A stone’s throw

Dhruv sat in his favourite afternoon place, up on the guava tree in the corner of Grandpa’s garden. He loved his annual summer vacation with Grandma and Grandpa. They waited all year for him, their only grandchild, and they always made his holidays special. He feasted on mangoes – most of them from Grandpa’s garden – he went fishing with him in the river nearby. He painted with Grandma, and listened to the most amazing stories from both of them. But, in the afternoons, they rested, and that was the time Dhruv had to himself.

One day, Dhruv’s daydream was interrupted by a scuffling sound from across the fence. He looked over and saw a boy of about his own age pick up a stone and toss it at one of the three mango trees that were Grandpa’s pride and joy. Dhruv looked in the direction in which the stone had been thrown and to his surprise he saw several almost ripe mangoes hanging there. How had he and Grandpa missed them when they got all the fruit down last week?

The mango thief

“Hey,” hissed Dhruv, not wanting to shout and disturb his grandparents. “You can’t take mangoes from our trees!” The boy turned towards him guiltily. He looked here and there and didn’t see anyone. Then Dhruv slid off the tree and hopped over the fence onto the ground and the boy saw that Dhruv was smaller than him. At once the guilty expression left his face and he frowned. “Why can’t I?” he asked belligerently, pointing to the branches that hung over the fence. “You don’t own the mangoes on this side!”

“I saw where you aimed the stone,” shot back Dhruv. “You wanted the mangoes from the top and they are inside our garden!” As if to prove him wrong, the boy jumped up and held onto one of the low branches of one tree and plucked a small green mango. “I wanted this one – I like green mangoes. I’m not interested in your silly ripe ones.” He wiped the mango on his shirt and bit into it. It was obviously sour because his mouth went crooked and he squeezed his eyes shut. Dhruv wanted to laugh at the pained look on his face but did not.

The boy jumped again and pulled down another green mango — and then walked away. “Come back!” cried Dhruv, following the boy. The boy turned around and looked down at Dhruv fiercely. Dhruv stopped dead.

“Look kiddo,” said the boy, puffing up his chest and lifting his arms to the side. “I can do what I like here. I’m Rajat! Ask anyone you meet about me.” Then he walked away.

That evening, Dhruv said, “Grandpa, who’s Rajat?” Grandpa looked puzzled. “He’s a little older than me,” Dhruv added.

“Oh, I think you mean my friend’s grandson, Raju. He comes here for his holidays because his parents are abroad and he’s in boarding school. Their house is on the way to the river, the one with all those pots and clay figures. My friend took up pottery after he retired and turned out to be very good at it, so now he supplies a lot of shops. Raju and his twin sisters help him when they come here,” he said, adding, “But Raju’s not older than you. He is at least a year younger.” But Dhruv wasn’t listening. Already a plot was hatching in his head. He recalled the house with the pots and statues very well. They passed it every morning on their way to and from the river.

Payback

The next afternoon, Dhruv trundled out Grandpa’s wheelbarrow and making sure he made no noise with it, he walked out towards the river. As he neared Rajat’s house, he heard voices. He wondered if he should turn back. Then the voices went silent and out of the corner of his eye, he saw three pairs of eyes peering at him over the fence. Now he couldn’t change his mind. He had to go on with it.

Without looking up, he stopped his wheelbarrow, went to the pots and statues that were lined up outside the fence, picked up two carefully and put them in the barrow. Then he walked back and picked up another two. This time, when he turned to the wheelbarrow, he found Rajat standing in front of him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” shouted Rajat, with his chin out and his hands on his hips. “Younger than me? Are you sure, Grandpa? He’s twice my size!” Dhruv’s mind screamed in panic, but he didn’t let it show on his face. He just looked up at Rajat innocently. “It’s on this side of the fence. Isn’t it for whoever passes by?” Rajat clenched his fists and Dhruv waited for him to hit out. The girls peeped out from behind their brother, waiting to see what he would do.

Suddenly, Rajat’s hand landed on Dhruv’s shoulder. Dhruv jumped. Rajat held on and burst out laughing. “You’re super sharp, kiddo. That’s a good one! You want to come in and see our pottery?” Dhruv badly wanted to rub his shoulder but he didn’t. Instead, he shrugged and grinned. “I’m not a kid, for starters, but yes, I’d like to see the pottery…’

Then he emptied the wheelbarrow and left it near the fence – and all four of them walked through the gate.

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