Waiting To Come Back

Since I was going to bat after a long time, I was a bit tense. Swaroop from our village was bowling. The other team had already scored so many runs that I knew if we could score even half of their runs, we would win the match. Beside me was Ritu, my cousin, who, instead of encouraging me, was making sarcastic remarks. She is only seven and doesn’t understand cricket, but she knows that if she distracts me, I might have to give up batting. Don't think that we were playing in some big tournament; it wasn’t even a small village tournament. We were playing in my uncle's yard, and the only spectator was my cousin Ritu.

Anyway, Swaroop bowled, and I swung my bat with my eyes closed. When I opened them, I saw the ball had gone for a four, but it had landed in my uncle's precious garden, which was filled with creepers and a pumpkin plant. We all went to look for the ball, but finding it in that beautiful but dense garden was quite difficult. Our captain, Rintu da, suggested using the bat to clear the area, but Mangal da, my only uncle's son, warned that any damage to the pumpkin plant would cost a 50-rupee fine. Hearing this, Rintu da backed off.

That ended the game for the day, and we all headed home. Before leaving, Swaroop said that even if the game had continued, we wouldn’t have won. I didn’t respond because I knew that well enough. I don’t usually play much; I only play when I visit the village occasionally. I live in the nearby town with my parents, and here in the village, my uncle’s and my uncle’s families live. I usually stay with my uncle when I visit the village. This time, I came for Kali Puja. Although I don't come to the village often, I have many friends here, and I feel a strange connection with this place. However, the real story starts that night.

Ritu and I went to a village Kali temple in the evening for Kali Puja. Every year, the temple is beautifully decorated with lamps, making it look like a large rangoli. The kids light the lamps with candles, and the adults arrange them. It’s quite fun as everyone runs to relight the lamps if they go out. My sister was busy with the lamps, and I was chatting with the adults when we saw a commotion some distance away. We, the adults, went to see what was happening and told the kids to take care of the lamps.

When we got there, we learned a very sad story. A little boy in the house we were standing in front of had suddenly had difficulty breathing. By the time his mother informed his father and they could arrange for a vehicle, the boy had died. The village doctor said he couldn’t do anything and advised taking the boy to the town, but the only vehicle in the village was away in another village. Before it could return, the boy had died.

I felt even sadder when I learned that the boy had a younger sister who was still at the temple lighting lamps, unaware of her brother's death. The boy’s parents were crying; they were a poor family, and his father was a day laborer. The little girl eventually came, crying and calling for her brother, saying she had bought new clothes and toys for him for Bhai Dooj. I couldn’t take it anymore and moved away with Ritu.

Later that night, during dinner, my uncle told us they had buried the boy in the forest because he was only four years old and not old enough to be cremated. People might get scared if buried in the village. That night, I couldn’t stop thinking about the little girl’s words.

Three or four days passed, and the incident was discussed a lot in the village. It was almost time for me to return home, and the day before my departure, we ran out of drinking water. Since the village well water isn’t good for drinking, we had to get water from the neighboring village. Usually, my uncle brings it, but since I was there, I had been doing it. I enjoyed cycling on the dirt road between two rows of trees to the neighboring village. These experiences are very peaceful and refreshing, away from the city noise. That’s why I come to the village whenever I get a chance.

By the time I reached the well, the sun was setting. Usually, there’s a crowd at the well, but at this time, there was no one. I had brought two big containers alone and was filling them up. I had come alone because my uncle hadn’t returned from work yet, and my cousin had gone to play. As I was cycling back with the water, I saw something in the dim light ahead. I thought it was a fox, but as I got closer, I realized it was a little boy. The village wasn’t far but not very close either. I thought he might be with someone and asked him what he was doing there alone. He said he was waiting for his mother. I asked where his mother was, and he said at home. He asked me to tell his mother not to worry as he would return soon. I asked which village his home was in, and he ran into the forest and disappeared.

Not understanding anything, I took the road back to my village. I thought it might be someone with bad intentions trying to lure me into a trap, so I decided not to follow the boy. The next day, I returned to my parents.

After that, I moved to Kolkata for college and didn’t visit the village for three years due to my studies. After my final exams, I returned home and planned to visit the village. One morning, I finally went there and met everyone, including my uncle and cousins. In the evening, I went for a walk around the village and talked with many people. During our conversation, the story of that boy’s death came up. I asked how the family was doing now. They told me that the following year, the family had another boy who looked exactly like his deceased brother. Hearing this, I remembered the boy I had seen that night on the road saying, Tell my mother not to worry... I’ll return soon.