It was definitely nervousness. What had Babui. He was thinking a lot many things. About the plough which had recently broken down; about the night; about the chirp of crickets, and other mundane, petty, useless things.
The boy was thinking about everything but what was necessary. Of course, that thought would mean decisions, again. Babui was not used to making decisions. The cold marble was stealing what little warmth he had in him.
The dulcet tune was still playing, although the voices were coming from another part of this great mansion. He heard it a little more clearly now. He tried to concentrate on it. He felt as if the Kal-Boishaki had come before its time. It wiped away a few of his doubts like how the rains wipe away dirt from leaves. He could almost feel the music falling softly on his skin; the harmonious vibrations seemed to massage his little body.
Then, it abruptly stopped.
The leaves dried up once again.
The doubts returned.
Muffled voices crept upon him again. This time, surely, it was Krishnarai babu. The heavy thuds of the jomidar resonated with Babui’s heartbeats. He waited; his concern waited.
Krishnarai babu, the well established landlord, was not pleased. It was much past ten. A time reserved for his flute, and not for some petty petitioner. Especially one that was eleven years old.
He placed the expensive western concert instrument safely back in its case. It was, of course, a gift from the Governer-General himself. Made from gold and lined with silver. An exclusive taste it granted to his lips when he played melodies which soothed everyone’s heart – he had been trained in this art since he was four years old. His father was an accomplished flautist.
He came down the stairs with a deliberate annoyance attached to each thud. He came down and stood before the boy, his eyes demanded the reason.
“I am sorry, sir, if I -”
“Get on with it already.”
“Sir, I—it’s my father, sir. He has…” Babui fumbled for words as he looked at the landlord.
Krishnarai babu visibly reduced his anger. He quite liked the farmer, Harilal. He was always steadfast in his work; never had any vices.
“Not been keeping well, sir.” The boy finished off timidly.
“What happened, my dear boy?”
“I… shall say this to you sir. But I need to ask you something.”
“Of course.”
Babui stepped back a few paces towards the door. He was still unsure of the reverberations his question might provoke. The jomidar smiled.
“I will not harm you, child. Go on.”
“Could you—would you give your banshi – that ingriji one—to me?”
The boy was thinking about everything but what was necessary. Of course, that thought would mean decisions, again. Babui was not used to making decisions. The cold marble was stealing what little warmth he had in him.
The dulcet tune was still playing, although the voices were coming from another part of this great mansion. He heard it a little more clearly now. He tried to concentrate on it. He felt as if the Kal-Boishaki had come before its time. It wiped away a few of his doubts like how the rains wipe away dirt from leaves. He could almost feel the music falling softly on his skin; the harmonious vibrations seemed to massage his little body.
Then, it abruptly stopped.
The leaves dried up once again.
The doubts returned.
Muffled voices crept upon him again. This time, surely, it was Krishnarai babu. The heavy thuds of the jomidar resonated with Babui’s heartbeats. He waited; his concern waited.
Krishnarai babu, the well established landlord, was not pleased. It was much past ten. A time reserved for his flute, and not for some petty petitioner. Especially one that was eleven years old.
He placed the expensive western concert instrument safely back in its case. It was, of course, a gift from the Governer-General himself. Made from gold and lined with silver. An exclusive taste it granted to his lips when he played melodies which soothed everyone’s heart – he had been trained in this art since he was four years old. His father was an accomplished flautist.
He came down the stairs with a deliberate annoyance attached to each thud. He came down and stood before the boy, his eyes demanded the reason.
“I am sorry, sir, if I -”
“Get on with it already.”
“Sir, I—it’s my father, sir. He has…” Babui fumbled for words as he looked at the landlord.
Krishnarai babu visibly reduced his anger. He quite liked the farmer, Harilal. He was always steadfast in his work; never had any vices.
“Not been keeping well, sir.” The boy finished off timidly.
“What happened, my dear boy?”
“I… shall say this to you sir. But I need to ask you something.”
“Of course.”
Babui stepped back a few paces towards the door. He was still unsure of the reverberations his question might provoke. The jomidar smiled.
“I will not harm you, child. Go on.”
“Could you—would you give your banshi – that ingriji one—to me?”
:D
And ... ?
owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!
"and then wat happened?"
m sure evryone will think like that...
very nice...
ohh & @Prince Prince Kazarelth- yup..obviously u did capture that era in a beautiful way..I loved it...
very nicely written i must say...there you go...your writing has changed my idea..now i will wait eagerly for both bubai and your part.I really like your writing.You have got urself a permanent vistor to ur blog[:P]
thanxs or commenting on my writings...though i consider a child's scribble would be more creative than mine..maybe thats why i stay till non-iction writing.
you can see how much i talk..hehe[:P]
better not bore you more.
Sharky: And... Lucifer will write!
Nabanita: Yes, I am sure too. I am eagerly waiting for his part.
Oh, and thanks a lot. *Bows*
Both this culture and this city are alien to me. Even if I've been staying here for fifteen years.
Oh Gosh!: This is all Bubai's fault!! [:P]
I write a lot. It's my passion, this. My personal blog is chock full of inane ramblings and the occasional gem of a piece that I pat myself on the back for.
This blog, is a dream come true. I really like writing Run Ons. And so, this fulfils a lot of expectations. Let's see this grow, and then I can tell you more.
{I talk a lot too! And, no. You didn't bore me}
well bubai told me how you related that babui character and the flute..very creative i must say[:)]
well i have seen your blog and i daresay the look of the blog is very unique...and i read that Eight things too...u seem to be quite interesting..hehe[:P]
well as for me..i dont write a lot..nor do i have so much time and moreover am lazy..hehe..i guess this is why am still at 2 post only[:P]
(pleased to see that you talk as much as me[:P])
i dont quite knw u, and i hvent read much of your earlier writings. but noticed ur rapport with sushir in his blog comments list... since almost eternity [:)].. nice work done. carry on. i'll be eagerly waiting.
a good theme. sushir gets these starts so well each time..
Er. You have got me this time. My my my. This part was really something. I wonder how I will ever match up to this!
I feel like losing all hope.