Forgotten promises

The little boy was on the summit of happiness.

He just got to know he was the topper of his class in the annual examination.

He couldn’t wait anymore. For a whole year, he had been waiting for this moment.

He hurried to his bicycle and started riding fast, to the bungalow near the big mango tree.

He was going to meet the aunty in that bungalow, to tell her that he got the highest mark in the class. 

It was exactly a year back that aunty had promised him a prize if he scored the highest.

What would she say while hearing the happy news?

The boy couldn’t resist his excitement.

Parking the bicycle in a corner, he walked towards the main door of the bungalow.

With a shivering finger, he pressed the calling button.

He was expecting the aunty to open the door, but it was her young son who appeared at the door.

“Hmm?” He looked surprised.

“Nothing. Came to meet the aunty,” the son replied.

“Mummeee could you come here?”  his long call went inside.

There was a moment of silence. The boy could count his heartbeat.

“Oh, was it you? ...You are sweating...What happened?” aunty asked.

“I got the highest mark in the annual examination, came to tell you," The boy said in a moment.

"That is great...Congratulations...And you came empty-handed to tell this happy news?

"Where are the chocolates?” she asked.

“...I...forgot...” The boy stammered.

He was expecting more words from the aunty.

"I have some work left in the kitchen...Study well and score top marks in the next exam as well.

"All the best,” she said and left.

Walking towards the bicycle, the boy was feeling no joy. Riding back home seemed difficult to him.

He couldn’t see anything in front as his eyes were full. How could the aunty forget her promise?

He couldn't find an answer.

Fifteen years fast-forward

Riding the bicycle through the narrow road was not easy.

Red dust and sharp stones gave him an unpleasant welcome to the village.

Girls with brown hair and dirty frocks were leading their sheep to barns.

While the dust was giving him a bath, the evening sun was painting a golden shade to the green paddy fields on both sides of the road.

Another night was approaching the gates of the village. He was going to meet Chaacha.

Nobody knew Sheikh Abdul Rahman.

People knew him by the name Chaacha. Nobody knew how old he was.

“Chaacha was here when I came here,” they said.

Even Chaacha didn't know when he was born.

The old man's world was confined to a few miles around the village.

He had rarely been away from the village.

Sitting for two or three hours without any movement, as a model for sculptor students of the nearby fine arts college, was his only regular job.

His face was familiar to students from distant places.

The sculptors of his face were made and broken infinite times.

Chaacha was sitting as still as a statue in front of his small hut.

A burning beedi in his right hand was the only signal that he was very much alive.

Looking into the sky, Chaacha was in deep thought.

With a sharp look and a gentle smile, Chaacha welcomed him to the hut.

For the old man, the young boy was a wealthy traveller.

Chaacha asked him about faraway places and the people living there.

The young man narrated his journeys.  Chaacha listened with a strange curiosity.

Lighting his beedi once again the old man prepared himself for the welcome treat.

Whenever he met new people he sang for them.

Chaacha sang loudly, closing his eyes, in deep devotion, in a language unknown to the young man.

"I like to listen to songs,” Chaacha said. “There is no way to know anything happening outside.”

Not able to read or write, Chaacha depended on the stories told by others to know everything new.

"Could you bring me a radio when you come next time?” Chaacha asked the young man.

"Yes Chaacha...I will give you a radio when I come here next time," the young man promised.

Radio seemed to be the only way for the old man to know about unknown places and unseen people.

Five more years fast-forward

The young man seemed to have forgotten Chaacha. The promise was also forgotten until recently.

Then suddenly, a reminder came...From a man who met Chaacha recently.

"He still remembers you...He is waiting for you, for that radio you promised him."

An old man in a distant village still remembered the promise given by a stranger.

A journey to Chaacha’s village was yet to find a place in the young man's travel schedule.

The little boy didn’t forget the promise given by the aunty.

But he forgot the promise he had given to the old man.

That old man didn’t forget the promise given by the grown-up little boy.