“Mazim! Where have you
been, dearest?
Mazim?” She questioned, her voice edging towards a
slight hint of anger as she saw the five-year old standing outside the façade of
their bungalow.
The little boy looked
grief-stricken and tired, almost as tired as one is after a day’s work. He had
lovely eyes, big and rather grand in the sunlight that peered upon his face
under his thick lashes. The soulful set of hazel eyes were recessively
inherited from his paternal grandmother, someone Mazim would only know about
but would never have the luxury of knowing. The boy was quite the choicest when
it came to genetic lineage. He was an amalgam of the select traits. For
instance the eyes, the bourbon silken hair, thin lips, and a brilliant set of
teeth. Yet his looks seemed to not move his mother one bit. Maitreyi was
furious and he could feel her agitation from where he stood, like most kids he
was unknowingly cautious of the wrath. But there was something else that he was
doing standing right at the beginning of the façade of his house, he was
counting the number of ‘Shehtoot buds’ on the vine near his window. He made a
tiny trail of marking in the air with his fingers as his eyes scanned the vine
starting from the ground. Delighted to find an increase in the number, he
rushed right in front of his mother and touched her feet to seek her blessings.
Mind you! Mazim was the most devoted son the entire village had ever witnessed.
Dhumri was proud of Mazim Dhar Vyom. And
he never let them down. The Vyom’s gave their word for it.
“Forgive me, Ma. It was
the last game of the season today, soon the rains will be here and I wouldn’t
be able to enjoy Gulli with my friends until the soil has settled again. You
were sleeping; hence I didn’t wake you up.”
He walked past her into the house, avoiding
her glare as he continued talking in her best interests, “You must rest more
often Ma, Biji wouldn’t approve of such strain on your health.”
Maitreyi caught hold of
his collar the very next moment and lifted him off the ground in rapid motion
and started towards the ‘Khana Ghar’.
“You don’t eat Mazim! Look
at you! What am I supposed to do with you and your nuisance! Don’t you ever
feel hungry? Don’t you like what Ma cooks for you? “Maitreyi’s voice was
strained with the obvious concern for his health.
She put him down on the
wooden seat on the floor in a haste, with his usual pattal laid out in front of him with a
variety of colourful delicacies aligned in a perfect semicircle with rice and chapatti
spread over the remaining half. Mazim looked disinterested, yet again.
“You don’t like what Ma
cooks? Do you dearest?”
He looked up at her with a
warm smile and shook his head as if her words had hurt him.
“Nice, Ma. It is nice.”
To this her face lit up with an
instant smile spreading across her face swiftly.
“I’ll get you more
chapattis!” She struggled into a quick sprint, and then stopped halfway to kiss
her son on the forehead before vanishing into the backyard of the Khana Ghar.
The mischievous fellow
quickly grabbed all of his food in the pattal and carried it to the Ghoda Ghar located at another corner of the house. He was
tremendously fast, it took him just a minute to go and drop his food to his favourite
amongst the race, Bhairav-the oldest of their horses. A quick pat on his head and he was on his way
to impress his mother.
Maitreyi walked in with
more chapattis and to her surprise, Mazim’s pattal was clean with no food left
on it.
“You finished eating
little one?”
“Hanji”
“Is that it? You must’ve
been starving. I knew it! Why don’t you listen to me? Eat some more.”
“No…No. I’m quite full.
Can I go to my room? I’m sleepy Ma.”
“Okay go. But don’t waste
time playing with those wooden toys the entire afternoon, get some rest or else
you’ll be sleepy during the dawat at night.”
“Hanji. Hanji!” He hopped
to his feet and quickly ran in the direction of his room, tracing the entire length
of the staircase as fast as he could.
Mazim’s impulsiveness was
seldom compatible with his physical strength. As he reached his room on the
second landing of the bungalow he found himself struggling with the doorknob
again. It was almost at his arm’s length, just a little higher maybe. He stood
on his toes, stretched to the best of his efforts and finally got into his room.
As he turned to face the
large windowpane something unusual caught his eye and at the same moment
something curled in his stomach making him anxious. In a few swift strides
across his room, he reached the wooden trunk at helped him level himself to the
window and the view outside. With his foot perfectly set on the lock holder and
palm clenching the top of the trunk he pulled himself on top of the trunk to
welcome his eyes to the horror. His father was standing with a group of
landscapers in front of the house, at the edge of the façade out of which one
was diligently guiding his workman to shred the Shehtoot vines off the length
of the building to make away for…well horrible “beautiful’ crawlers. Who wanted
those outside a window anyway? They wouldn’t even share tasty Shehtoot with him.
He would be left hungry every afternoon, there would be no secrets to keep, no
memories of sumptuous delight of the vine bearings, no memories of his
summertime spent home. There would be no fun, none at all. Angry tears flowed
rapidly down the slope of his cheeks as he sat down on the wooden trunk with arms
folded across in chest, fingers wrapped tightly into a fist as he trembled with
the urge to confront with his father, lament the loss of the vine or struggle
to curb the peaking hunger. And somewhere amongst all contemplation, he drifted
into slumber that was the sweetest delight that could ever be.
***
Maybe Mazim could have been
the next Nawab, or Shahzaad-e-Hindustan…Alas! If only, they had not taken away
the one thing that had kept him working so hard. Or maybe Mazim could have
never been what he had been so far,the Shehdoot!
