A Great Ride
My childhood fascination for riding a donkey is something, I have fondly kept a closely guarded secret even today. I would often see other animals like horses and camels. Yet, the thought of riding them never came to my mind. The donkey was my spontaneous choice. The fascination had its own reason. It was the time, when we were living in Ambula, a village in Marathwada region of Maharashtra. Several of my friends belonged to families of Pot makers, Ironsmiths, Cobblers, Goldsmiths, and also from other families that were practicing different traditional trades. Mohan, a Pot maker’s son, was a close friend of mine because he had a donkey. He was a school dropout and had joined his father in the traditional occupation of the family.
Whenever, Mohan passed by my house to collect clay for pot making, I would watch him beguilingly. “How royally he rode the donkey!’’ I often wondered. It was also a reason for my envy. “My father doesn’t have a donkey,” I often wondered painfully. But I never ever dared to vent my feelings.
The donkey trip, which I often mentally went on was part of a larger milieu. Sometime, I would go to Mohan’s house and see how his father modeled and shaped the clay. He would splash water on the clay and knead it with his feet. He would throw the kneaded clay onto the centre of the wheel. Then, he would spin the wheel round with a stick. He would spin it until the wheel gained enough momentum so that it began to whirl on its own. When the wheel moved, his father’s dexterous fingers gave the clay the shapes he wished. Pitchers of different sizes, bowls and mugs were shaped out of the formless clay. Then, he would severe the pot from the rest of the clay using a slender wooden chip and place it on a wooden plank.
It was sheer pleasure to my eyes to watch these shapes coming out of nowhere. After making some pots he would take some time off and sit on a round big stone under the Neem tree to smoke his beedi. After all the pots dried, it was time to bake them. This job was done before Saturday as it was the weekly bazaar day which took place at Bustyan (A ruralised term drawn from Bus Stand which folk refers to as a public place in Ambula).
A round mud kiln in the porch of Mohan’s house looked like a small constructed well. We also used it as a strategic place while playing hide and seek. All the pots were baked in the kiln, well in advance of the weekly bazaar. Thursday and Friday were critical to the family, as they were baking days, when Mohan and his mother assisted the father.
Lucky Mohan took his donkey and rummaged around the village to collect items like pieces of plastic, rubber or any other inflammable objects to dump into the kiln. All the pots were arranged in a pyramid inside the house after they were baked.
On the day of Bazaar the family would make best of the beast of burden, by saddling it with it with beautiful pots to ferry them to bazaar. Villagers from neighborhood used to come to Ambula riding their horses and camels. The camel was a rarely seen animal in the surrounding of Ambula and hence the children used to throng to the Bustyan to take a glimpse of the old-looking animal.
After watching him for sometime, my feet eventually turned towards Mohan and his donkey. Mohan used to make three to four such trips to the Bustyan and I accompanied him in at least two.
At the end of the day, Mohan’s parents would be happy because of the bulging pouch of money they earned. I am sure they were thanking the donkey adequately.
My favourite donkey and I were witness to numerous such interesting things. A typical lagin (Wedding) of Ambula was one such attraction. In every wedding a ceremony used to take place on the previous night of the wedding day. Any married couple in the house of the bride or groom would come to Mohan’s house to collect some pots. When the wedding party would arrive, four to five members carried lanterns with them.
The ceremony was not without a music band- the only one in Ambula. I seldom missed the music band procession that passed by my house. The band used to lead the marriage party towards the pot maker’s house. After performing some rituals, Mohan’s parents would give the wedding party some pots. It was an unwritten rule that Mohan’s family could then go to any field during the harvesting period and collect some amount of crops.
During this buzz in the village, my only obsession was the nameless donkey. Mohan, his parents and the donkey made such a delightful family. Without the donkey, the portrait of Mohan’s family would have remained incomplete.
Once our school teacher asked us to write an essay on ‘The National Animal of India’. My essay proved to be an exceptional one and the teacher read it out loudly in the classroom. I wrote…………….
“The National Animal of India
People say the tiger is our national animal. I greatly despise this choice. I bemoan the person who made this implausible discovery. What made him think of a tiger, whose very presence around is so dreadful. Does anyone feel secure in his company? You can’t touch him, you can’t ride him and he can’t do any favor for us. He can’t protect our house or carry load on his back. Was that person a native of the Jungle? I wonder how he couldn’t think of a Donkey, who has all the qualities to be qualified as the national animal of India in a true sense.
The donkey is an embodiment of virtues like non-violence, honesty, hard work and loyalty. No one except the donkey has imbibed the principle of non-violence propounded by the father of our nation. And to top it all, it has a great sense of time, as it brays at specific intervals that acts like a timer for people. But the people of our country have done great injustice to this hardworking animal by not acknowledging his contribution and qualities.”
I could listen my classmates giggling when the teacher was reading out the essay. The teacher did not stop there. He planned to humiliate me in front of the school master. When he read out the essay to the school master, who glanced pitifully at me and admonished, “How can you be so absurd? Don’t think like a donkey. Be attentive in the class and think rightly.” Except nodding my head in guilt I had little to do before those wise people.
I did not miss a single opportunity to ride a donkey whenever the situation looked favorable. Obviously, the revelry was not cost free. It came with its own price. To appease Mohan, I had to bribe him with some home made eatables and sometimes with a rupee or two which I managed to steal from my house. I performed these activities with great care while maintaining my innocent tag. Whenever I came from the playground, I told my mother, “Aai, give me something to eat, I am feeling so hungry.” My request was met with some eatables. I pretended to eat but actually preserved a substantial part for Mohan.
My mother was not so generous about giving money if I demanded it sometimes. Often, I had heard her advising to other women in the locality, “Give your children whatever they demand but not money. It spoils them.’’ That left almost no room to ask her for money. But Mohan preferred money to snacks and his demand pushed me to steal money.
I knew some places in my house where my mother kept her savings in coins and currency notes. I had no other choice but to steal some coins to keep Mohan in good terms with me, so that he could allow me to ride on his donkey. I ventured into stealing one rupee, two rupees, three rupees and rarely a five rupee note. I had an access to all the places but care had to be taken, to keep any shadow of doubt away from me.
Several times, mother used to forget where she kept the money. It was me who used to quickly point the place and helped her find the money. These places were dilapidated books in the Almira, places beneath the mattress or in some utensil in the kitchen.
My presence of mind in helping her finding money earned me a peck on the cheek, pat on the back and a smile on her face. That is how I groomed my image of being a good son at home and a good negotiator outside. The feeling of guilt persisted but the domineering passion of riding a donkey often shrouded it.
Somehow, I was not satisfied with the short rides on Mohan’s donkey in exchange for the small gifts I offered him, in kind or cash. These short rides were covertly arranged just outside the village, as its revelation would have adversely affected my father’s reputation. It was at Mohan’s discretion to allow me the ride and to determine the span of it. My insistence for more time irked him and he threatened to stop that venture. It was prudential to be obedient and to maintain a friendly relation with him. But I couldn’t resist my deepest desire and finally asked him, “Mohan, arrange a long…long ride for me,” Mohan pondered a while and said, “For this pleasure you have to arrange Fifteen rupees for me’’. “Fifteen rupees!” I was surprised.
The amount was quite hefty for me. “Can’t you reduce it to Eight rupees,” I requested. “Not a rupee less than fifteen,” was the stern reply from Mohan. At least, for the time being, I had to agree for the deal. The rejection of the proposal in the very beginning would have wrecked the deal forever.
I began to chew over the thought of arranging the money. The first step was to explore all the places where my mother kept the money. I combed those places at different times according to the convenience of the moment. I rummaged through books, mattresses, utensils in the kitchen and corners of Almira. I could gather only Five rupees; some coins and currency notes were there but stealing all of that could mean turning the needle of suspicion towards me. So I kept some of the coins and currency notes untouched.
It was really an arduous task to arrange the remaining amount. I spent some days in my routine activities- going to school, playing with friends and completing home work. But a parallel thought of arranging the money, constantly kept my mind occupied and made me a ‘thinking lad’.
My mother noticed the changes in my mood and asked, “Aren’t you feeling well, did somebody scold you in the school or quarrelled with you?’’ I pretended, as though everything was normal and complained only about some mathematical problem that nagged me constantly. My belief about mathematics was shattered. I thought Mathematical calculations were nuisance within the four wall of the school. But no, they played spoil-sport in real life too!
No one was aware about the predicament I was caught in and neither could I disclose it to my parents. The problem was mine and the onus fell upon me to search for the solution. I stressed my mental faculties and thought deeply. Contemplation always rewards us with some solution and solace.
Like a sudden spark, a thought of selling the newspaper raddi struck me. The grocer in Ambula always needed papers to pack several grocery items in different sizes. As there were few families in Ambula that subscribed to newspapers, the grocer was always eager to take raddi. It was not unsafe for me to pick up a portion of raddi which lay in the corner of the house. No other choice seemed to be in sight to arrange the promised sum. “What is so ignoble in making best out of waste?” Without loosing time, I planned to execute the idea.
That evening my father had not yet returned from the taluka and mother was filling water from the tap fitted outside the house. The women from the neighboring houses also filled the water from our house and the place would become a bit crowded and noisy. Making use of that vulnerable situation, I collected some news papers and crammed it in my school bag.
The descending dusk was providing cover to the operation. I packed the bag and hurriedly told my mother, “I am going to my friend Vijay to complete my home work.’’ Immersed in her work, she replied without looking at me, “don’t get too late for dinner.’’ I set out nodding obligingly.
While approaching the grocery shop, my imagination was soaring, “Eight rupees…Nine rupees…..Ten….Twelve…fifteen! …oh..God… and the donkey…?” I couldn’t tolerate less than Ten rupees for the sum being crucial to clench the deal. When the shop keeper weighed the raddi and uttered “Twelve rupees fifty paise,” my imagination shot up and I saw myself on my dear animal. After carefully placing the money in the bag, I went straight to Mohan who was arranging the baked pots in his house. “Mohan! Mohan!” I called him excitedly.
Mohan came out in a regal manner- as if I owed him.
“Yes, what happened? Not yet ready?” he asked standing toweringly. Without wasting time on words, I took out fifteen rupees from my bag and placed it on his hand. “You made it so quickly. How did you do it ?”
“Hard work my friend, hard work. That is the key to our success,” I told him the line that I had read few days back on the wall board of our school. Mohan nodded. Avoiding unnecessary details, we quickly came to business. The roadmap and the day of action were to be finalised. Noon time was agreed upon when school would get over.
It was decided that when my parents would be taking a nap, Mohan would cross my house with his donkey and make a sound Hurr..Hurr…Hurr..Hurr…. That would be the hint for me to make an exit from the house. The destination was a place near the lake that was two to three miles away from the village. Mohan collected the clay from that place. I returned home for the dinner within the stipulated time. I knew, “By following the deadlines one avoids unnecessary inquiries.” While returning, I kept the surplus two rupees and fifty paise in the corner of my bag as a saving to be used in contingency. A ton of load had suddenly vanished from my head. I relished dinner that tasted more delicious than usual and then happily went to bed.
The edginess and uncertainty had come to an end and my dream was soon to see the light of the day. Imagining myself on the donkey, I didn’t realize when I was lulled to sleep.
Next day in the school, a minute seemed like an hour and an hour like a day. I listened to nothing, remembered nothing and saw nothing except the donkey and Mohan. Desperation was pushing me to the edge. At once, the bell rang and I raced towards the home without the usual dilly-dallying on the way. Usually, I would amble on the way throwing a stone at birds, watching the lolling drunk or quarrelling women in some house. But on that day, each moment was precious. After reaching home, even my mother was surprised to see me so early back home.
Hurriedly, I took the lunch and sat reading the Vikram-Vetaal story. In reality, I was waiting for a moment when my parents would go for a nap. But they were observing me. “Did anything go wrong in my planning? Have they got any clue about my next move?” My mind crowded with such doubts. I took a glance at them and realized that their faces were delighted to see their son, imbibing discipline without waiting for the instructions. “Self motivation and self discipline guarantees lasting success in life,” my father commented. I tried to co-relate my conduct with these words and found some solace.
With every passing moment, I was getting apprehensive. The summer heat was adding to my anxiety, for my parents didn’t allow me to go out in noon hours. I always detested this restriction when I saw other children of my age loafing around and some of them were barefooted.
But none of the restrictions were to stop me on that day. I was resolute to turn my fantasy into a reality. I was waiting with cocked up ears, but the flock of crows perching on the branches of a Neem tree outside my house were making irritating noises. “Should the evil forces, necessarily make their presence, when something good is going to happen?” The cawing of the crows could have made Mohan’s voice inaudible to me. “But I was not to let any evil force succeed in its design.” I went on the terrace and hurled some stones at the tree forcing the crows flee from the tree immediately.
While sitting cross legged on the floor and pretending to read the book and fidgeting, I heard the coded message “Hurr..Hurr…Hurr..” The situation demanded a quick response. I pore over the situation around. My parents were taking a nap. Getting into action, I slowly reached to the door and opened it very delicately, as it made strange kind of noise. At other times, I moved the door to and fro to produce the noise and irritated my mother; she often shouted at me to stop the nonsense. But at this delicate moment, I really hated the noise. I realized how irritating that noise was. By using some pressure techniques to minimize its creaking, I opened the door and sneaked out of the house.
Mohan was waiting for me at the corner of the street. I approached hurriedly and without waiting for a moment rode the donkey. Earlier, I took care not to ride the donkey inside the village and in the presence of people. But on that day, I was possessed and careless. Some villagers, who saw me on the donkey, started casting strange looks. Girls playing langdi under the Banyan tree were giggling at me. “Wait till we cross the village, people are watching you”, advised Mohan. But I had overcome all kinds of inhibitions. For the time being, I had kept the reputation of my father in suspension.
And there was me…riding a donkey…feeling on top of the world. Mohan was following me. He had given me a small piece of rope to use it to whip the donkey. When I began using it lightly on the lower right side of the donkey, it sped up a bit. I gripped the rope around the donkey’s neck with my left hand. Letting myself loose, I began to bask in the joy of riding. We crossed the village and moved towards lake. The path was lined with the trees that formed a canopy and shaded travelers from the sun.
The pleasure was mounting as this particular ride was completely different from all previous short rides. The bouncing of the donkey was almost becoming rhythmic. The donkey, the land, the trees, bushes and the space around me appeared to be in perfect unison with each other forming one bouncing realm. I was floating in that state of ecstasy for a long time. These moments proved to be the reward of my hard work and fructification of my efforts. From that ecstatic state, I was brought to the mundane world, when the donkey stopped at the pit where his master collected the soil.
When I looked back Mohan was coming towards us. Entering into the pit, he started digging the land. After digging out enough soil, he took the jute pack and put the soil in it. I helped him to fill the pack. He lifted the pack and saddled the donkey in such a way that the pack was uniformly distributed on both the sides of donkey’s back. There was no hurry to return home, so we made the donkey stand under a tree and went on strolling around the lake.
The water in the lake was shimmering as the rays of Sun touched it tangentially. Mohan took a stone, bent down slantingly and hurled the stone swiftly with his right hand in the lake. The stone splashed on the water and traversed on the surface bouncing five-six times, creating a beautiful chain of ripples. One ripple merging in second…..second in third….. third in fourth….so on and so forth. I picked up some stones and imitated Mohan’s act, but could see only two or three bounces.
There was also a cluster of Mango trees beyond the lake. We turned towards the trees. That track of land belonged to some Brhamin family and the area was known as Aaamrai. “Be careful, sometimes there is a guard keeping a watch on trespassers. He will detain you if you get caught and will tie you to the tree,” Mohan said.
I looked around and saw nobody.
“We will just pluck two raw mangoes and run away,” I said. Mohan climbed a tree and plucked out four raw Mangoes. We ran through the trees and explored different patches of land; climbed on the trees. We spotted a peacock and chased him in vain. Then we walked along the lake relishing the mangoes. The taste of stolen mangoes was more delicious than the mangoes we ate at home. I was lost in a world where everything worked on its own.
“It is such a beautiful world away from home, away from school and away from the village. So near, yet so far.” I wished that the wandering would never end.
The Sun was tilting westward and the heat had considerably reduced. “We should return now,” Mohan suggested. It was a rare occasion for me to spend the summer afternoon outside the house. We started back to our homes. When I reached the corner of the lane, I saw my parents standing outside the house. “They are probably standing there to welcome me!” I comforted myself. The news of my expedition had already reached them through my well wishers. Though contented within, the fear of getting bashed up for my audacity was lurking and I could almost hear my heartbeats. I began to compose myself to take the flak and was also designing an excuse of helping Mohan in his task and hoped this ruse would work.
