for him. That was when your father took over the business. He apparently wanted to get rid of the waste, and he fired me. He had found me inefficient as my back had bent under the weight of my family, my children’s education. I had given my blood and sweat to my work and my 3 children had finished their graduations with assistance from your grandfather. They were also given jobs in the same shipping company. They found me and my wife as a burden and put us in an old age home. She could not take it I guess. She passed away 15 years ago. I managed an excuse and came away to live on my own. And here I am, free as a bird, roaming the country side like I please. These young people want people like me to quietly tuck into a corner and die. But I tell u this son, Ram Shankar Prasad has not seen his last day yet.not yet….”
Nidhish fought hard to hold back his tears, but in vain.
“did you keep your bag outside by any chance ? I saw one completely drenched outside”
There goes my sandwich, thought Nidhish.
It looked like Ram could read thoughts, he asked “Do you have any food ? you look very tired”
“I am afraid not sir. But don’t worry, I can manage for a night”
Ram smiled innocently and without a second thought told,” a woman gave me 3 rotis in the afternoon. I would be happy to share it with you. You can have two”
Not wanting to hurt his feelings, Nidhish accepted the offer. He ate two hard, dry rotis sharing stories with the old man whose spirit was brighter than the lamp next him. It was the happiest meal he had had in recent memory.
“time to sleep son. Take my shawl. I can do with one less clothing for a night”
Nidhish was so greatful to him that he held his hand and told, “thank you”. The eyes lit up with an innocence like a child, and the happiness on Ram’s face was the most genuine Nidhish had ever seen.
The shake of the hand and the twinkle in the eye spoke a million words.
Nidhish got up early the next morning to find that the rain had stopped. He found a little boy to whom he promised money if he would get the message to his father’s office about his place. The boy gleefully ran with a hope of earning his first salary.
Ram made his way out slowly. He had a big smile on his face.
“I hope we can meet again”, said he as he began walking towards the gate.
“chacha, why did you do this for me? You took care of me like family”
“everybody is family, son. We are all travellers, wanderers in this huge circle of life. and one more thing, I did this for your grandfather. I can never forget the timely help he had given me in raising my family. A gem of a man he was, a gem of a man…..”, he said in his shaky, caring voice.
Nidhish stared with deep gratitude and somewhere down his throat, words had lost their way.
The black Corolla pulled up on the entrance and the driver, Utsav, ran towards Nidhish.
“are you alright sahib ? wat happened ?”
“nothing. Lets go”. He paid the little boy 30rs and got into the car.
“Utsav, I would appreciate it if you would not tell my parents about where you found me”
“As you say sahib”, replied Utsav. He, like other workers liked Nidhish and agreed without a second thought.
Nidhish reached home and found his mom in the dining room.
“where were you beta ?did you go to..”
He cut through her talk, “ I was at Rahuls’ mom”
He did not wait for her reply. He simply did not care. He had bigger things to worry about. He had decided to lend half of his pocket money to Ram and he was about to make the necessary arrangements. He knew that Ram would be still around and he could find him easily. He wrote the withdrawal requisition and started for the bank when he realized that the bank was closed that day and he had to wait one whole day for the withdrawal. He spent the whole day gloomily, thinking about the previous night. He had a bad sleep as well.
He got up early the next day, grabbed a photograph which had his grandfather in it. He skipped breakfast, called out for Utsav and sped away to the bank. He made the required transaction, and told Utsav to take him to the fort. His heart raced along faster than the car looking out for the old man. He then found the little boy whom he had paid and asked him, “ oye, have you seen the old man with the bent back?”
“ Ram sahib ? one minute”
The boy called out to his mother. A thin lady, visibly exhausted by her work approached Nidhish with her colourful veil covering most of her face.
“have you seen Ram, madam?”
The name seemed to trigger an emotional outburst from th lady. Her eyes swelled with tears and Nidhish knew something was wrong.
“Sahib…sahib..”, she stuttered.
“what happened? Is he alright?”
“there was a landslide last night only a few kilometres ahead. I am afraid Ram has finally finished his journey sahib”
“you are lying. She is lying, isn’t she Utsav?”, shouted Nidhish even though he felt she was not.
He pulled Utsav by his hands and went to the district hospital. He enquired about the landslide and was directed to a big hall. It was the hall where the bodies were kept for identification.
“sahib, you wait here. I will ask and come back”
“no Utsav, I have to do it myself”, said Nidhish as we walked with tears rolling down his cheeks.
He entered a gloomy hall. Nurses were walking around with writing pads in their hands, masks covering their mouths.
Before he could even ask, he had noticed the figure of Ram at the corner of the hall. The arched body was unmistakable even from a mile.Nidhish broke down. He could no longer fight his emotions. He did not want to.
“he ran towards the bed, the face was clearly recognizable, it was the face of a man who held gratitude over hatred, happiness over regret and more importantly the body had housed the soul of the most wonderful person Nidhish had ever met.
“would you like to help us in identification sir?”, asked a young nurse.
“I would like to claim this body”, answered Nidhish meekely,still crying.
The nurse produced a form. “ your name sir?”
“Nidhish Malhotra”
“the body hasnot been known by a name sir. Do you know the person?”
“Ram. Ram Shankar Prasad is the name”
“right sir. Your relationship with the deceased?”
The night at the Maratha Fort fluttered through his mind, the touch of the old man still lingered around. The warmth had touched him, it would change him forever. He knew it. In the old man, he had found the love of a parent, the concern of a teacher and more importantly he had found a friend.
“sir, your relationship with the deceased please”, repeated the nurse.
“My Guardian”, was the ironic reply.