One

March is a month of fun. Schools declare holidays. The weather becomes nice. It is neither too cold nor too hot. Flowers bloom. There is greenery everywhere. Children play anytime they wish. They stop worrying about the school and start visiting amusement parks, zoological gardens, museums and other tourist spots.

The four friends, Tina, Inder, Nitu and Yousuf, were different from the usual fourteen-year-olds. They loved to explore unique places and experience exciting adventures. The habit rewarded them with courage and knowledge, though it also sometimes put their lives in danger. Regular readers would know how Inder was transformed into a gorilla during a trip to a hidden picnic spot. If you do not know about it, read 'The Sting of the Giant Bee' in Readomania.

Regular readers would also be aware how different the four friends were from each-other! Large-eyed Tina loved to dance, skinny Inder was brilliant in studies but spoke little, curly-haired Nitu was into acrobatics, and tall Yousuf excelled in comedy. Tina was a Christian from eastern India, Inder was a Sikh from the north, Nitu was a Hindu from the west of India, and Yousuf, a Muslim, was a South-Indian.

The children had a four-legged companion, Wonders. They had picked up the lonely mongrel shivering under a tree on a rainy day two years ago. He had grown into a loving golden dog with a fantastic sense of smell. Wonders often tried to match steps with Tina, ran very fast, and captured sounds that were inaudible to others. He jumped like Nitu, looked around with intelligence like Inder, and could stand tall on his hind legs in an attempt to match Yousuf's height. Just like the four friends, Wonders was also fourteen in terms of human-years!

Two

The four friends decided to take a long walk on the first day of the vacation. Wonders joined them. He rarely walked! Either he waited several metres ahead of them, or tried to make up from a good distance behind. It's not that the four friends walked together at normal pace. Tina's footsteps were in accordance with the beats of a popular song—Dhinak Dhinak Dhin Dhinak Dhinak, Tunak Tunak Tun Tunak Tunak! Nitu was jumping from one spot to another—Heyy Yeah, Heyy Yeah! Yousuf had made it a point to touch all the low tree branches on the way as he sang his favourite song, "Ha! Ha! Hee! Hee! Hoo! Hoo! Hey! Hey!" Only Inder was silent, progressing at a steady pace while looking around carefully.

"Arre Baba, it is the same path we take to the school every day. There is nothing new here. Don't spoil our holiday. Say something, don't be so serious—we are not going to appear in an examination," an impatient Tina admonished Inder.  

"Caring makes your life happy, Baba!" Yousuf teased Tina and Inder with a nursery rhyme.

Nitu took a high jump and pointed towards a dilapidated wall, "A real Baba is behind that wall!"

Inder said, "I was also noticing some movement there through the missing bricks in the wall."

Tina was excited, "A Baba? What kind of a Baba? One with saffron robes and a lot of garlands around his neck?"

"Or one with just a loincloth on him?" Yousuf interrupted Tina.

"I only caught a glimpse of the man in a long white beard and white clothes." Nitu jumped again to catch another sight of the old man.

"Why should anyone go that side?" Inder looked puzzled. The wall, perhaps erected decades ago to protect a plot of land, had collapsed at many places. Inder could see a number of wild trees and bushes on the other side.

"That place once used to be a grazing ground for cattle, but off late I have never seen anybody venture that side," he thoughtfully remarked.

"The practice was abandoned with the opening of the dairy farm and park," Tina pointed out.

"Let's go and see who is that man and what is he doing there!" Nitu declared.

"And if he harms us?" Yousuf was skeptical.

"Let two of us go there and examine the matter, and the other two remain here to handle rescue operations!" Tina said.

"Okay, Inder and I will go there! Come Inder!" Nitu raced towards the wall.

"Oh, no! I wanted to go there." Tina complained.

From the corner of his eye Inder saw Nitu jump over the wall.

"God knows what lies there! Nitu has taken a huge risk by not consulting others before jumping in an unfamiliar area. We have no time to waste. Here I go!" an alarmed Inder said to nobody in particular and ran towards an opening in the wall. It was about thirty metres away from the spot where Nitu had crossed the wall.

Wonders had jumped behind Nitu, and his barks were indicating that something was not smooth on the other side of the wall.

Three

"Oye Meri Bebe!" The words emerged automatically from Inder's mouth. Nitu was trying to help the bearded old man while a super-excited Wonders was licking the face of the stranger, sniffing him all over and barking in happiness.

"What's all this?" Inder asked.

Nitu explained shyly, "I landed on this Babaji on my jump. He fell down with the impact. Meanwhile, Wonders also landed and felt that I was playing with Babaji. He is not allowing Babaji to get up."

"I am so sorry, Babaji," Inder offered a helping hand to the old man.

"Oh, it's nothing, it's nothing!" The old man muttered, picked up his things, and started walking away with a slight limp.

"I'm so sorry, Babaji," Nitu repeated Inder's words. The old man waved but did not look back.

"Why is he in such a tearing hurry? And what was he doing here?" Inder thought aloud.

"Perhaps he was relieving himself!" said Yousuf, who along with Tina had also reached the spot.

"But there is no evidence of any ...," said Tina.

"Old people take a long time to do their business. Possibly Nitu jumped on him even before the poor fellow could begin the flow!" Yousuf speculated.

"These look like some kind of seeds," Inder looked at the ground. "The old man was here not to relieve himself but to collect these," he showed a handful of the brown-black objects to his friends.

"Amma! So he is a smuggler!" Nitu exclaimed.

"Come on! Smugglers move around in swanky cars, wear expensive glasses, and smoke long cheroots. This poor chap is perhaps nothing more than a petty thief." Tina retorted.          

"Thieves visit such secluded places only to hide stolen goods. They do not go on picking seeds from the ground like peacocks," Yousuf demonstrated fluttering of wings with his hands for added effect.

"Is it possible that these seeds release some kind of toxic substance, and the old man is an addict?" Nitu was not ready to drop the criminal angle.

Inder looked at her for a while. He then carefully stuffed his pocket with the seeds. "We will know about that in a day," he said in a mysterious voice.

"I am certain of one fact," Inder continued, "I never met the gentleman before."

"Nor have I," agreed Nitu.

"We haven't met so many people in this city. What's the big deal?" Challenged Yousuf.

"We know almost everybody in our neighbourhood. And, we are still in our neighbourhood." Inder stressed on the key words.

"We are dealing with a stranger who prefers to walk away in spite of suffering from a fall, who hides his face with a beard, and speaks little. O Ma!" Tina was finally able to see the gravity of the situation.

"Many innocent looking people are actually spies from other countries. Or, they can be criminals hiding from the police or waiting to commit another crime. My Ammi Jaan has told me several incidents about such people," Yousuf elaborated.   

"His identity has become a riddle," Inder gave his final opinion. No one disagreed.   

Four

Seven days passed. The situation changed dramatically in those seven days. The old bearded man no longer remained a stranger. The children started meeting the old man every day behind the broken wall, helping him in collecting the seeds from the ground and accompanying him to the dairy farm and park. The seeds were ground and mixed in the cattle feed to improve the yield of milk. Though the old man had joined the establishment as a casual labourer four months ago, he regularly tended to the plants and the livestock there. The plants looked well-nourished. The cows licked his arms with affection. Wonders had become his friend in the first encounter itself, and now the four friends were treating the old man as an authentic source of information. The old man taught them simple but little known facts about plants, farm animals, stars, and climate. The children loved to listen to the nice and humble man. They were curious to know more about him—what was his name, where did he come from, did he have any grandchildren, etc., etc., but every time the topic was raised, the discussion ended right there. The old man always remembered some urgent and important task to complete, and excused himself.

            As the friends returned from the dairy farm and park one afternoon, Nitu remarked, "Babaji is so kind! Even the birds come down to accept grains from him."

            "And he is so knowledgeable! He knows exactly which plant must be watered and which one must be left dry," Tina added.

            "Our Wonders looks at him with such devotion!" Yousuf observed.

            Nitu had not finished, "He must be so old, but yet doesn't take rest except for a while after lunch."

            Tina was also full of admiration, "And he suggests that we should also work hard—the harder the better!"

            "All that glitters is not gold! If the Babaji is really so nice, why does he not talk about his past? What lies in history that he is so afraid to reveal?" Inder challenged.

            "May be, there is nothing much in his life to talk about," Yousuf became serious.

            "Come on, old people have a wealth of experience. Inder is right, the Babaji's past is a mystery," Nitu declared.

            Tina thought aloud, "May be, you are right! We have been meeting Babaji for a week now and have learned so many things about gardening and animal husbandry, but we know nothing personal about him. To talk of it, we don't even know his name!"

            "Who is Babaji? A spy? A criminal?" Yousuf murmured.

No one replied. No one had the answer.

Five

"Let's not meet him tomorrow morning. We shall go there just after lunch," Inder announced.

            "Why? You wish to sleep longer tomorrow?" Yousuf asked.

            "We have not been able to learn anything personal during the morning meets, perhaps that's why Inder wants to ...," Nitu was hesitant.

            "Brilliant! Actually people are less vigilant after lunch, and mistakes in dance performances are overlooked the most during post lunch sessions." Tina was excited.

            "Seriously? Are you planning a dance recital before the Babaji tomorrow?" Yousuf mimicked her, "Baba, while I dance you sing about yourself?"

            "Arre Baba! Babaji will also be less guided after lunch and may slip some useful information about himself," Tina completed the argument.

            Inder looked at her with admiration.

            "But what will we ask?" Nitu quipped.

            Inder thought for a moment before saying, "He keeps preaching about working hard. Perhaps the key to his life's secret lies hidden in that preaching."

            "Perhaps! And perhaps not!" Yousuf observed.

            "Well, we stand nothing to lose by trying that approach," Tina once again toed Inder's line.

            "So be it!" The final stamp of approval came from Nitu.

            Wonders looked at them with pleasure. He would get more squirrels to chase in the afternoon.  

Six

When the four friends and Wonders reached the dairy farm and park the next afternoon, they found the old man lying on a charpoy of strings under the shade of a tree. A brown and white goat sat ruminating under the cot. A reddish cow was licking its calf. Koels were singing. A flock of parrots was feasting on something up on the trees.

Wonders immediately got busy in chasing a scurry of squirrels.

            The old man's eyes were shut but he wasn't asleep. Hearing the approaching footsteps, he turned in the cot, covering his head with a makeshift towel.

"Oh, so you have finally come!" he muttered.

            Nitu jumped to the other side of the cot and demanded, "Babaji, tell us a story!"

            "Let me sleep for a while." The old man clearly longed for some moments of solitude.

            "But after that you will start working and we will not learn anything from you today," Inder pleaded.

            "Who says you can't learn by observing others! Actually you learn more that way." The old man declared.

            "Well! You say one must work hard, and so I will not take it easy. Friends, watch, here is the latest tukda I learnt yesterday." Tina started demonstrating some intricate dance steps.

            The old man looked at Tina with half-open eyes. It was difficult to say whether he was amused or bored.

            "Babaji, these children will not let you enjoy your siesta today. If you keep trying to sleep, you may end up with a severe headache. Why not drop the idea of sleeping, and work harder today?" Yousuf talked as if he was much older than his friends.

            God knows what prompted Wonders to do it, but he suddenly came and licked the beard of the old man. The children started laughing.  

             "Let me wash my face first," the old man said.

            Gingerly getting up from the cot, the old man proceeded slowly towards the hand pump. Yousuf loved to operate it. He gave two quick jerks to the large handle, and a thick stream of water began to flow. The old man took his time in washing his face, cleaning his eyes, clearing his throat, and rinsing his beard. Meanwhile, Wonders drank some water, sniffed around, and examined the small drain through which the water was getting released into the garden.

            The old man sat down on the cot. The four friends surrounded him, as if the old man was a tail-ender and they were close-in fielders in a cricket match. As if, every word out of the mouth of the old man was a catch that must never be dropped. As if, they would never get another opportunity to listen to the old man and unravel his mystery.

            The old man began, "Hard work always bears the sweetest of fruits ..."

            Nitu interjected, "As per a French writer, the fruits of labour are the sweetest of all pleasures."

            "The same thing, just different words!" the old man said. Before he could continue, a ripe guava fell on his head. The children started laughing. Yousuf took a bite of the fruit and teased the old man, "Are you sure, Babaji? This fruit is sweet and yet you got it without doing any work!"

            The old man smiled, "I lie down under this tree often, but this is the first time that a guava has fallen over my head. Think of it! Years ago someone must have planted the seed, someone must have nurtured the plant, and someone must have taken care of the tree before I came here. Isn't all that work?"

            "Where did you arrive from, Babaji?" Nitu asked.

            The old man touched his head where the guava had fallen, looked at the horizon for some time, ignored Nitu's question, and began the story.  

Seven

"It is not a fabricated tale. I speak little, but I stick to the facts," the old man looked at the four children. The friends nodded in agreement.

            "Many years ago, a Diwan Saheb lived in a small town. He was honest, loving, and truthful, but unfortunately found it difficult to keep his anger in check. He wasn't highly educated, but had an excellent sense of judgement. People respected his decisions. The Diwan lived a simple life. He had hardly any money, but that did not prevent him from helping the poor. His wife was a pious lady who observed many religious fasts that sometimes continued for many days at a stretch."

            "Mahatma Gandhi's parents were also a bit like that," words slipped out of Inder's mouth.

            "Yes, but Bapu's father was a Diwan in Porbandar in Gujarat. I am talking about eastern India," The old man looked at Yousuf, who was dividing his attention equally between the guava and the story.

            "Both the sons of the Diwan Saheb used to go to the village school. Now, you can't expect much in a village school, can you? The Masterji spent his entire time on teaching multiplication tables, but only a few students could learn them—there were so many distractions!" The old man started regarding the big toe of his left foot with interest, as if it would prompt him with the next part of the story.

            When the old man didn't speak for a while, Tina asked, "Then?"

            "Then?" The old man took a deep breath and continued, "Ram, the elder son of Diwan Saheb, was least interested in learning the tables. They used to be so monotonous!" He defended the lack of interest of Ram with a smile and added, "He was always busy in felling fruits from the trees, flying kites, catching fish in the village pond, stealing the eggs of crows, trying his slingshot on squirrels, drinking milk straight from the udders of the cows, and such other exciting engagements. His younger brother, Lakshman, followed him."

            "It's natural to follow the elder sibling," Tina commented.

            "Yes, but that changed after an encounter between Diwan Saheb and the Masterji. Diwan Saheb thrashed the boys black and blue. How they cried their heart out and cursed the teacher!" The old man stopped for a moment and then resumed, "Ram was an angry boy in the school the next day, but Lakshman was uneasy. He forced himself to concentrate on the multiplication tables that ranged from one-and-a-quarter to two-and-a-half of common numbers! Within months Lakshman could read and write alphabets and flawlessly recite multiplication tables. Ram watched the progress of his brother, but did not leave his world of fun. Masterji didn't complain. He was satisfied that at least one out of the two boys had mended his ways."

            "Naturally, a bird in hand is better than two in the bushes!" Yousuf made a rather inappropriate observation.

            The old man nodded his head, and continued the narration, "Lakshman started assisting Diwan Saheb in the office. Gumashtas were no longer able to bungle the accounts. Diwan Saheb saw a lot of possibilities in his younger son, and got him enrolled at a good school in the city. Ram stayed back in the village. What would he have done in the city school, anyway?"

            "They wouldn't even have admitted him," Tina felt.

            "Possibly, though school admissions were a lot easier then," the old man agreed. "Lakshman did exceedingly well at the city school. Diwan Saheb somehow arranged funds and sent him abroad for higher studies. Who would have thought that he wouldn't survive to see the return of Lakshman! The poor father passed away, and people started bothering Ram's mother. They claimed that they had loaned money to Diwan Saheb for Lakshman's education. Most of the claims were false, but it was impossible for illiterate Ram and his mother to know chalk from cheese. They tried to contact Lakshman, but failed. By the time the younger brother returned, everything had changed!"

            The old man got immersed in his thoughts. The children were also lost in the story.         

Eight

"His father was dead. There was no sign of his mother and brother. His house had been misappropriated by a stranger. People who sang praises of his father were no longer interested in even looking at Lakshman." There was a quiver in the old man's voice. No doubt, he was a great story teller.

            "Poor Lakshman!" Nitu exclaimed.

            "Nitu, Laskman wasn't a weak-hearted person! Yes, he was in an extremely difficult situation, but he didn't give up. He used his education and perseverance to tackle the situation, and not just tackle, but to progress meaningfully in life," the old man retorted. "He looked around in the nearby villages and towns, and finally went to Calcutta."

            "Kolkata!" Tina corrected.

            "Today's Kolkata was called Calcutta till 2001." Inder was always ready with the facts.

            "Though Bengalis always called it Kolkata," the old man interjected.

            "So, what did Lakshman do in Kolkata, or, Calcutta?" Yousuf asked.

            "He started practicing law there. He had neither shied away from education nor did he avoid hard word. The results didn't disappoint. His practice flourished. He became successful and happy. He had only one regret," the old man pointed out.

            "The regret of losing his mother and brother," Tina guessed.

            "Yes! He didn't even have their photographs to publish 'Missing' advertisements or posters. The police was also not able to help much. But, characteristically, he didn't give up. He started organising a feast in his native village every year. Anyone could have a hearty meal at the feast without paying a single anna. The feast became popular, and assumed the form of a fair in the name of his father, Diwan Dashrath Mela. He hoped that the name would attract his mother and brother. In spite of his very busy schedule, Lakshman stayed at the village during every fair, and distributed free clothes and utensils to the needy at the end." The old man spoke with admiration for Lakshman.

            "Did the strategy help?" Nitu was anxious to know the outcome.

            "It did not, at least, in the initial years. But once, as Lakshman finished distributing the last of the utensils, he noticed two shy beggars standing at a distance. That they were in abject poverty was evident from their appearance. They were so dirty! Perhaps they had not taken bath for months. They had no footwear. Their feet were full of small cuts and wounds. The shaggy hair and beard of one of them reached his shoulders. The man was naked except for a torn piece of a jute sack barely hiding his crotch. The other person was a woman, bent at the waist, supporting herself with a makeshift cane and covering her dignity with an old sari that was torn all over. Several knots kept the fragments together. Lakshman, clad in an expensive Dhoti, a silk Kurta, a Pashmina shawl and leather pump shoes, looked at the strangers with amazement. Tears welled up in his eyes. He had never hoped to find his dear ones in such a poor state," the old man wiped his eyes dramatically.

            Tina and Nitu also became emotional. Yousuf and Inder were no better. 

The old man looked at them, and carried on, "Lakshman took his mother and brother to Calcutta. Their days of misery were over. But he was not prepared for a development."

"A development? I thought, the story ended there!" Yousuf commented.

"Man proposes, God disposes!" The old man had become philosophical.             

Nine

"So, what was the development? Did Lakshman fall in some kind of trouble?" Tina was eager to know.

            "Well, you can say that Lakshman did fall in trouble, albeit, in a different manner," the old man started fondling his beard.

            "Enough of the riddles! Please tell, what happened next." Nitu was on the verge of losing her patience.

            The old man tweaked his moustache, rubbed fingers on his lips, and disclosed, "Actually, Ram started feeling very uncomfortable soon. He could not stop comparing himself with Lakshman. He felt guilty about his irresponsible behaviour in childhood. Only if he had paid attention to studies! Only if he had not chosen the easy path of avoiding books! Only if he had learnt to read, write, and calculate! Every moment spent in the luxury of Lakshman's residence started reminding him of his failure. Finally, he could not take it anymore. He slipped out of Lakshman's bungalow one night, went to the Howrah junction, and sat in the Bombay Mail."

            "You mean, Mumbai," Tina corrected.

            "It was called Bombay those days," the old man sighed. "Ram was in two minds. Bombay was too far. Should he continue his journey to an unknown place or return to Calcutta before it was too late? But would he be able to live happily with Lakshman doing all the work and he enjoying all the comforts? The thoughts kept on tormenting him. He kept thinking throughout the night and the morning. When the train stopped at the next station, he got down ..."

            "... and took the return train to Howrah," Yousuf completed the sentence.

            "No! His sense of self-esteem was stronger than his need for support. His pride did not allow him to go back to Calcutta. The people at the platform were dressed like him and spoke his language. Ram felt that he would be able to jell with them and begin a new life." The old man stroked his cheeks.

            "So, he got down at which station?" Inder asked casually.

            The old man stayed silent for a moment, and then blurted out, "Allahabad."

            "Prayagraj! It was called Allahabad before 2018," Tina could not stop herself from updating the audience. "So, what happened then, Babaji?" She asked.

            "Not much, really! Ram was able to take care of himself. He worked somewhere as a gardener, somewhere as a caretaker of cows, and somewhere as a guard over the years. He managed to get two square meals a day and a set of new clothes twice a year doing small jobs. He didn't want anything more in life. So, we can say that he started living a satisfied life." The old man said with a concluding tone.         

            "And the story ends there! Tin Tin!" Yousuf mimicked a radio sound.

            "Just one doubt, Babaji!" Tina asked, "Why did Lakshman and his mother not look for Ram?"

            "They might have searched for him in the nearby areas, but how would have they known that Ram had settled down eight hundred kilometres away? Plus, Ram had ensured that he would remain untraceable by not staying at any place for long. He was also particular about not revealing his personal details, even his name, to anyone." The old man clarified.

            "If Ram did not reveal his personal details, and it is not a fabricated tale as per your claim, how did you come to know so much about him?" Inder asked the old man with penetrating eyes.

            Stunned, the old man started dabbing his eyes with the makeshift towel.

            The children looked at each other. The mystery had been solved. Silently, they left the place one by one. They felt guilty about making the old man uncomfortable. He was not a criminal or a spy. He was just an ordinary person whose pride had motivated him to earn his own bread. They understood why he preached about working hard.

If you sympathise with them, tell me. I'll ask the kids to accept you as their friend!

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