FATHER.......

Amitabh Shukla

That was the time only for fun and frolic. There was no reason involved in whatever one did or thought. Being in high school gave me a passport for doing things which I now see as outright crazy.

Mohan happened to be one of my best friends. Being the next door neighbour in the colony housing only four doctors, including my father in the sleepy town of Hazaribagh, nestled in the Chotanagpur plateau, he was always available to play cricket, football or any other game.

The problem arose when Mohan's father, also a doctor, hired a teacher to teach Sanskrit and Hindi to the hapless guy. The problem compounded as the teaching hours were fixed at 4 in the afternoon. That was the time when we invariably went out to play whatever we fancied at. On the first day, I was slightly restive. On the second day, I tried to divert attention from denial of my playing time by cycling in full speed in the hospital premises. But the third day was the most difficult. I spent the entire evening thinking. I now realised that a solution had to be found to the "problem" and get Mohan rid of the teacher once and for all.

The very sight of the teacher now nauseated me. He came riding on a bicycle with dhoti and kurta being the normal dress. He seemed suffering from malnutrition being extremely thin and sported a one-line moustache to match his frame.

I did not discuss the plan of action which I had devised with my friend though he was equally suffocated by the teaching hours during the reserved for playing. The next day, when the teacher arrived and went to the first floor house for teaching, I hurried downstairs from my house. Armed with a blade, I teared apart the plastic seat cover of the bicycle. I could not damage the seat despite slashing it several times with the sharp blade as it was made of hard leather. I rushed to the safety of my house after a two-minute "operation" – the fear of being caught in the act was paramount.

When the teaching hours were over, I watched the expression on the face of the teacher from my balcony. He was seething in rage after discovering the disrobing of his seat cover. His expression and anger acted as a balm on my fraying temper of the last few days. The teacher went to Mohan's father and explained what had happened. But as no one has seen the vandalism inflicted on the seat cover, nothing could be done.

I had a sound sleep; hoping that the teacher would now run away and my playing hours would be back to normal. To my surprise and disbelief, the teacher returned the next day at the usual hour. Now, I had to devise a new strategy to deter the teacher from teaching Mohan.

The plan of action was ready in the night and I had to implement it the next afternoon. As soon as the teacher parked his bicycle and locked it, I got hold of a compass from the drawing box and rushed on the ground floor. Looking for people around and satisfied that no one was there, I punctured the back wheel of the cycle with full force. A loud sound emanated as the tyre burst.

The poor teacher rushed after hearing the sound. Though, I had hurriedly climbed a few stairs, it was obvious to him that I had done the act. My blood ran thin fearing that the teacher would complain to my father. The consequences were too grave to imagine.

Not surprisingly, the teacher came to the house as soon as I rushed in and asked for my father. When my father came out, the teacher explained everything, including the incident of slashing his seat cover. "What wrong have I done to your son?" I heard the teacher asking my father. I now expected something severe from my father now.

He came in and asked if I had done what the teacher had alleged. I nodded in agreement. "Do to others what you expect others to do to you," was his simple sentence instead of a sound slapping. The words still etched in my memory. (May 2011)