The Little Chap

I had seen him on the street across my house a lot of times. His torn, browned, dirty banyans could barely conceal his fragile body. He walked with a peculiar limp, it almost looked as if he was moonwalking across the street, this made him get into my attention.

The first time he had come to me, asking for money, I had given him a ten rupee note without any hesitation. I saw him smile at himself, at the thought of such a loot, ten rupees were a lot for a street beggar. He bent a little and paid me a unique salute, said ‘Dhanyawaad Sahib’ and moved on. I looked at him, no chappals covered his foot, the skin on the underside looked black and hardened, the gravel on the street seemed to have no effect on him, his five foot long frame was marred by bruises and injuries, his hair unkempt, unruffled, and filled with all the dirt and dust. His face was darkened black, scarred, no smile, just an empty face.

I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the little fellow, why had god chosen to give him such misery, what was his fault? By the slightest of changes he might have been born the son of the US President, or the next Dalai Lama, but no, he had to be born here to bite dust throughout his life. I looked back at my own life, I thought of all those things I could have been and what I was now, just by pure chance, I felt he needed opportunity, what if all that was needed to be change his life was a helping hand, this thought perplexed me, felt I should do something for that little chap, I jumped out of my car and ran in the direction he had gone.

Not far away I spotted him, he was sitting by the side of a dustbin, munching on a piece of stale bread someone threw at him. The way he nibbled into that piece of bread, enjoying each bit of it, I felt ashamed of myself, choosing at what I was given, throwing away left overs , and now I saw people grabbing on to what some asshole like me must have left over with open arms and eager stomachs. I went upto him, he looked up still holding on to his piece of bread. He looked at me suspiciously, I felt his eyes scanning through me, trying to judge me. I broke his chain of thought midway, and asked , ‘Naam kya hain tera?’

He looked frightened, and said, ‘Saab main chor nahi hun, mujhe yeh kisi memsaab ne di hain, mujhe mat maaro’ and tears started rolling down his eyes. I went down on my knees, wiped away his tears with my hands and held his face in mine, under those layers of dirt I saw a beautiful face. I asked him , ‘Agar main tujhe ek ghar doon, padhaun, to tu ek din ek bada aadmi banega?’ He was confused, he nodded, and gave me a small little smile.

I held his hand and walked back towards my car, on the way, I saw a group of ruffians, they had been following me since the time I was talking to the kid, I understood it was something to do with the kid. I started sprinting, but he was limping, he couldn’t match my pace . Finally they caught up with me, and all I can remember is a blindening blow on my head, and I fell limp.

When my eyes opened, I was at home in bed, my head was still hurting, my thoughts ran back to the urchin. I pitied his fate, why had god been so cruel to him, the poor kid could have had a good life, why did he offer it to him and then take it away at the nick of the moment. I reported this incident to the police, searched the streets for him myself, but the little guy had vanished. I have been searching for him since that day. . . I know he is just around the corner somewhere . . All I can do is hope he is well…