The Scar

Not even the old rusted school bell could wake up Ritesh during his slumbers which seemed to take him to a wonderful world where he could build bridges near his house, buy ice cream from the stationary store and even have a dance with his on-screen hero. The last hour of the day was usually given as a leisure hour.It meant revising time for the first bench girls and it was also the time for the boys to score centuries in the game of book cricket. Finding the game too silly, ritesh usually looked forward to a good sleep for he knew that that was the only time in his life he could ever run faster than his classmates, do which nobody including himself thought he could accomplish. Unavailability of money and lack of medical attention was partly responsible for him having a crippled leg. It had worsened when he had fallen off the roof of his single storied shack when he was foolishly trying to imitate Shaktiman. He was bruised heavily and one mark especially caught everybody’s’ eye. A scar right across his right palm. If he were ever to be a legend, that would be his mark. Like the legend of zorro. At least that was what he had dreamed.
In one of his dreams, when he was just about to receive the Olympic gold, a hard nudge woke him up. He spun around with a irritated expression but that expression melted as soon as he saw that it was Shefali. A girl who bubbled with enthusiasm, shefali always looked forward to the walk she had with ritesh after their school hours. Ritesh ‘s shack was just a few blocks across shefali’s mansion in suburban Kolkata. Shefali was probably too young to realize that it was wrong on her part to share a candy, a walk or even a conversation with the boy who delivered newspaper to her house in the mornings. She had not even realized that ritesh had been given admission to the school under a special scheme where a certain number of students from the poverty areas were supposed to be admitted in every school. All of these did not matter to her. To her, he was a friend with whom she could be who she actually was, with whom she would not have to flash a phony smile with lips polished with costly lip-sticks just as in front of her parents’ business associates. It was very noticeable that she showed a very mature behaviour for her age of 12.
She had often fantasized about having a friend who could appreciate for who she was, who in her later stages of life would be just a phone call away and who would hold her hand in her darkest times, if not be the light. Her walks with ritesh was the happiest part of her day since her family had moved to Kolkata a few years back. She would narrate to him every single minute of her day forgetting the fact that both of them were in the same class. On one such day, as they walked the familiar roads, a group of classmates cornered them.
“look who it is. Its our shaktiman protecting the queen”, echoed the group. A shadow of anger passed ritesh’s face.
“oooooh. Will you chase us ? by the time he catches us, it will be time for him to deliver newspaper to my house. Ha ha”
“Lets go ritesh. Don’t mind those spoilt brats”, she had said and pulled him along. She had stopped when she realized that she would hurt his crippled leg.
Ritesh was always an intent listener. Shefali would sometimes go on and on even after reaching their homes. They would usually stand under a banyan tree and would chatter for an hour or until her mom called out to her. If he was absent to class, she would have a dejected feeling or would lose interest in the day’s classes only because of the fact that she would have to walk alone. She would have to walk without her friend. Without her best friend.
“ritesh, I feel that you are my friend only during school hours. I can always call up a girl from my class but sometimes when I feel bad its you I want to talk to. I wish that it was possible”, she had said once with a hint of sorrow in her voice. Ritesh in his usual calmness, having thought for a while removed a little bell from his bag. It had a lion and a bull engraved on its surface. It had a fiery red thread attached to it.
“My father found this on his way back from the fields. You take it now. When you feel like talking to me, run across the road and place the bell in the little burrow in this banyan tree. Nobody will know and I can see it when I come to deliver the newspaper. On those days I shall come early to school. “
Nobody had ever given thought to her feelings like ritesh had done. She felt better when she thought of all her girl-friends who used to put on masks to talk to the hunks of her class. Ritesh was after all her best friend. She had nothing to prove to him nor impress him. The bell would signify that Shefali needed Ritesh the most during those times.
Their friendship grew and ritesh never broke his promise about the bell. She had told him about her dislike towards the parties her parents insisted on her going, her plans for the future and almost everything else. It was during this time that she learnt that he wanted just to be able to stand on his own legs and that he dreamed about serving people one day. This dream was fuelled by his own experiences, his own father working tirelessly to make ends meet. It was also the time when she had discovered the scar on his palm and she had found that it was impossible to shake his hands without feeling the scar. The touch of the scar, she discovered, sent a sorrowing feeling through her soul and for her it symbolized a scar on ritesh’s life.
The holidays were a time in which they met considerably less frequently. The year in which she celebrated her 14th year birthday, she discovered on the first day of school that the class strength had reduced by one student. She looked around for the missing person and failed to identify the person as it was common practice that students usually skip the first few days of school. Among the missing was ritesh. This was usual as he had missed a couple of ‘fist-days’ before. She was disappointed with the fact that she would have to walk alone and so she decided to hang the bell on her way back. After wading through her first day of class, she listened intently to the attendance call.
Roll no 36 rahul, roll no 37 rohit…..37 was supposed to be ritesh’s roll number. She thought that it was just a mistake and that such things happen at the beginning of a new academic year. She hurried home after the class and hung the bell in the normal spot.
The following day, as per the ritual she went to school early and was horrified to see that there was no ritesh waiting for her near the gate. Sulking, she went to class with a hope that ritesh would come to class. The same attendance saga continued. She did not want to assume anything, she did not want to show that she was the only person in class who had noticed his absence in the class. After the last hour, which seemed to go extremely slow, she hurried home and rushed to the servant quarters and enquired about ritesh and his family. What she heard would leave a mark on her life forever. She knew it the moment she heard it.
“His father could not afford the fees in this school. They shifted to another town and nobody knows where madam. They did not tell us anything”
“Thanks”, was all she could manage.
She could not digest the fact that ritesh would leave without giving her the slightest of clues. She went to the Banyan tree, pocketed the bell and stood there looking at nothing in particular. It was not possible for her to come to terms that of everything she could possibly give up, her friendship with ritesh which was so pure and innocent had been one thing she was very afraid to give up.
“Some things in life are in your hands, some things beyond your control. Living in a society with a framework which aims at making people more sterio-type in thinking, which aims at making people believe that the only relationship possible between a boy and a girl is that of love, with a framework that is more suitable to the creators than to the mortals following it, you come to a point in your life where you have to decide whether you wish to live in this society or if you wish to create a world of your own where all that matters is how you feel, where everything is how you want”Shefali believed that she could have found a worthy friend in Ritesh whom she could treasure for the rest of her life.
Knowing that she could not find ritesh, shefali retired to her old ways where she would go to school with a grim and go home with a grim face as well. The banyan tree stood in all its glory and shefali always found that it mocked at her, reminding her that she could never stand with a person and have a enjoyable conversation like she had done so with Ritesh.
She had waited many a day for him, and the days had turned to months, months to years and it always seemed like a lifetime.
She finished her graduation in public relations and she had once waited for roll no 37 in her college. She knew it was very stupid. Her dream of being a news reporter never came to be realized as she was married to a very rich family in Mumbai as her father thought it was a very good business alliance. She had not protested and she often felt that Ritesh would not have let her agree to her father’s decision. But that was not to be and she had shifted to her husband’s house in Mumbai which was nothing like her own house. There was not a tree in sight, it was hard to say whether there were more number of cars than the people or not. She had often missed home, but as a married woman she had responsibilities which kept her occupied most of the time. In years to come she would have children and ritesh was just a fond memory.
“suno ji, there are no friends around. I feel lonely sometimes and your secretary says you are busy. How can I talk to you?”, she had asked.
“I cannot help it. I am busy and that’s how it is”, her husband had replied in the most sullen way.
That little incident had brought rushing back her memories of ritesh and the little bell and all that seemed like little adventures to her. She had spent almost a full hour cleaning the bell which she had preserved it like a piece of jewel. It was infact more precious than that. 16 years had seemed a very short time. It had been 16 years since she had a true friend. Well, that was all a memory now.
With the arrival of children her life had changed and so did Mumbai with the arrival of the monsoons. That year had been expected unusually high rainfall. Shefali lived in an area kissing the Mumbai water ways. She would always take a walk two times a day and her path would take her along the water ways. She would always find it soothing watching the water, the ripples jumping into the air, a bird swooping down and an occasional yatch in the distance. She would also sometimes visit her friend Anita’s house for a chat. Anita and Shefali had met in a marriage function and they soon discovered that they could brighten each others day with a little laugh now and then.
On a Thursday, a slight drizzle failed to stop Shefali from paying a visit to her friend Anita. Sipping hot tea, they watched an Amitabh starrer, Black, and soon lost track of time. They had also failed to hear the thunder outside and it startled Shefali when she saw that it was the heaviest rain she had ever seen. It was already 3.30 and she could not afford to wait longer as her children would return from school. Against Anita’s protests she started home. It was obvious that she find no rickshaw and so she had to literally wade her way home. Almost home. A few hundred meters from her house, a tea shop where labourers would have their hot tea and a cigarette was being uprooted and the winds were making the knee deep water flow like in a river. Shefali watched her house in the distance and she could catch sight of hardly any soul. Just when she thought she had gone through the ordeal, a swirl made her head turn and she saw the wooden roof of the tea shop flying towards her. That would be the last thing she would see for many hours.
Shefali was knocked cold and she had been carried by the current. She had crashed against a makeshift ration store, and she had been covered with the debris from the surrounding areas as the shop served to be the only obstacle in the path of the flowing water. Hundreds of people were trapped and it was only until evening that her husband realized that she was missing. A complaint had been registered. Rescue teams comprising of the Police and volunteers were sent in search of survivors.
It had been almost 12 hours and nobody had found Shefali even though she was just a few hundred meters from her house. Shefali had woken up and found her body going numb. She could not think straight. She knew she would die. She had not eaten and her body was too cold for too long a time. Just about then, “hey hey there is someone here”, shouted a voice. Just when everything seemed to be dark, a light came through the top of the debris. Shefali flinched as it had been a long time since she had seen light. A hand propped in and she heard,” take my hand. You will be alright”. Following it like a child, she held it. Something rubbed her hand and she held it harder. What she felt sent a chill down her spine. Even in that bruised state, it was impossible for her not to feel the touch of the scar. A scar which had fascinated her, a scar which she had not seen or touched for 16 years, a scar which had symbolized her best friend, he true friend.
She was drugged as soon as she was pulled out and she was airlifted to the nearest hospital. It was only 8 hours later when she woke up that she realized that it was god himself pulling her out. It was like an angel saving her, it was true both literally and metaphorically. She was confused if she felt happy that she had survived or because she had finally fund her best friend after 16 years.
After a days rest at the hospital, by which time the rains had almost stopped, she went to the nearest makeshift rescue station and enquires about the Thursday on which she was saved. She learnt that if she had not been saved in time, she could have died of hypothermia. That she had been found just in the nick of time was a miracle. Shefali knew within her that her story of her best friend saving her was an altogether a spiritual experience, something more than a mracle.
“ Could I meet the rescue team. I would like to thank them personally”, she asked with gratitude. She had hoped to see Ritesh limp towards her, she would narrate to him every minute of the past 16 years, she did not care how long it would take. But what she heard would take her more than a lifetime to grip.
“The team which went out never returned. They were believed to have been washed away into the water way. We all here feel the loss of the brave souls. You can make contributions for their families. Here are their names. Please pick a name and indicate how you would like to help”
It took her a full minute to read the first name through her tears. Ritesh Gorkand. She dropped the paper and ran home. She wanted to go back to sleep, wake up knowing it’s a dream, still waiting for Ritesh, with no rains in Mumbai. That was not to be.
He had been her best friend even in her darkest times, he had held her hand even though he himself was not the light. He had afterall realized his dream of helping people. He was afterall Ritesh wasn’t he ?
She lied to her husband the she has to leave for Kolkata urgently. The flight journey seemed to be a blur, she reached her house. She told her mom that she would go out to the store close to her house and where she went was a place close to her heart. The little cavity where she hung the bell was shielded from the rain by a thick growth of lichen. 16 years had had no effect on it. Out of curiosity, she thrust her hand into it. She felt a little metal and she pulled out a little metal container. She opened it and a stench greeted her. A rotting piece of paper was waiting fto be read by her,
“I have to leave for Mumbai. I don’t know if I will ever get to stay in one place. I am sorry I could not tell you. I was too afraid to come to your house. You will always be my best friend. Ritesh”
These words scribbled on the sheet would be etched in Shefali’s memories forever. Tears rolled down her yes. But these were tears of joy. Ritesh had not left her as though she meant nothing to him. Her best friend had infact treasured her friendship.
She slipped the container and the piece of paper into the cavity. She walked away.
As she did so, the sun caught a piece of metal and something shined from inside the cavity. A closer look would reveal that it had a fiery red thread attached to it.