Saturday, March 29, 2025

The Wait

It was around 3 on a sleepy afternoon - sitting on her chair with her parched cobwebbed feet splayed out on warm stone slabs, the old lady gazed on with quiet serenity as only old people can - she was thinking mundane thoughts such as that her feet like a pair of moldy cheese bars--purplish, squishy and swollen. The warmth crept up slowly through to her thick ankles gradually massaging the pipe-like, greenish-blue veins networking over the back of her legs. She sighed, the days were getting shorter now, the throb in her knee was mild, but within an hour, she knew, it would blow up, keeping her up through the night. What she wouldn't give to be able to sleep one night, one full night for a full eight hours of dreamless darkness. A large toad skipped out of the small pool of water, one she whimsically called a lily pond. Looking back at the porch, she called out to her husband "it's another toad today" she updated him. He nodded, she asked if he wanted some lemonade. he did, so she got up grunting with each movement. 

Saras, her husband, was leaning on the porch swing, hands in his pockets, it was a comforting, familiar sight. She appreciated this routine of theirs, with her non-existent memory, routines had become her crutch. For as long as she could remember, each day, after having their lunch together, she'd spend time at the pool, which even on the hottest of days had water, make lemonade for both of them, then go sit on the couch in front of the tv, massaging her knees. She really did not have any recollection of how her days were before - did she do anything differently? Had her knees always hurt? The house was her world and Saras and she were the only occupants of it - well almost - she knew of a hoity-toity nurse who came around once every often to check on her 'vitals'. Why her she had asked rebelliously, while getting prodded and probed by the sullen girl, of course she never answered her - she only spoke when she had to order her around on taking pills! Saras was three years older to her, or so Saras had told her, but the nurse never looked at him, nor cared to ask about his health. He was strong as a bull she knew, never even had a cough and still looked as he probably did when she had first met him but surely he'd need a checkup sometimes too. That silly girl was going to be visiting again later that evening, the note on her fridge door said so. She decided to bring up the topic of Saras's health again, she decided petulantly, at the rate he guzzled down her lemonade every afternoon, he surely needed his blood tested!

Saras raised the glass of lemonade to her, a sign he enjoyed it, she smiled shyly. He had been withdrawn of late, but seemed to have recovered today, slightly. She let him be, clearing up the kitchen counter when she felt him come and stand behind her, placing his large hands on her waist. She giggled nervously, even after all these years he had a way of surprising her, getting her heart racing. Embarrassed to be having such thoughts at seventy-four she swallowed and in a steady voice with her back to him told him about the nurse's visit. He didn't respond, but continued leaning against her, she could feel him smelling her hair. "Saras, I'm too old for this" she tried to admonish but it came out with a laugh. "Stop wriggling, Pumpkin", he whispered, "it's time now". "Time for what, Saras" she giggled nervously. "We will be taking a trip" he said with a finality as though that explained everything. "She turned around, looking at him incredulously -"trip... to where" she asked, unsure with what was wrong with staying in this paradise they'd built for themselves. "It'll be an adventure, I promise.."she looked up at his face, still youthful, still unlined, glowing with the vitality of youth - and suddenly felt deeply ashamed of how she must appear to him, with all the deep creases on her face, when and why had she stopped applying lipstick! He deserved so much better, as her eyes got weepy - he leant down, "I can't wait to hold you again dear" she stared at him - his eyes were steady, unsmiling. He was serious and that unnerved her. " what are you going on about, Soz" she'd call him that sometimes but could not remember why anymore. "you get to hold me every night" she teased him, reaching out to feel his forehead. As usual, it was as cool as spring, she sighed deeply, wanting to understand more but Saras had always been taciturn, a man of few words - something she admired in him "Wear your best clothes tomorrow" he winked at her "for the nurse" he gave a rare dry laugh as he walked around her to get a refill of the lemonade. " He was acting strangely, she wasn't afraid but was rather worried as he had been the most predictable part of her life, her rock. And this change was unsettling. She followed him to the couch. 

"What was my life like, Soz" he looked up to her and then patted the cushion besides him. She sat down and leaned against him "tell me about my life, how did we meet?.....I just cant remember anything". she asked feeling the tears beginning to form. "Hmm... so you don't want to know anything about the trip" he laughed. She shrugged, one thing she had known, despite her struggles with remembering was that he would tell her something only when he was ready, not a moment sooner, she could plead but he had the frustrating ability to withhold information until it was the 'appropriate' time to share - appropriateness being determined by him. She had learned to label him an 'Ox' and accept it over the years to keep the peace. Kissing the top of her forehead, he gave her a soft squeeze, "Who you were, what we were may not matter so much compared to where we'll go". Again, she could hear a tint of excitement in his voice. He continued to stroke her arm as she snuggled against him "But, I will tell you..." and with the practiced ease of having said this numerous times before he began but without any trace of impatience in his voice "we met very young, I saw you at a seminar in your University - don't remember, don't care - what it was on". His voice seemed tender and emotional, he was relishing revisiting the past again " I just remember that during the break I approached you with an excuse to copy your notes as I had been a moron and come to the session without a pen. Lame, I know, but I had to get to talk to you as I had been staring at the back of your head straight through the two hours." He looked down at her again, lifting her chin he planted a gentle kiss on her lips."I still remember each strand of your hair and the scarf you had around". She smiled, she could now remember exactly what he  was describing. She had been stiff in her seat throughout that seminar, keenly aware of his eyes boring into her back. She too did not remember what the speaker had said , except that when he had tapped her shoulder, she had known then that there would be no going back to a before - she had known her new life, the 'after' had already begun. She didn't, she couldn't share her thoughts with Soz for she had pretended to have not noticed or remembered the day for so long. 

She couldn't tell how many times had Soz repeated this story to her, did she remember the day each time? She looked at his hands, they were exactly as she remembered from that class - large, beautiful and soft but with strength, and then she saw hers, deeply ashamed at the mottled, loose hanging skin covering her huge knuckles. He seemed to have remained in his twenties forever and here she was a haggard. "Hey,..." Soz stopped recounting their story as he noticed her sobbing quietly, "we had a good life, short it was, but what we had no one else did, you brought me joy and peace each day love". they stayed huddled together in the quiet warmth of a setting day till the static buzz implied the nurse had arrived. "You go see to her, I'll be out" Soz said making his escape as he had done the last time and every time the nurse had come to visit. The unsmiling but effective Jasmine rubbed Soz the wrong way, he hated her cold, uncaring way about her, especially how callous she tended to be with her and so always slipped away to the yard to not let her see his annoyance. She slowly got up, her back and bones screeching with stiffness as she did, envying the speed and ease with which Soz had darted from the couch to the back yard. 

The bell kept buzzing impatiently till she had made it to the door, the frowning Jasmine almost pushed her way in brushing past her to the dining table. She smelled of sweat, petrol and a long day at work. "Would you like a glass of lemonade, dear, I just made some for Soz and myself" she asked . The nurse continued clattering about with her stuff, laying out the tools with which she would prod and probe her - she wasn't ailing, just old, she almost screamed out loud. Why would they not leave her alone, she despaired. Not all old women got the kind of intrusive medical attention she had to bear. Jasmine seemed to be in a mood that day and snapped at her to stop loitering and go sit on the couch so her BP could be checked. Something told her it was a good thing Soz had made his escape for he would have given Jasmine an earful for treating her so harshly, worse than she usually did. 

She personally did not mind but Soz would just seethe anytime he saw someone treating her with less than the respect he though she deserved.  She hated scenes and Soz was not one to shy away from those, she had learned that early on in their relationship, when he found something wrong he would stand up to it clearly and unequivocally.  She smiled up to Jasmine as she put her hand out for her to draw blood. Apologizing for the trembling of her arms as Jasmine almost hit her arms to keep it steady as she applied the cotton swab. Suddenly the yard door screeched open, Soz was standing there seething - Jasmine jumped almost a feet in the air when she saw him. this was the first time that she had met the elusive Soz. As he started to bound into the room with angry strides, Jasmine shrieked and ran out of the house, her equipment scattered everywhere. The poor girl had also left the purse and her ID card behind without a backwards glance. "Soz, shut the damn door, you're letting all the bugs in" she snapped at him sternly, partly for the bugs but more for him scaring the girl away. She didn't know how to reach her, maybe she'd return in a moment. As the situation sunk in, she could not help but start to laugh,  Jasmine had got what she deserved - the girl had been a pain, once she had even had the temerity to ask her to shut up as she had tried to share one of Soz's stories. Hopefully they'd send someone different next time she sighed. People had always ignored her, brushing away her complaints as they would a dead mosquito, maybe this time she'd have Soz go in to the hospital and ask for a different nurse, she chuckled - no one dared say No to him. Also, what the heck was wrong with her, she felt perfectly fine, maybe Soz could have them leave her alone too.

Soz shut the mesh screen and returned looking slightly crestfallen, "Sorry, pumpkin, she was being a boor today.." he kneeled down in front of her. But looking at her face flushed with laughing he smiled, looking endearingly attractive, it gave her heart a sharp squeeze and they just looked at each other for a while motionless. "So should we continue" he asked, indicating to where they had left off in the recollections. She denied, "What is wrong with me Soz? Why the nurse?" He looked down at her tenderly, "I could tell you but it won't matter after tonight, I just want us to sit here on the couch, with each other, and just be" He looked at her enquiringly, she nodded, somehow it no longer seemed to matter who she was, what their story had been just that they were together, and would be, forever. She felt exhausted. Soz helped her get up and walked her to the bed. He laid down besides her, with his shoes still on. She couldn't bother, they'd be leaving on the trip tomorrow. Snuggling next to him, she breathed in his scent as he stroked her thin hair. She didn't mind him seeing her balding scalp, somehow the fact the he didn't seem to notice had made her feel better about herself. "So, Bunny," Soz whispered just as she was just about to drift off to sleep "remember the trip I was telling you about - " she perked up but he soothed her down "I will need to head out slightly early, I may not be around when you wake up." No ways, she tried to sit up but he kissed her forehead gently forcing her down, "It's just temporary, I will send for you - all you have to do is rest, not panic, okay..." she nodded uncomprehendingly "we are going away someplace where there will be no nurses to worry about. It'll be us together, forever" this time Soz looked into her eyes. She could sense his intensity as he said those words. there was some fear, some uncertainty in his eyes but he seemed genuinely excited. It was her turn to pacify him now, she nodded. She didn't have to say so but he knew she trusted him implicitly so much so she genuinely did not have any curiosity to know where they were going or why. "What do I need to prepare, Soz" she asked, the fridge would need emptying and even though she only had three dresses, she would need to pack her clothes and toothbrush. Soz only had the one pair he had always worn. He shook his head,"No, just rest tonight and don't be upset when you don't see me tomorrow. We'll be together again very soon, I promise". 

The next morning, she was awoken by repeated buzzing of the bell, someone, Jasmine she thought, was very keen on getting in. She let the buzzing continue, she'd get up when she wanted, giggling at how she was adopting Soz's evil stubbornness. Hope he was okay, she sighed in her bed, he would hate to see her worry but she did worry about him a lot. She couldn't recall when they had last been separated but while her heart ached to see his smile as he greeted her every morning, she recollected all that he had said yesterday, she would wait patiently for him. He had said it could be a few days but hoped it would not. A loud crash broke her reverie, startling her with white anger as she saw not just Jasmine but two other men clad in white uniforms rush into the room. they seemed to be yelling at each other, ignoring her completely. She tried to sit up but they pushed her back down and then all of a sudden they were pricking her with needles trying to hook up some kind of a bag to her. It hurt, Soz had said it wouldn't but it did - they did not seem to realize she was human. They were pounding her chest and it hurt so bad but she couldn't even lift her hand to ward them off, before she knew she was dumped into  a stretcher and amidst a lot of yelling and shouting was being carried away from their home, were these Soz's men. Were they taking her to him, through eyes blurry with tears she watched her beloved house, the faded yellow flowery curtains till she was blinded by strong white light, her only regret was that she had not been able to take the photograph of Soz and her with her.

As they rattled through loud, wild roads she realized that these people were not even looking at her, they were avoiding to see her in the eye, as Jasmine sitting next to her seemed to be staring out the window of the van, she could have spoken some caring words to her just this one time, what she wouldn't have given to hear someone mention Soz's name. Helpless, she allowed the tears to block her view after that and as day turned gradually to night she no longer felt the bumps or the needles anymore, neither could she hear any of the harsh sounds that had pierced her ear drums earlier, Soz, show up she pleaded quietly before drifting off into the darkness. 

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Jasmine trembled as she entered the room. she clutched on to the cross in one hand while holding the keys in the other. the room was dark and heavy, not smelling of death as the other rooms in the hospital did, it smelled of a home and something floral.  Theressa had been an inmate there for over forty years, the longest duration for a resident to be in a comatose state, although she had withstood multiple attempts by the hospital to shut down her support systems.  Each time, she had been bailed out by a support group her husband had setup, she did not know it but Theresa had become a local celebrity - her grit and resilience as she wavered between illness and good health through her years of coma had been documented in the local press. She had had four full-time caretakers, Jasmine who had looked after her solely for twelve years being the last. Shortly after the accident had left Theressa comatose, the husband, Saras, had created a fund to keep her on the support system. Legend went that till the day he died twenty years ago, Saras had been a daily visitor, he would stop by every afternoon during the visiting hours of 3 to 5 pm, spending an hour by her bedside, reading or cleaning her up or even putting on her makeup. Once Saras had died, it had seemed like Theressa's body had started to fail rapidly before the healing had returned to everyone's surprise, there had been steady improvements in her vitals and eventually, while she could still not move, one day she had opened her eyes. That had been the day Jasmine had started to become her care taker. 

Something no one had noticed was that Theressa's face would show emotions and movement during the visiting hours. Jasmine had seen Theressa blush and smile and that had scared the living lights out of Jasmine. She had stopped going into the room between those hours. The week before her passing, Theressa's body had started to deteriorate once again, her smiles and grunts had started to get fainter and even when she opened her eyes they had seemed to be glassy, unseeing. What had forced Jasmine to go in to Theressa's room during the visiting hours that fatal day had been a flurry of alarms alerting the monitoring staff. Theressa seemed to be showing signs of rapidly decreasing blood pressure. While a scared Jasmine was trying to get the equipment setup, the photograph of Theressa and Saras caught her eye. They were at some party, making a goofy face at the camera. She had picked it up to look at it closely but dropped it accidentally, bending down to ick it up Jasmine felt  a sudden cold draft come in from the open door. Startled, she turned to look up - only to see Saras standing there, grimacing at her as he advanced towards her - he looked exactly the same as he did in the photo. Jasmine had always prided herself on her practicality and common sense. But the feelings that went through her as she saw the man approach had almost given her a heart attack. That had been the last time she had entered the room alone. She would have immediately resigned from her job but Theressa crashed the very next day - all attempts to resuscitate her had failed. She had died a peaceful, natural death in her bed of forty years. 

Per her husband's instructions Theressa's room was to be converted into a resting area for any caretakers of comatose patients. The builders would be coming in tomorrow to tear the room apart and install, of all things, a mini lily pond in the middle of the hospital. Maybe that's what this place needed, she sighed as she locked the door behind her, the photo of Theressa and Saras laughing gleefully at her as she exited.



Sunday, March 16, 2025

Kindness

 Unknown to Roslan he was born to a couple who should not have been - first generation cousins whose parents, his grandparents, had been also separated by just one additional degree. He would have said his slight stutter were a result of copious and very surprising inbreeding, in this day and age, had be been able to. Roslan's mother and father had been quite young and when it had become apparent that matters had gone too far, they'd been married to save the family's honour. What the new parents had not taken into account had been a slightly odd looking, hyperactive child that would not stay put. All the baby videos that they'd planned on posting would never happen because their baby was not cute enough, the opposite, in fact. With a rather large, elongated head and bulbous eyes he did not cry out 'lift me up'. Resentment grew in moments and hours at the loss of social stature, partly by the ugly child god had given them as punishment and partly realizing parenthood wasn't really as what it was made out to be. 

With everything going against them, Roslan, sadly, was the only one they had any control over and so bore the brunt of all their frustrations. While his father escaped to go into their wood carving workshop, spending as long as he possibly could there, his mother would cringe at the very prospect of having to pick him up or feed him. He would not be touching her breasts, that was a given, she shuddered at the thought of having him latch on and had him weaned off after three weeks, right after all the muted social festivities around the birth of a boy child had concluded. Her own parents had never extended a warm smile or hug to Roslan, let alone coddle him or fuss about as grandparents were prone to doing. 

He was surely a devil child, his mother mused, washing the unnaturally thick hair that stank worse than the door rug, giving it a hard tug and immediately regretting it as the boy started to wail in the most unpleasant of tones - rather than the beguiling, sympathy inducing cries of other children, Roslan's was a cry that would make one want to slap him, and that's what she'd do. Though it had been five long years since, he still looked two - a feral two year old, with a large head covered by thick glossy hair, eyes that were always flitting about to catch a whiff from where the next punch or slap would land, and forever wrapped in a cocoon of putrid scent that was more a defence mechanism, fending off not just his mother but also the other bullies - the children in his neighborhood. 

When he turned ten, his mother had had enough, one morning he slept in till late on the floor besides the bathroom, without the standard beating by a broom to wake him up, he woke up silently, stretching out on his mat lazily, his muscles didn't ache because he's had a full night's rest. But then a wave of fear gripped him, the house seemed quiet and he worried if there'd be hell to pay for not having been up - maybe there were guests in the house but for sure his mother would not have forgotten that he had not left the house early enough - that had been the pattern, his father would clothe him in a fresh pair of clothes, mostly his old clothes that hung about him making him look worse than the vagabonds that loitered around, and send him off with a whack to his head. Roslan was not to get back to the house before the lights had gone on - his mother had demanded that and to maintain peace in his life, his father had acquiesced.  His father would make a monthly payment to a local eatery on the corner and they would throw him a bun or a plate of fritters twice a day, he was on his own after that. 

His lack of coordination did not help, maybe it was all the whacks to his head he had got but he somehow walked in a strange fashion, his hands pulled close to the chest, as a boxer would to defend themselves, at all times while he shuffled around slightly sideways, like a crab, which again was probably to defend himself for he got abuses hurled at him, sometimes a shove or even a punch if he bumped into someone. No one wanted a stinky vagabond running into their fresh clothes at the start of the day, especially getting emboldened to physical abuse due to his tiny stature. Walking sideways gave him a better chance at avoiding touching people as he wandered about the locality,  stopping often to stare at any one or any thing new -  anything except for his father's shop where he was forbidden to visit. Since he didn't have anyplace to be, he'd spend hours rooted to a spot when he found something interesting, absorbing like a sponge all that they did or said.

That morning he ran out of the room into an empty house. His mother was no where to be seen, The house stood dark, in the shadows of the brilliant sunshine outside.  An air of heavy staleness wafted in from the kitchen. He did not know what she was doing with the rope but she seemed busy, swaying slightly. And then she jerked, he saw her eyes red as usual and bulging out staring straight at him, she had seen him and would soon be lunging  straight at him any minute for her hands had gone to the rope clawing at it, trying to take it off, screaming he ran out, stumbling into the streets. He wandered about a bit, his mind running wildly with the various ways he was going to be beaten up later that day. She had been gurgling some sounds too maybe she had told him what she would be doing to him, but he had not understood a word of it - to him it had sounded like water trying to escape a dried up faucet. His tiny shoddy feet stumbled on and eventually he found himself in a new street, he had seen it from afar but had never gone there for he had been told to stay on his street where he could be found if he were to ever get lost. Roslan did not know this but his parents had a secret desire that it is what would happen one day, that they would hear of his untimely passing and had complete futures planned around that event, to the exclusion of one another, of course. 

All the new sounds and sights flooded Roslan's budding senses, everyone seemed to be running about there and all the screaming and shoves and punches that he had learned to manage on his own street came bounding at him at twice the speed. He started to run, holding his head and kept running till he fell. Laying in the dust he finally opened his eyes and looked up -  the sky looked down at him serenely. He stayed still observing, this was something new he had discovered. When he woke up later, hunger clawing at his innards he found a mangy dog panting right next to him. A rush of musty breeze hit his face sharply slapping minute jagged edged debris into his nostrils and eyes. Rubbing his face he raised himself to breathe better and saw the road just a few feet away from him, cars and buses zipping past him, dumping even more dirt and putrid smoke each time they crossed him, unseeingly. Had it not been for the dog, the filthy Roslan, indistinguishable from a rag, had a very good chance of getting squished under one of those enormous wheels. Tottering up he let his hunger guide him towards a shack, the dog followed. 

The shack was a haphazard one, he could not tell what it was for - it must be a shop but of what he thought - there was only garbage piled up in the front, it had broken chairs, old beds rusted metal everywhere. Roslan didn't know to avoid those death traps, but somehow managed to navigate beyond the war zone to find a clean patch of tiled floor. The shack only had a roof over the debris, the tiled patch was open to the sun, which by now was beating down severely. He found what had drawn him to the shack - an open fire with a pot on it - something was cooking and to his starving self, it seemed like manna. Tottering as close as he could to the pot , he crouched down in front of it hoping a plate would appear from the boiling pot for him. The dog followed suit, salivating just as his new master was. 

Observing the pair from the shadows the hunched man who looked like he was in his eighties decided the pair were not a threat. He hobbled towards them making warning sounds as Roslan, unable to bear the clawing in his stomach reached out to the hot pot. Startled both Roslan and the dog gave out loud yelps but calmed down upon seeing him. To the rest of the world, he was an outcast, a ragpicker, chased by wild dogs and people alike for his ugliness caused hatred and fear even in the saintliest of hearts. Like Roslan, he had a misshapen skull. A paralytic attack had left the right side of his face drooping and even when he had bathed himself in the pond behind the shop he would still look filthy. Life had knocked him around so he looked sixty but was barely a day over thirty. To Roslan, he seemed to be the kindest person he had ever met.

The man told Roslan he would serve him, atleast thats what Roslan understood for all the man uttered were grunts and big gestures. If Roslan had learnt how to, he would have smiled, he continued to stare at his movements as the man ladled steaming hot broth onto a plate for him and to Roslan's surprise he pulled out a spoon and scooped a little blowing on it. Satisfied he pretended to eat by taking the spoon towards his mouth before handing it over to Roslan, teaching him how to eat. How he had known that Roslan had never been able to feed himself was a mystery to Roslan but he followed the instructions clumsily with each spoon. The man and the dog sat there on their haunches, observing him eat, his unbridled joy with the bland meal tugged at the man's heart. He not only understood what Roslan's life had been until then but also shivered thinking of the years to come. As the tiny duo polished off the pot the man laid down in a corner, dozing off instantly. His was a hard life, the physical labour of loading all the iron and metal junk into the truck earlier in the day had exhausted him fully. He knew he had been cheated by the man for the work he had done but was grateful to have got some money, few more years and then he would be able to go back to his father's village. He dreamt pleasantly on an empty stomach of a future that in most likelihood would not materialize, but it was the most content he had ever been and he slept and slept. 

It had started to rain he thought when he woke with a start, but found that it was only the dog and Roslan chasing each other in the yard. Panicking he sat up, why was the child still there, he had assumed he would leave on his own after eating, it would not bode well for him if someone found a child, even if it was a child as deformed as this, in his shop. He yelled, stopping the madness, gesticulating he pointed to the road outside but Roslan continued to stare at him instead of looking at his outstretched arm. The sun was setting now and the street lights had come out, some of his customers would start to come now. Once again he yelled at the two, trying his hardest to look unwelcoming but they just crouched together sitting on the ground. the man picked up a stone and pretended to throw it at the dog, the dog barked at him and then slunk away after a while. Taking Roslan by the arm the man dragged him out to the road, pointing to it he indicated as best as he could for him to leave. Roslan looked at the traffic lights, he had never seen those before for he knew what would happen if he reached home after the lights had come on. Suddenly, events of the morning flashed through his mind, he started to wail thinking of his mother and the stick she would beat him with once he was home. What had she been doing playing with that rope. He had after all not listened to her when she had called out to him that day, there'd be hell to pay. Startled at the volume of his sobbing the man came back out, he'd have to drop him off somewhere else.

Roslan's protective stance of holding his closed fists in front of his face while walking sideways were back, the man tried to make him rush but it only caused him to stumble and fall. His wails grew louder and coarser with each step, sounding less than the cries of a child and more the annoying blasts from a damaged megaphone. The ragpicker smacked him on his head, all love for the child evaporating in front of the dread he had started to feel. Lifting the boy onto his hunched back he tried to distance the boy away from his shack as fast as he could, making for a peculiar sight. Cars slowed down as drivers rolled down windows to get a photo or just stare at the sight of a despicable old man lugging away a wailing boy. 

He had barely gotten to the cross section where Roslan had wandered in from when a small group of people blocked his way. He knew they were asking about the boy but he could not stop till he had dropped the pest on the other side of the road. He grunted at them trying to brush past but one of them pushed him back angrily. He and Roslan took a nasty fall, the man landing partly on top of the boy's leg. Roslan let out the shrillest of screams, stunning the onlookers who had circled them. Prostrated on the floor, the ragpicker tried to answer but all he could get out in his fearful, frenzied state were disjointed words slurred by his paralysis and that seemed to incite the man even more, he said something to the rest of the crowd and all nodded in unison, some rolling up their sleeves and making fists at the pitiful man slurrily making garbled sounds. Roslan, in the meanwhile had noticed a welder nearby using a welding gun with a bright helmet across his head. Curious he had wandered off to watch. He was so immersed in the bright light that he missed out on the spectacle taking place behind him.

By the time the crowd dispersed, they had beaten the ragpicker so badly that the cops had to call an ambulance to pick up his mangled body for the hospital, he would be returning neither to his shack nor to his village No one remembered the boy the ragpicker was supposed to have been kidnapping.