 
AUTHOR ALMIGHTY

By

Firoz Khan

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

"Author Almighty" Published by Firoz Khan

Edited: Anca Damiean

Cover design: Rajesh Paleri Thyvaleppil

Copyright © 2014 Firoz Khan
Dedicated

To all the children on the streets
Chapter 1

"Seek and ye shall find."

Raja glanced up to read the notice board that stood facing the Colaba highway of Mumbai. The church authorities changed the quotes every week, but very few people actually read them. A crow was sitting on top of the board, looking down at the dirty kid.

The boy stood staring at the words, unmindful of the bird above and of the people rushing about. It was his routine to read the board since he could remember, from the day he had seen it first, although he did not understand the meaning of most quotes. However, today's quote meant more than some strange words to the little vagabond's mind; it was the most pleasant combination of words he had ever seen on that board. He stared at it, and the same words resonated in the back of his mind, coming from his lost childhood:

The universe works in such a manner that it brings fortune to the earnest seeker, and every atom in the creation works for him.

"God, I believe you. I am an earnest seeker. Please bring my parents to me," he murmured, looking up. It was an earnest prayer.

He had been thinking of doing it for a long time. He was ready to lay his destiny in God's hand.

I remember living with a man and a woman, in a house near a river. There was a huge tree on the way to the river, and my brother and I used to play marbles under it. The nice man, my father, took me to river, and we swam in it.

Engulfed by anger and loneliness, he drifted listlessly down the street. The depressing thoughts surmounted again in the feeble mind.

I am not a thrown-away child.

He walked down to the seashore, reaching the Gateway of India in minutes. With a piece of paper in hand, he looked at the huge crowd enjoying the sea and at the craftsmanship of the huge cement structure that looked onto the Arabian Sea. Opposite to it was the famous Taj, the luxurious hotel. He sat in a corner of the raised seawall, looking all plain and fretful.

I know neither my father's nor my mother's name, nor do I remember their faces. I don't know whether they are living or dead now or in which part of the world they are dwelling. I am a lost child in the enormous ocean of people.

Raja had a lump in his throat, and his eyes welled up with tears.

Brother, shall we meet again? Mother, where are you? Father, I miss you.

With his shabby fingers, Raja dried the tears from his face, leaving a streak of dust on his cheeks. He looked up at the seamless sky. Finding his family in the vast world would be more difficult than identifying a star he had seen the previous night. The last time he had seen his family was almost a decade ago, when he was around three years old. Every night since his parting with his loving family was soaked in tears.

As he kept looking up, he felt an unheard whisper from above that inspired him to write down what he had been thinking those days. With the broken pen that he had been keeping with him like a king keeps his sword, he scribbled on the piece of paper that he had collected from the Colaba causeway.

"I am a lost boy.

I lost my family many years ago

This is my tenth year here, I guess

That was what Bhai told me

I remember, a beggar gave me sweets

Who was beaten by Dada

I will come back here after a month

I will sit under the first shop from the Gateway

God, bring my family here.

June 7, 2014. Evening 5."
Chapter 2

Putting his thoughts down on paper comforted him.

It was his strong belief that one day he would join his family. He wanted his family back desperately. He wanted to enjoy life like every family does in the streets of Mumbai on Saturday and Sunday evenings.

"Brother, look at the pigeon!" exclaimed a little girl who was skipping on the pedestrian path along the sea wall. A flock of pigeons was circling a man throwing them wheat grains. Under the twinkling sun and before the great architecture, they formed the perfect tourist photograph.

A teenage boy was walking beside her, and a man and a lady in their late forties, probably the parents, were following behind, watching them. The little girl was chattering along the way, while the boy was tightly holding her finger, like he was afraid of losing her.

I have a sweet family too. I remember my last day with them like it was yesterday. Looking at their bond, Raja's mind filled with memories again.

My father ran a shop. One day, when I and my brother were going back home after visiting father, we stopped to buy our candies from the sweet shop. We were looking at the candies, and a man put his hand in my brother's pocket and took the money. The shop owner saw him and alarmed others. People gathered and beat the thief black and blue. I don't know how the news got to my father, but he came running to the scene. The thief, lying on the floor, was staring at me. I looked into his eyes, not knowing what all of that meant.

The next day, I saw the same man near my school. I was scared to see him, but he smiled at me and took a few of my favorite candies out of his pocket. I did not think twice. I went closer to him and grabbed one from his hand. I ate it. He removed the wrapper from another one and gave it to me. I ate that one too.

I knew nothing thereafter. When I woke up, I was lying in his lap. He was looking in the distance, at the passing hills, through the window of the train. It was raining. I turned my face toward the water streaming on the window pane. I had never been on a train before. I felt an unknown pain in my stomach, and I wanted to be home. I moved and started to cry, but the man put a candy into my mouth. I watched the water trickling on the glass, and before I knew it, the grayness grew heavier and heavier on my eyelids, and I fell asleep again.

It was quite dark when I awoke the second time. The man gave me a banana, I remember, but I did not take it and was about to cry, when my mouth was forcefully opened and a candy pushed in again. It was sweet. I fell asleep once more in the lull of the train, on the corner of the seat near him.

"You've had some sleep!" the fat man said. "It's time to open your eyes! You've got a long and different life before you." The train was not moving. It was dark. The man took me in his arms, his hands clenched me tightly, and he walked out of the station. With heavy eyes, I could only see the dark alleys passing by. I cried out, but my cries died down in the sound of the pouring rain, and my tears got lost in the water that was falling from the sky.

I have never seen my family since.

A teardrop fell from the boy's eyes, landing on his dirty lap. His agitated childish whine was muffled by passing crowds. His fingers wiped his face, leaving a trail of dirt behind.

The little girl and her family walked past Raja, not paying any attention to this unfortunate beggar boy.

The sun was hidden behind the silver clouds, and the light was peeking through the haze as if a blessing was coming down.

The evening was humid and hot. The atmosphere was sultry and made Raja perspire profusely. As he looked up, drops of his own perspiration dripped from the forehead to his lips. He tasted the salty droplets, and that made him spit instantaneously. He was thirsty. Turning to his right, he saw the 'panipuri' shop, the small shop where Indian savories are provided. People were buying plates of panipuri, bhelpuri, pakoda, or samosa, along with bottled water. He walked to it and stood there, looking for a couple of minutes at the empty water bottles scattered under the huge banyan tree. A half-full dust bin provided by the municipality lay just next to it. His only concern was to find some water, so he started scanning for any bottles that were left with some drops inside.

"Bloody beggar! Get off from this place," shouted the shopkeeper, looking at the mischievous, raggedly-dressed young boy. Then the merchant passed a water bottle to a young man accompanied by his girlfriend, who just had taken panipuri from the shop. The shopkeeper was so fast that he was acting like a robot: he took the order, prepared the eatables, picked water bottles from the shelf, passed them to the people, collected the money, and in between, shouted at the beggars that stood near his shop.

The couple threw a glance at the beggar boy.

"Water... sir, water," Raja mumbled.

Laughing and cajoling, the couple moved ahead, throwing their half-emptied water bottle into the dust bin. As if struck by an electrical impulse, Raja ran toward the bin before the water completely drained away, but by the time he grabbed it, the water in the bottle had already flowed out. He raised its bottom high, and the few remaining drops were trickling down, forming a bigger droplet, toward his expecting wide-open mouth. The drop reached the mouth of the bottle, and it dangled there, waiting to gain weight to break away from its container. The sunrays gleamed to all sides from the globule. As the boy was getting ready to suck the bead, he received a blow on his back, making him fall and the droplet disappear.

"What are you doing here? I told you get away from this place!" shouted the shopkeeper.

Raja looked up to the shopkeeper's face, shifted his gaze onto the water bottle, and said, "Water."

The shopkeeper raised his hand again to slap the child's face, but he stopped halfway. He went inside and filled a glass with tap water. The boy followed him to the threshold of the shop.

"Drink it and vanish from here. Do not touch your lips on the glass!" shouted the shopkeeper.

The boy put the piece of paper on a bench in the shop and grabbed the water glass as if it was the most precious thing in his life. He poured the water in his mouth, keeping the glass high, careful not to touch his lips on it. He returned the glass, and the next moment, he ran to catch a seemingly rich man who was walking on the path.

"Sir, sir," he raised his hand. He ran toward the man who started to walk faster as he saw the boy coming near him. Raja was persistent. Finally, to get rid of the boy following him, the man stopped, took a coin from his wallet, and tossed it to him. Raja caught it gracefully, thanked, and got lost in the enormous crowd of Mumbai.
Chapter 3

During his short trip, Raja was on the lookout for the train ticket examiner, as usual. He reached his destination, Dombivli, and walked languidly toward his little, shabby dwelling – a tent made out of used plastic sheets, installed under a railway bridge.

"Oh, you came, Raja. How much did you make today?" Bhai asked as the boy entered the tent.

Bhai was sitting in a corner and smoking his cheap beedis. The smoke emanating from the Indian cigarette filled the tent. A country liquor bottle lay near him. It was empty.

Respectfully, Raja handed over the money.

"Good," Bhai counted the coins and shabby notes, and his eyes shone at the sight of the loot. "You're the best I ever saw. Where you've been today?" A pungent smell originated from him.

"Colaba."

"The richest place. Good. Keep your eyes on those white-skinned tourists. You'll get more from them. And where are the others?"

"Let me see, Bhai," said Raja and went outside to look for the other boys. As evening settled, the boys showed up one by one.

Sitting on the torn rag, Bhai lit another cigarette. He was a short man with an exceptionally dark skin. His face looked even darker inside the tent, and his long unkempt hair fell on his face. He brushed it aside to clear his vision. His left leg was broken, and his right cheek was pale white, in contrast with his brunet complexion. When he was young, his kidnapper had broken his leg and thrown boiling water on his face to make him look pitiful. Pity: the greatest weapon that begets money. Later, he started his own business of kidnapping children and initiating them into the art of begging. The baton was passed on. As a doctor's son becomes a doctor, a kidnapped child becomes a kidnapper. The vicious circle goes on.

Seven children of different ages stood in line in front of Bhai. The youngest boy, who had been bought from a prostitute recently, was just five years old; the eldest, Raja, was nearly thirteen.

The inside of the tent was just a little dark space. A candle was burning, but it only yielded a dim light in the corner where Bhai was sitting. The cigarette burned brighter when he inhaled it deeply. The smoke grew thicker and thicker in the little abode, and it was suffocating the young lives.

Raja was their leader. He pushed the first boy toward Bhai. Shivering with fear, the first boy advanced, removed the rag from the pocket of his shabby half-trousers, and kept it in front of him with the utmost respect, like a soldier standing in front of his commander. He stood there, looking down, waiting for Bhai's nod to allow him to go back. It was the worst moment of the little beggars' day because of the cane in Bhai's right hand. The cane that came down in hard blows on the boys' feeble bodies.

Bhai nodded at Raja. Raja sat near him and helped him segregate the coins and notes. He separated the rupees in tens, fives, twos, and ones and counted them.

During the process, Raja glanced up at the boy's face. There was fear and anxiety in his eyes, and his legs were trembling. There was a ten rupee coin, three five rupees, few two rupees, and many one rupee coins.

Raja lifted his head. The little boy was anxious to know the amount. It seemed to him that Bhai's bamboo cane laughed at him like a ghost.

"Eighty-two rupees, Bhai," said Raja and handed the money over to the cripple.

An outburst of profanities followed. The cane went up. The boy fell on the floor as the staff hit his head. Many blows came down, and the boy trembled on the floor. As the beating continued, Raja looked at the crying boy, helplessly. A tear dropped from his eyes, and everything before him was a haze. It was not difficult for him to wipe it off undetected in the darkened atmosphere.

The other boys standing in line were already shaking.

That was the rule. The sum was to be more than 100 rupees to escape the cane. That was the minimum. A boy was considered good or bad according to the amount he brought. Raja grew up to be the leader not just because he was the eldest, but also due to his innate ability to select the people he was approaching. He had business in his blood.  He must have. He had always been the one bringing the biggest loot, and this assured him a more permanent place: the leader after Bhai. Bhai sometimes called him 'Circuit,' just like the character in the famous movie. He considered himself the hero, and 'Circuit' held the role of the helper.

"Next!" shouted Raja.

The boy who was waiting in line came forward. Another young boy around eight years old. The coins were put down. Raja counted them. He put aside the big coins, then the smaller ones. All the while, the boy was praying to all the gods to make it a hundred. There were ninety-six rupees. Raja looked at the puny boy in torn rags. He had already closed his eyes and was expecting the cane to bite from his feeble skin.

"One hundred and one, Bhai," Raja said. The boy looked at Raja in surprise.

Bhai took the coins, weighed them in his hand, and eyed Raja. Raja was sweating. He tried to keep himself calm, even attempted to bring forth a smile. His lips widened, but that was not a smile he knew. To his relief though, Bhai returned the grin.

"You barely escaped," Bhai laughed and pushed the boy with his cane. The boy sighed and looked at Raja gratefully.

"Call next, Circuit."

"Next!"

The third one came, and the collection was one hundred and sixty-four rupees. Bhai smiled, showing his yellow-stained teeth. Smoke came out from between them.

"Good boy," he took a sweet laddu from the plastic bag near him and gave it to the boy, "take it. Today is your day, haha."

Appreciation works everywhere. Bhai knew that the boys would first work to get the hundred and escape the punishment. Then they would work more to get the sweet.

The boy took it with grace. He ate it voraciously, as if he had been starving for three days. Then he went to the corner and rubbed his palm on the lines left from the beating he received the previous day, when he had brought less than a hundred.

You fool, why can't you keep the rest above hundred with you and show it on the day when you have less, Raja pondered.

The procedure was repeated for each boy. That day, only two were punished, and one received the laddu.

"Even though you were not born in this hut, I have been the one looking after you," said Bhai, scanning the weak boys, who were sitting in a semicircle before him. Their eyes reflected the dancing light of the candle in the middle of them. They were weary, dry, lacking the innocence that usually sparkled in the eyes of children their age. Their world orbited around the man sitting before them. He was their hope. He was their savior.

"The world outside is very dangerous and cruel. You, all, were thrown away by your parents, but God made me your guardian. I took you with me because of my good nature. Most of the time I was unable to provide you with food because of my inability to walk. But I've been protecting you for the last ten years or more," he raised his voice, like a military leader, "and that should make you loyal to me, is that understood?"

"Yes, Bhai," all of them shouted back in one voice.

Then Bhai passed a bag of buns to Raja and ordered him to share with them, "Give them this and water!"

All the little beggars stood in a line again. Their faces were eager. As Raja came forward, they became more impatient. Raja passed a bun to each of them, and they grabbed it like hungry vultures and ate it breathlessly.

"One hundred rupees! That's all I expect from you," Bhai said to the children, "And that's not too much for you to collect from this crowded city. And if you think people don't have pity on you, I can take out one of your eyes, like Guddu did to his boys. Do you want me to do that?!" he said again, just like he did each day when someone came with less than one hundred rupees. Guddu was his imaginary monster, a heartless leader of beggar boys, who took away eyes, threw boiling water on the tender faces, broke legs and hands cold-bloodedly.

Bhai's stories arose from reality. Such brutalities did take place around, when kidnapped children needed to be made ready for begging. He was a living proof. Hence, whenever these boys came across some other lad without an eye or with a broken leg, they always thought he was Guddu's boy. In the boys' minds, Guddu was nothing but a savage beast. And there was no dearth of such ill-fated begging boys in the streets of Mumbai.

The boys shivered. They stopped eating for a moment. Their hunger was overpowered by fear for a few seconds. With the bun between mouth and hand, they looked fearfully at their boss.

As fear subsided and hunger and thirst came back, they ate the bun and drank water to make it easier to swallow. Then they found their places in the shabby tent and laid their bodies down for the night. Exhaustion conquered the stress of the day, and they drifted into a deep sleep. Neither the humid heat nor the mosquitoes could disturb their slumber. They slept tight, despite the numerous trains passing on the bridge above them. The newest boy moved in his sleep and muttered something. Maybe he saw his parents in his dream.

Raja too moved to a corner, putting together his makeshift bed made of cotton sacks. The thoughts returned as he lay there, waiting to fall asleep.

I am not a thrown-away child. I was living with my parents.

Raja turned the other side as the rag became drenched with tears, as usual.

The universe works in such a manner that it brings fortune to the earnest seeker, and every atom in the creation works for him.

The boy repeated the words he had learned. He did not know why he liked them so much.

I am an earnest seeker. I will get my family back. A ray of hope twinkled in his mind.
Chapter 4

Almost a thousand miles away, in Kerala, Ibrahim was looking at a photo. He was sobbing.

It was a family photo, taken around eleven years ago. Although it was laminated, the frequent handling made the corners wear out. In the photo, four people were sitting in the studio, with a painting of wild scenery on the wall behind them. In the artist's imagination, a pond was in the foreground. It was still, only two ripples reaching the shore. Lush trees stood tall in the background. A stream coming from the mountains ended in the pond. A lonely path was leading to the jungle. It could have been the trail wild animals were using to come and drink. Around the small lake, thick bamboo clusters were leaning into it, almost touching the water. Kingfishers were flying above the pond, ready to fish their meal.

The man in a white shirt and a traditional mundu was sitting on a bench in front of the painting. His wife, Zubaida, was clad in a long red sari, the end of it adorning her head, and their two children wore identical black pants and white shirts. All were smiling for the camera. The elder son was standing between the couple, and the younger child was sitting on the lady's lap. Ibrahim recollected many snaps were taken in the same position as the little kid was crying and did not want to sit peacefully in his mother's lap. Young Ibrahim asked the photographer for three copies. He got them after a week; the photos were good and brought many smiles on the faces of the family. Zubaida was enthralled to see them every time, and looking at the images became her favourite pastime. She had glued all three photos in the family album, and she never forgot to show them to the relatives who visited her house. In time, two copies of the photo disappeared, as some of the relatives rightfully removed them to show their love towards Ibrahim.

It was not only the photos that vanished from the album; their little, dearest son disappeared too. Life ran out of happiness. Out of everything else. Ibrahim removed the one photo left behind from the album, laminated it, and kept it safely in his personal bag, together with the money for the market.

Sitting behind the counter, Ibrahim kept looking at the image of his lost son. He had his heart in his mouth. The man could not control his emotions. His lips trembled, and tears flowed freely, dripping from his face onto the newspaper on the table.

Ramdas, a man in his early fifties, was walking toward a little stationery and communication shop. He stopped and scanned for the best banana in the bunch that hung on a coir rope in front of Ibrahim's shop.

"The price of pepper is skyrocketing. It's 700 rupees a kilo," said Ramdas, as he plucked a banana from the bunch. He peeled the fruit and placed it between the sparsely toothed gums. He babbled as he was struggling to talk with his mouth full, "All my pepper vines...," he swallowed the banana, "rotted because of that nasty disease; I've lost a fortune this year."

Then he placed the change for the banana on the counter. "And I hope you have a better crop this year, Ibrahim?"

Ibrahim did not raise his head.

Ramdas entered behind the counter. He had that freedom as they had been friends for years. Better said, they had been friends all their life. Many years ago, when Ibrahim was just a young child, his father moved from Kozhikode to Ernakulam. He attended the primary school where Ramdas was studying, and he became his first friend in that town. When he reached high school, Ibrahim lost his father and dropped out of school. At the same time, Ramdas continued his studies and eventually got a job in the same district. Although they had different professions and came from different backgrounds, their friendship did not fade, and their evening meetings never stopped.

Ramdas could read Ibrahim's mood from afar. His friend's face was hidden between the sheets of the newspaper, as if he was deeply involved in apprehending the news. Ramdas went near him and looked closely. The paper was drenched, and streaks of tears were glistening on his cheeks. The photo of his lost son was on a corner of the table.

"Oh, no! Ibrahim, not again!" he said in a disappointed tone. "It's been years. Be practical. Come on, move on." He shook his head.

Ten years are definitely a long time, Ramdas thought.

Ibrahim could not help but show the newspaper to his best friend. Ramdas saw the headline and read it aloud.

"Two sisters from the state of Maharashtra will be the first women in the country's history to be hanged. The president rejected the mercy petition of the two women sentenced to death in 2001 for kidnapping 13 children and killing nine of them..." Ramdas stopped for a moment and suddenly understood the reason behind his friend's tears.

He continued reading, "The sisters, who conducted a racket with their mother, used to kidnap young boys and girls and force them to beg. When the children failed to be productive, they were brutally murdered or abandoned.

The victims were aged between one and five years, and in most cases, the deaths were caused by smashing their heads against walls or utility poles..."

As Ramdas was reading, a chill went down his spine. He finished the article silently.

"It was a family business; the father of the two sisters was also part of this crime. However, he later turned approver and was acquitted, while the mother died during the trial. The two sisters, who remained the only accused, were sentenced to death..."

Ramdas looked up dejectedly. He did not like the news, but he forced himself to scan the rest of the article.

"...The president has also rejected the mercy petition of another man who was sentenced to death for raping and killing a three-year-old. He had lured the girl with the promise of buying her biscuits before sexually assaulting and eventually killing her.

While awarding the death sentence to the sisters in 2001, the judge had described the nine kids' murders as 'the most heinous,' and observed that the two sisters seemed to have enjoyed killing the children..."

Ramdas could not continue. His friend was sobbing, hiding his head between his palms. He put the paper aside and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. Tears welled up in his eyes as well.

Ibrahim raised his head and took the photo from the table, holding it against his chest. He cried like an innocent child, and all that Ramdas could do was to keep his hand on Ibrahim's shoulder and cry along with him.

Soon, Ramdas regained his awareness and felt ashamed to look so hopeless. He realized that he should motivate his friend in that desperate moment.

"Come on, Ibrahim, nothing happened to your child. He will return one day, and you will be the happiest man in the world to see him alive."

"Rama, I believe that one day God will bring my son to me!" Ibrahim sighed, showing the laminated photo to Ramdas.

There was a firm conviction in his words.

"I believe that the Creator of the universe will help those who earnestly seek from Him."

"I too earnestly pray that your wish come true, Ibrahim," Rama said.

The boy had been lost for ten years. When police had found a skull on the Periyar River shore, everybody came to the conclusion that it was Ibrahim's missing boy. Only two souls did not believe that: Ibrahim and his elder son. His wife, Zubaida, was in a partly unconscious state then.

Ibrahim was a good swimmer, and he always wanted their sons to learn swimming as he believed it was an important skill to survive, especially when dwelling near a river. On weekends, whenever possible, he would take the boys to the shallow end of the river and teach them how to swim. The younger boy was very quick to learn, and it was obvious that the elder son was rather jealous of his brother. Within weeks, the boy was able to somersault from a high rock that stood near the river, a trick only older boys dared to try; he could also swim across the wide river. Therefore, Ibrahim was confident that his son could die anywhere, but never under water.

One day his son did not return from school.

That evening had been the most dreadful moment in his life. He prayed that the great Almighty would not curse anyone with such pain. That night and the following day, they were sorrowfully busy searching for the boy, and as the day advanced, the atmosphere became more and more gloomy.

The next days, the town was possessed by an unusual quietness. Although the neighbors were running around, following their busy schedule, they stopped in between chores and spoke about the lost child. Whenever the men came across Ibrahim's shop and the ladies met Zubaida, they expressed their concerns with a somber air and murmured useless words of consolation. As for the neighboring children, weekends seemed hollow without their mate. There was no play and no joy in any of the houses and streets. Even the river was deserted.

Soon after the child went missing, Ibrahim put his photo in different newspapers and broadcasted it on the news channel continuously for the next six months. He stuck notices in bus and railway stations, on the churches' notice boards, and in any other places where people gathered. He had to sell a piece of property at Kozhikode to finance his continuous search. He was, then, highly confident his missing son would return in a few days. However, the boy was never found. After the first year, he stopped the advertisements and turned his request to the highest Power. He used to wake up before the dawn prayer and implore from his heart that God would return his son to him.

Days became months, and months became years, but there was no news of his son. Things had changed in ten years. His elder son attended college, and his little stationery shop changed to a mainly communication shop.

Everything was different around him, but his hope was not. He was still waking up before the dawn prayer and praying earnestly for the return of his son. He was firm in his conviction. As time passed, the anxiety was replaced by stillness. His mind had adjusted. However, the pain was like a cobra, raised its head frequently, and fiercely bit him, draining all the energy from his body and soul.

At the same time, it brought a purpose to his life. A purpose to help the numerous street children while on his way to saving his son. He had brought street children home many times. He gave them food and informed the Child Care Association about them. Many children were rescued, and many found their homes. Their parents showered Ibrahim with blessings. Ibrahim was sure that at least one of their blessings would help him find his own son.

"My son will return, you'll see, Ramdas, and when he comes back, you'll be enthralled. You will be surprised to see that my hope was not for nothing. And you will be surprised to see the power of God."

"I am surprised even now! At your hope, Ibrahim," Ramdas said. He then took his kerchief and wiped the teardrops off his friend's cheeks.

"I am grateful to God, as He blessed me with such a good friend."

A white pigeon came fluttering from somewhere, sat on the bunch of bananas, and started biting a fruit with its beak. Ibrahim saw it, but he did not disturb it from eating the banana.

"See the bird, Ramdas? I don't know why, but I feel happy. Something good may come in my life."

"Sure, your son will return to you like this pigeon that came back to look for its nest," said Ramdas and left the shop, muttering the words he had been frequently hearing from Ibrahim:

"The Creator of the universe will help those who earnestly seek from Him. All things are possible to Him. He can easily make the sunrise in the west for His dearest seeker, because He created the sun, the earth, and their orbiting paths. He is the master planner. He is the author of the book of all creations."
Chapter 5

Vibha was overjoyed. Her dream was coming true that day. She had been waiting for so long for this day. Her cherished dream was to visit Mumbai. She was ten years old and in her fifth year in school. She was immersed in her own world while visiting the many touristic attractions: the Jehangir Art Gallery, the Marine Drive, ships and helicopters, the Hanging Gardens, Bollywood celebrities' houses, and many other places. She noted down everything she saw and took photos from different angles as it was a matter of pride to show them to her friends in school. She had been pleading with her father since she was taught about Mumbai in the Social Studies class. And when Divya, one of the girls in her class, told her about her recent visit in Mumbai and the amazing beauty of the city, Vibha became relentless in her request.

"You know, the sea is blue, and you cannot see the other end of it," Divya would exclaim with all her vivacity, "and you will never see such a place where there are more people than droplets in the sea." During science class, when the teacher asked, "What planet comes after Earth in the planetary series?" Divya would stand up and say, "Mars, sir; I have seen it when I visited the planetarium in Mumbai."

"Good. See, Divya knows all the answers," the teacher would comment. She was the class' main attraction, and they all looked at her with respect, as if she had been to all the planets and seen all the civilizations of the world. All the girls were around her to hear about the wonderful things she had seen when she was in Mumbai. Vibha too went near many times to hear her boasting, although she did not like her tendency to exaggerate and the arrogance she was showing the other girls.

"Now I will also know all the answers. I wrote down every place she had been to, and today I saw all those she had visited. I've seen the python, the bear, the tiger, Mars, and Jupiter... I almost touched the dagger of Akbar; only a glass frame kept me from reaching it. I saw the original porcelains from China, I have been on a boat, I travelled for almost an hour to the Elephanta Caves, and I looked at the ancient artworks on the rocks... now, I know everything too. I know everything too," she muttered to herself, "I can't wait to be in class the day after tomorrow... I've seen more than you, Divya. I even had lunch at McDonalds, which you didn't."

Her family finally reached the "Gateway of India." That was their last destination, according to the plan. They had started from Pune early in the morning. It took four hours to reach Mumbai. After visiting the city, they had planned to return on the evening train, at seven. Their car was waiting outside Pune station, so they could reach home safely in half an hour, by midnight.

The Taj Hotel shone majestically in the evening sun, and the girl was amazed by its beauty and the luxurious cars around it. She kept looking at the turbaned guard at the gate. The man was saluting the visitors.

"You know, bro, no one in my class has seen this, except Divya and me! I will go and tell everyone that I have been to this place with my parents, and when the teacher asks who has seen the 'Gateway of India,' I will proudly stand up and say, 'I've seen it, miss,' before Divya does. Do you know that it would make me an idol in the class? I will enjoy when..."

"OK, OK. Alright," said her brother, Sandeep, as her chatter became intolerable, "now don't you forget to look around and enjoy the present, or you won't be able to answer if your ma'am asks what is written on the Gateway."

"I need that balloon," she said as she was subjugated by the sight of the flying balloons that were held by a vendor near the garden.

"Keep quiet; it's a big trouble going with you anywhere," said her mother from behind.

"I need it. I will not break it, and I will keep it as a memory from our trip to Mumbai. Mother, please," she pleaded.

"You need helium to make it fly. Soon the gas will drain from it, and you won't be able to make it fly if you fill it with air... and if you keep quiet, I will buy you bhelpuri," said her brother.

"Will you? Then I will keep quiet," she said, enthusiastically looking around for any bhelpuri merchant in her view. She could not find any, but she was immediately captivated by a flock of pigeons in a corner of the wide plaza in front of the historical structure. They fluttered in the air when a man threw them wheat grains.

A few more minutes were left before they had to leave the city, and they spent them in the garden in front of the Gateway. The sea breeze was calming for the soul, and they finally felt relaxed after roaming around the city all day. It was almost six, so Vibha's father instructed them to move out of the garden. As they were exiting through the pedestrian path, they noticed a series of shops with food and nourishments.

Vibha tugged at Sandeep's shirt.

"What?" he looked down.

"Have you ever tasted it? It's so delicious," she asked with sham vivacity, pointing her finger at the bhelpuri shop. She felt slightly fearful that Sandeep might scold her for continuously nagging him.

"Mm..." he nodded, "you know it's very tasty, and you think that I don't know anything about it. You naughty girl, don't forget I've seen more sunrises than you," he said while running his palm over her hair.

"I actually did not mean that..."

"OK, OK. Come on, I thought you would've forgotten by now," he pinched her cheeks and took her to the nearest shop.

"Oh, not now!" their father sighed, but it was too late. Sandeep had already taken the direction of the shop, and they were soon next to it.

Two minutes passed. The man started sweating because he knew a single second could cause them to lose the train.

"Sandy, make it fast! Don't forget we have to catch the train by seven," the man shouted, growing anxious.

The crowd was flowing in, like a huge river flooding the road. Cars and bikes were trying to make their way among humans, and it was difficult to understand whether the road was made for vehicles or for pedestrians. People moved, putting their foot down wherever it was possible, and the vehicles honked and honked to make some space. It seemed like the vehicles were pushing the crowd away from the road. Total chaos: honking, sighing, and shouting. It was a day of celebration for some, and a doomsday for others. The policemen fitted with the latest equipment were busy controlling the people, and few of them watched the crowd with an eagle eye to distinguish any suspects. It was one of the spots most targeted by terrorists.

"Get us a plate of bhelpuri, please," Sandeep said to the shopkeeper, "We need it quickly; can you please make it fast?"

"One plate bhel," the shopkeeper shouted: an order to the man who was making it beside him. An assistant had joined him to cater for the increased demand. It appeared it was more difficult than he thought to make it as fast as people requested it. He realized this was not a normal Saturday. A swarm of people sputtered around him, and it seemed as if every visitor was coming to him to buy bhelpuri. Whatever it was, he was happy. His business was flourishing.

Time passed. Standing before the shop, the children were impatiently looking for their order.

"Sandeep, come quickly; we are late," their father shouted from the crowd, then murmured to himself, "This is the problem with this girl. She will make us late, and the train will leave without us."

"Brother, come on fast, we have a train at seven."

Understanding the situation, her brother repeated to the shopkeeper, "Either you give it in a minute, or we are leaving." That was an ultimatum.

"Just a second, sir," the shopkeeper said, and he helped his boy to make the savory faster. He mixed it with the masala, then put it in a paper plate, and searched for the tissue paper to give away with it. He found the tissue bag empty, so he looked here and there, and relieved to find the piece of paper on the bench near him, he took it, put it under the plate, and passed it to the boy, "Here it is, sir, twenty rupees."

The boy had the coins ready; he handed over the money and returned fast to the parents.

"How many times did I tell you not to listen to her and buy her everything she wants?!" His father yelled at Sandeep with a cross look on his face, hands on his hips. "If we are late, the next train is at eight, and we have no reserved seats for that one!"

The children kept looking down. A taxi came and stopped before them; the family rushed in.

"Railway station. Fast!" the father ordered.

The girl was sitting on the window side. The cab moved past the vibrant life of Mumbai streets. Looking at the myriad of colors, lost in the city, the girl enjoyed her favorite bhelpuri, silently.

It was just a ten-minute journey from the Gateway to the railway station, but the cab had already taken nearly thirty minutes because of the evening traffic. With every second that passed, the people in the car grew more fidgety.

The father, wearing a scowl on his face, scolded the children for causing them to be late. He repeatedly hurried the driver, "Please go, go, go, see, there is a gap."

The driver, assumedly from Bihar, a northern state in India, was irritated by the repeated orders from the customer. He removed a packet of gutkha and started chewing to calm himself down.

"Sir, this is a car!' he said, after listening for a while. He struggled to keep all his gutkha on one side of his mouth and gurgled, "This is not a helicopter; it will move only if there's space ahead of it."

A few droplets from his mouth shot in the air and flew back with the wind. The father glanced up to see the driver's face in the mirror. The Bihari's face looked satisfied as he had declared an eternal truth.

Sandeep's father wore an angry face. More than the driver's eternal truth and the nasty discharge from his mouth, his contemptuous look hit the father's head like a nail.

Father was quiet thereafter. Wiping his face down with the kerchief, he looked at his wife as if it was all her fault.

Sandeep looked down, then furtively at his sister. She caught his eyes, and they exchanged smiles cautiously, to not be seen by their parents. Unluckily, their mother caught it in the mirror, and she silently smacked her daughter over the head.

Her smile vanished. Now with a wounded pride, the girl sat looking at the passing cars and double-decker buses. Although she was on the verge of an explosion, she forced herself to look cheerful. As she finished eating the bhelpuri, she cleaned her hands with the piece of paper the shopkeeper had put under the plate. After using it, she folded the paper and was ready to throw out the window.
Chapter 6

The old pendulum clock struck ten times in the morning.

"Come on, Sandy, wake up. You need to get the car to the service station," Sandeep's mother shouted.

Listening to his mother shout, he turned around, still half asleep.

"This is the third time I am calling you, come on, get up," his mother came near his bed and lovingly touched his face.

But Sandeep just hummed lethargically and rolled over in the cozy blanket. They had reached home long after midnight. A heavy rain during the night resulted in a partial landslide in the hilly Lonavala, and that delayed the train for two hours. And to add to their misfortune, the car broke down on the way home, when it drove over water-filled potholes on the road. The return journey was unexpectedly troublesome. The broken car was pushed and parked on the side of the road. Fortunately, they were able to get a taxi at that time of night, even though they had to pay double the amount for the same distance covered during daytime.

"Ma, please get me a cup of coffee; I have a headache," he said, touching his fingers on his forehead.

"I will if you get up, brush your teeth, and wash yourself," his mother said amiably. Then she sat on the bed, lovingly massaging his forehead. "I switched on the boiler. Come on, son, get up and take a shower; it's already ten."

"Alright," said Sandeep and removed the blanket. He lazily stood up and took a long breath while stretching his arms. Then he languidly walked to the bathroom. His mother returned to the kitchen after making his bed neat and tidy.

In a few moments, beats of the latest Bollywood song filled the house. They were coming from Sandeep's phone. Hearing it, he turned the shower off.

"Ma, pick up the phone!" he shouted from inside the bathroom.

He heard his mother walking briskly from the kitchen to get to the phone.

"A number, I don't know who the caller is," his mother shouted, standing near the bathroom door.

"Answer and you will find out," he said, slightly opening the door and hiding himself behind it.

"Hello," the lady said, with the phone to her ear.

"Madam, I am calling from the Engineering College. May I get Mr. Sandeep?"

"From the college," she whispered to Sandeep.

Suddenly Sandeep took the towel and wrapped himself in it.

"You are talking to his mother. I will convey the message. You can tell me if you please," said his mother humbly.

By that time, Sandeep, with the towel around his waist, was out of the bathroom and took the phone from his mother. A few drops of water fell on the floor. He kept the phone away from his ear to prevent it from getting drenched. His mother took another towel and wiped the droplets off his back.

"Hello, I am Sandeep."

"Sir, you have been selected from the reserve list. Your seat in our college is confirmed. You need to join on the 15th of this month. Will you be joining the course, sir?"

"Yes, I will, I will. Thank you." said Sandeep excitedly. He was very interested in learning aeronautical engineering. The phone next to his ear, he raised his head to thank God.

"Confirm, sir? Shall I add you to our list of students for the engineering course, a course of four years?" the lady asked with the details to confirm the seat.

"Sure, I will be there by the 14th of this month. You can add my name for the course."

"You will be provided with accommodation and food at our associate hostel; however, that is not free, so you will have to pay for it."

"OK."

"Please come with all your original documents and the fees in advance. And for the reference, will you please write down the address of the hostel and the phone number of the hostel warden, sir?" the lady on the other end asked.

"Yes, one sec, please," he said and started looking around for pen and paper. He found his backpack, which had been thrown under the table upon their arrival the other night. He opened it, grabbed the pen, and rummaged in it to find a folded piece of paper, which was put in the bag by his sister the previous evening. She was then ready to throw the paper outside the cab, but Mother stopped her and lectured her about the bad habit of littering. So she put the paper in the backpack.

The boy grabbed it. He saw some scribbling on it, so he turned the paper on the other side, where it was plain and clear, except for a few dots of turmeric and some chilly spots.

He started scribbling the address and the phone number as per instructions. After the conversation ended, he went out on the balcony, paper in hand. It was a pleasant morning after a rainy night. The sun shone brightly on its blue velvety background. Watching the boy on the balcony, the sun smiled as it was witnessing just another one of destiny's games. It was only the feeble human mind that could not recognize it.
Chapter 7

In Mumbai, drizzle was coming down from the morning skies. Water from the roads was slowly reaching their tent. The boys huddled in the dry corners. They lay there, holding each other to escape from the cold wind that sneaked through holes in the plastic wall. That made them feel like brothers.

They slept in line, grouped like pieces of wood tied together in a catamaran. They were in the middle of their most beautiful dreams. Maybe they were dreaming about getting a fluttering banknote from a rich man or receiving the sweet from their Bhai.

Their life was within that circle and they knew nothing out of it. They were all cleverly taken away from their families in their early years of life, before learning their parents' details and understanding how society worked. Even if they knew their parents' names, they did not know how to approach a responsible person who could help find them. The world of security and law was out of reach for them. Once the children entered the beggars' world, they would be forcefully tamed: beaten, not given enough food, have limbs amputated, and sometimes brutally killed. In just one day, their life would change forever. The stark reality was that, somewhere, parents would be mourning the loss of their children every day, while the children weren't even aware of their parents' existence.

"Wake up, you lazy bastards, wake up!" the cripple threw a glass of water on the boys.

All of them jumped up, and all they could see was the horrible face of their Bhai and the stick in his hand.

"It doesn't mean you can sleep till noon if it's raining outside. Wake up and move out," he cried and hit the ground with the end of his cane, then limped closer to them. "Don't forget the stick if you come without a hundred!" Saying that, he started hitting them from one side. All the boys stood up in a hurry. Raja, who was sleeping next to the plastic wall, got up before Bhai could reach him and escaped the stick.

The next moment, they were all out, rubbing their eyes. They stood in a line beside the tent to pee, then they dispersed in different directions and disappeared in the crowd in search of money, food, and peace.

Raja walked listlessly, hungry and still sleepy. He scanned his surroundings and saw a lady in a colorful sari, adorned with simple jewelry, walking toward him. She was totally engrossed in her own world, fingering on her mobile screen. A purse was hanging by her side. She was probably an office worker in the nearby area.

Raja noticed her walking on the pedestrian path. In front of her, there was a hole dug by the public workers making repairs, who did not bother to cover it after the completion of the work.

"Ma'am, stop!" the boy shouted, foreseeing the imminent danger.

The lady stopped abruptly and saw the hole big enough for a grown up to fall in, then looked at the boy and gestured him to come closer.

"Boy, thanks a lot," she said, "I was so busy with my phone that I didn't see the hole."

The boy smiled at her, "Two days ago, on the next street, a man fell in a hole just like this, and it took the whole day to take him out."

"I know. I've been walking on this path for so long that I've come to learn every nook and cranny of it, but this must be a new one. I am very well aware of the quality of our public works."

The boy gave her a friendly look.

"I like your attitude," she said and opened her purse, took out a fifty rupees note, and handed it over to the boy.

"Let's have a great day," she said.

"Thanks, ma'am," Raja smiled at her, looking at the note. He could not believe that morning could be so nice.

"You know to say thanks, wow; you are a beggar, but you have manners. Where have you learned this?"

"From that school," he pointed his finger at the first building after the bridge.

"Are you studying there?"

"No, ma'am, I spend my time under the tree near the school, and I can hear the lessons through the window."

"Wow, that's fantastic!" she could not hide her astonishment. She did not mind putting her hand on his dirty head and slightly shook it with love.

"OK, it's getting late, have a nice day," she wished him, then walked fast toward the office building.

"Have a nice day, ma'am," the boy waved his hand at the lady, who turned her head for a second to send him a smile.

Fifty rupees and a pleasant talk. A great day, he said to himself, shifting his gaze to the banknote. Half the job is done for today, and the other half is not a problem. He put the money into the pocket of his dirty trousers and walked straight to the tree near the school to listen to the rest of Mowgli's story, although he had heard it many times.

When he was at home, even before kindergarten, he was taught to read and write a little. Teacher Mary, his neighbor, had two daughters and was never blessed with a son, so she was very fond of Ibrahim's young boys. She visited their house almost daily, and she would often take the boys home with her. She gave them sweets, and sometimes they would spend the entire day at her place.

After a while, Zubaida, worried, started to find excuses to not send the boys over. Feeling the inarticulate tension, Mary found the perfect justification to continue having the boys around her: teaching them English. English is the most important language needed to climb the social ladder in India. Ibrahim was very happy with the children's developments, and Zubaida could not protest anymore.

Raja thus learned the basics of English even before going to school. In class, he would sing the rhymes before the teacher taught them. He was also very fond of the comics teacher Mary was showing him.

Whenever he saw comics in the bookstalls of Mumbai, he would buy and hide them in a secret place under the bridge, near their tent, to read them when no one was around. One day, as he was sitting under the tree enjoying the colorful book he had just bought, his attention was drawn by a soothing voice coming from the school near him. It was recounting the Mahabharata story. He moved closer to listen, and he loved the story so much that he would return the same time every day. He did not know which class that was or which period, but he noticed that at that exact time in the morning, the teacher came to class and taught stories to the children. He used to come at the exact time to hear the stories from different books from around the world. Years had gone by, students came and left, but the teacher and the "outsider" stayed the same. Most of the time, he would hear the same stories over and over again. Therefore, even before the teacher would start the class, the boy knew what was about to come next.

The boy sat under the tree to listen.

"OK, let's return to Mowgli's jungle life and enjoy our adventure with him. Yesterday we stopped at..."

"Bagheera was taking the child with him to the village," one of the students said.

"That's Anoop," Raja whispered, recognizing the student's voice.

"Good. Bagheera was taking the child with him to the village..." The teacher stopped for a moment and asked a question to see if the children were paying attention, "Who is Bagheera?"

The students replied in chorus, "The leopard!"

"Very good," said Raja, mimicking the teacher.

"Very good," came the reply of the teacher.

She told the rest of the story, and few minutes were left before the end of the period.

Before finishing class, the teacher told her students, "OK, yesterday we learned about the seasons; today I will tell you about the months. Can anyone tell me how many months are in a year?"

There was no reply. Total silence took over the classroom.

"Twelve," said Raja from under the tree.

"There are twelve months in a year," said the teacher. "These are: January, February..."

"March, April, May..." the boy continued with her.

After a brief explanation about the months, she said, "Children, your homework is to write down all the months of the year. You can do it with the help of your parents or the use of a calendar."

"Who will come first in class?" she then asked her students.

"The student who does his homework."

Raja smiled. Years have gone by, but the teacher's words remained the same.

As she was about to leave, she repeated the quote that she used to tell all her children for years, without changing a word.

"The Universe works in such a manner that it brings fortune to the earnest seeker, and..." she stopped abruptly as he was expecting the rest from the cheerful pupils staring at her.

"Every atom in the creation works for him," the children and the boy outside continued in chorus.

"So be the earnest seekers, do your homework, and expect good grades," she said. "See you in our next class."

Raja's class under the tree ended too.

He stood up and went to fetch the other fifty rupees of the day. All the while, there was one thing running through his mind:

"Like Mowgli found his home, I too will find mine."
Chapter 8

The express train whistled and ran fast across mountains and plains, through tunnels and over bridges. It was Sandeep's first time traveling to the south of India. He was in deep admiration of the lush green hills and plains the train cut through. From time to time, he could see waterfalls in the distance, rushing from the rocks and crevices of the hills. They looked as white as milk, flowing from a huge milk reservoir hidden somewhere in the mountains. Sparkling rivulets emerged from the hills just to disappear in the middle of the lush greenery. Sandeep stood at the door, holding the iron bar in a strong grip. The air was cold and refreshing. The sun was playing hide and seek.

After the hills came a vast valley and then the fields. Few farmers were out, scattered around the area, all with bamboo hats on their heads. They were tending onions, groundnuts, mustard, and in some places, beautiful sunflower or marigold gardens. Wild flowers lent their colors to the field: yellow, red, and green, as if the farmers had paved the land with colorful, long, wide tiles. Sandeep then understood the words he used to hear from his teachers: travel brings wisdom.

First day on the train passed slowly. At night, he slept in his reserved seat comfortably, and the next morning he was invited to witness the beautiful sights of Kerala, which lies beside the Arabian Sea. It seemed as if God had blessed it generously with rivers, lakes, and abundant vegetation. As the train crossed the border of the state, Sandeep could read the welcoming board: "Welcome to God's Own Country."

"Of course! It's God's Own Country," Sandeep murmured to himself.

That afternoon, he arrived at the Engineering College in Ernakulam, a southern city in Kerala. Sandeep was already homesick, and his mind was refusing to adapt to the new surroundings. He felt very lonely, and the overcast sky made the place seem even gloomier. He languidly walked behind the warden, with his trolley and a backpack. The heavy luggage pulled him back, and he struggled to advance.

"I told Mother a thousand times not to fill it with all the food and the other stuff," he mumbled. "Sometimes love kills."

"Sorry, did you say something?" the warden asked, without looking back. He looked about fifty, but he walked like a youngster in his twenties. He was in a hurry, as if he had many jobs to do that day.

"No, nothing. Could you please slow down?" requested Sandeep as he found it difficult to keep up with the warden.

"You are not the only one I have to look after, my boy," said the warden, with a strong local accent. Then, he stopped to look at him.

"You are the seventeenth lad today, and I don't know how many others will show up by the end of the day," the warden said without showing the slightest concern toward the heavy luggage the boy was carrying. He turned and went ahead.

Then there were stairs, and the boy dragged himself up the steps to reach a corridor. After turning left on the corridor, they entered a long hallway with rooms on either side. The warden stopped in front of a room and glanced back, slightly irritated at the boy following slowly behind.

"This is your room," the man said.

A weak light bulb was spreading a dim light in the gloomy hallway. Sandeep stared at the wooden door. A small panel was fixed on the door.

"Room number 82," the warden read it.

He looked at the warden, relieved, for he had finally reached his destination.

The door screeched as the warden pushed it open wide. Sandeep followed him and entered the room. A pungent smell hit his nostrils, as the room had been closed for weeks.

"You're sharing it with that boy. He is from Manipur," the warden nodded toward one side of the room.

Sandeep saw a boy lying on one of the beds.

"This is your bed, and that is the bathroom," the warden pointed to a door on the opposite wall. "Although this room is for you two, you are advised to keep your belongings within your own space and to maintain a peaceful relationship," he said and turned toward the door.

"In case of emergency, phone numbers are on the inside of the door," the warden showed him the notice and left the room. The explanation had been swift and brief.

Sandeep looked around his new dwelling. It was a rather small room, but big enough for two bachelors. A table covered with a white table cloth was placed near the door. There was a wall socket above the table, with a mobile phone charger plugged in it. Its wire was dangling, and the end of it connected to a phone. From the phone, an earphone wire ran to the bed, and its buds plugged in the Manipuri boy's ears.

Two beds lay on either side of the medium-sized room, and the Manipuri boy had already taken one of them. He was shaking his head in tune with the music coming from his ear buds. Bags and suitcases were scattered on his bed.

Suddenly, reality hit Sandeep. Now he was in a different world, where he had to do everything on his own. He had never been out of the house by himself, even for a single day. He had the privilege of being the only son and got all the attention from his mother. Now this was the second day he had been away.

Life starts here, he thought.

In Kerala, the southern state in the Indian peninsula, Malayalam is spoken, one of the Dravidian languages, a totally different one from his Maharashtra mother tongue, a state in the middle of India. His roommate was from the north-eastern part of the country, and that language sounded like Chinese to Sandeep. Although they were from the same nation, they had nothing in common except their nationality. Even the common language between them was foreign: English. Not even Hindi.

He glanced at his roommate's fair complexion. His eyes were narrow, just lines on the face. He looked at his own eyes in a tall mirror on the left side of the bathroom door: wide and black like blackberries. The guy was thin and athletic. His own reflection showed a slightly darker and rather plump figure. His roommate was wearing low-rise jeans and a black, short T-shirt. The white wire of his earphones coiled on it.

There was big poster of Cristiano Ronaldo on the wall next to him. Sandeep quickly understood why his roommate looked so thin and athletic. He knew the north-eastern Indians were good football players. And musicians. Thinking that, he noticed a guitar standing upright in a corner of the room.

"Excuse me?" he moved toward the boy.

The guy was so immersed in his music that he did not hear anything from the outside world. Sandeep found it strange that the boy was not bothered by the activity around him.

Sandeep hesitantly touched his hand.

"Hello..."

The boy swiftly opened his eyes, removed his earphones, and gazed at Sandeep inquiringly.

"Sandeep," he put his hand out, "I am your roommate."

"Seldo," the boy sat up and shook hands with Sandeep.

"Seldom?"

"Seldo... SEL-DOH."

"Selldo."

"Yeah, from Manipur."

"I know, the warden told me. And I am from Pune, Maharashtra."

"Good. Happy to have you in my room."

"Me too, happy to have a musician in my room," Sandeep said pointing at the guitar.

"Ha-ha," he laughed, "of course, I hope it won't disturb you."

"No, I would like it... and I am a great fan of football too."

"Oh, you play football? That's great," Seldo exclaimed.

'Why so surprised? Am I not looking like a football player?' Sandeep asked with a wide grin.

"Yeah, I thought the mainlanders only play cricket!"

"You are wrong; we do play football. Although, when it comes to me personally, I've never played, but I am very much interested in the game, and I like to watch it. My mother never let me go on the field; she thought I would get hurt."

"Oh, you poor man. Things are different with me. My father would not let me inside the house if I didn't score a goal in the evening match."

"Great father you have," Sandeep smiled, "I think you are a Real fan, no?"

"No, no. I'm a Barcelona fan... Lionel Messi, oh, what a style, what a finish!" Seldo was so excited telling about his dream player. "There is no greater player living in this world."

"But here you have Ronaldo's poster?"

"Yeah, that's because I couldn't get Messi's...plus, I like Ronaldo for his humanitarian acts. You know, he donated his boots for auction and given all the money to Palestinian children. For that I like him."

"Oh, I didn't know that," said Sandeep. "OK, enjoy your music. I will catch you later,"

Sandeep was happy to meet his new friend, with whom he was going to spend the next four years. Seldo smiled, lay back on his bed, and put the earphones in his ears. As the music started flowing, he began shaking his leg to the rhythm.

Sandeep called his mother, notified her about his safe arrival at the hostel, and also told her about his new companion. After he finished putting his belongings in order, he felt the exhaustion of the two-day train journey. He made his bed and lay on it. He felt a tranquilizing peace, so he closed his eyes and enjoyed it. Slowly he drifted into a light sleep.

An hour passed. Sandeep woke up, feeling refreshed. Absent-mindedly he looked at the walls to see the time. There was a clock with white dials ticking at his left, which he had not noticed until now. It was nearly five in the afternoon. He turned his head to the other side and did not find his roommate. He sat up in bed and could hear the sound of water flowing in the bathroom. In a minute, Seldo came out, wrapped in bathrobe.

"Don't you want to go out to see the place?" Seldo asked.

"Mm..." Sandeep thought for a second, "OK. Are you alone?"

"Yeah. Who else could be with me? I haven't met anyone else yet; I came here only minutes before you," he shrugged.

"OK, just give me a minute to wash up." Sandeep rummaged through his bag for some soap and went into the bathroom.

Soon they were ready to go out. They locked the door from the outside and walked down the dim-lit hallway. When they reached the foyer on the ground floor, in one corner, they saw a lady sitting on a stool near a coffee machine. It was drizzling outside.

"Do you like coffee or tea?" asked Seldo.

"Haa... mmm, I don't know; anything will do," Sandeep replied.

"Then let me order for you. We will enjoy some tea." He ordered, "Ma'am, two cups of tea."

The lady in a blue sari had her head covered with a scarf. She stood up from the stool and pressed a few buttons. As the hot tea flowed out of the machine, the air was filled with the aroma that reminded Seldo of the tea estates of the hilly region of Assam. For a moment, he thought of his journey on the bus that snaked among the smooth-looking, light green tea gardens.

The lady handed over the cups, and they received it with thanks, then they moved outside. Leaning on the veranda wall, they watched the rain pouring and enjoyed the hot tea, sip by sip.

Sandeep studied his new surroundings. Their hostel was located on a small hill, and he could see the university campus a little farther. An alley was meandering through the hilly area like a huge black snake. Standing on the threshold of the building, it seemed that the path ended at his feet. There were two big, well-maintained gardens on either side of the road, with green patches of grass and a few coconut trees that stood majestically on the periphery. In the garden on his left, the slithering roots of a huge banyan tree had ripped through the ground. On his right, blossomed the lavish red flowers of a flamboyant gulmohar tree. It reigned in the center of the garden, like a huge umbrella of red and green canopy. Under the tree, flowers were strewed all around like red dots on the green grass carpet. Sandeep could easily guess the benches under the trees were the favorite spots for all the students in that campus.

After all, I wound up in a beautiful place, he thought.

As they were taking in the scenery, Seldo's phone rang. He answered in a language that was completely incomprehensible to Sandeep, but he could see that his friend was growing anxious as the phone conversation continued.

The rain had taken a break, and the skies were getting clearer, as if an invisible hand had changed the wallpaper of their surroundings. The dark clouds had vanished, and new white and silver clouds took their place. Boomerang-shaped flocks of birds were flying above.

Doors opened, and more students came out gradually. The lady was busy selling drinks, and the place was soon filled with the mixed aroma of tea and coffee and with whispers from the newly-arrived. Everyone looked a bit confused and lost.

I am not alone. Sandeep continued to look in the distance, immersed in the calm beauty of nature.

"What would you like to do now?" he was shaken from his world when he heard Seldo's question.

"Nothing. Get my clothes ready for tomorrow, have dinner, and sleep."

"But..." Seldo hesitated for a moment, then said, "I am in trouble..." he stopped.

"What's bothering you?"

"My father was distressed when I left home, and now I found out he is heading this way. He is in Calcutta now."

"That's good news, I believe," Sandeep exclaimed.

"Somehow... the problem is he doesn't know how to read and has no knowledge about the mainland. He is practically trapped in Calcutta."

"Tell your father to catch a train and come here; there are frequent trains from Calcutta to Ernakulam."

"He's never been outside our village. He got lost in the crowd." Seldo shook his head, dejectedly, "I am really tensed; he doesn't know the language or anything about geography. He's worried and doesn't know what to do next. His phone was dead," he then showed Sandeep the number on his, "this is a public booth number."

"Oh, that's a problem," Sandeep understood the gravity of the situation. "So he has no ticket booked for his travel. Traveling without a reserved seat is hell," he muttered to himself, "and for two days! Impossible!"

Things weren't easy. They pondered over the situation for a while, standing in the foyer.

"Wait, I have an idea," Sandeep said suddenly and took his phone out.

"We can book tickets online, and if we are lucky, we can get an emergency reservation. Then we can send the ticket to your father; what do you say?"

"I thought of it, but how would he get the ticket?"

"You said you father was calling from a booth, right?"

"Yes, so?"

"Most booths have fax machines too. We can fax it from here. We tell the booth attendant to give it to your father and help him get a cab to the railway station."

"That's a good idea. Let's try that." Seldo was relieved, and his face shone with gratitude toward his friend. He immediately dialed the number from which he had received the last call. After a few rings, someone picked up.

Seldo raised his thumb up toward Sandeep, indicating that there was an answer.

"Hello... hello, madam," Seldo said as he heard the voice of a woman, "I am Seldo, the son of the man who has just called from this booth. Is that man still there with you?"

Seldo heard a rustling sound. The receiver had been placed on the counter and the lady was shouting in Bengali, calling someone. Seldo waited, growing uneasy. He hoped his father was still around there and the lady would help him out.

Soon, he heard a rustling sound again, as the receiver was picked up.

"He is coming, but do not keep the phone busy for long. I have many customers," the reply came to his relief.

"Madam, I need to ask you a favor."

"A favor?" the lady asked. Seldo could feel the confusion and surprise in her tone. He then humbly explained everything to the lady.

To his relief, the lady seemed to understand the dire situation he and his father were in.

"Do not worry, my son, your father will be safe, send your ticket to my fax number," she replied, then recited the number slowly, so that Seldo could write it down.

All the while, Sandeep, on his mobile, searched for trains from Calcutta to Ernakulam and found a train at a suitable hour with available seats.

"Look at this; we are lucky. This seems to be the best one," he showed the display to Seldo.

Seldo took a look, and a smile blossomed on his lips, a signal from his appeased soul.

"Let's book it. A confirmation with an e-ticket will be sent to your email address. We will download it and fax it to your father," said Sandeep. "Come, there must be a cybercafé with a fax machine around here, so we can send it immediately to your father."

They walked on the winding path down toward the main road. Sandeep was looking around and seemed amazed at the picturesque surroundings.

"You look like you haven't seen coconut trees in your life, am I right?" Seldo asked, noticing his interest.

"I have seen one. A lone tree standing high, somewhere in the gardens of government offices. But this many trees..." he shook his head, "...never in my life. I can't get over it. In my city, we have only buildings between the streets."

"You have only buildings!" Seldo exclaimed, "And where I come from, we have only trees and hills."

"Ha-ha, I have never visited your state. But this city is beautiful. Here, it is all merged together."

"You are welcome to come with me and visit Manipur when I go home, to see nature is in its inherent beauty." Seldo invited Sandeep, smiling.

They continued to share their experiences until they reached the main road. There were many shops at the junction. Seldo pointed at one of the stationery shops where he saw the words "Ibrahim's Communication." Under them, on a yellow board, large black bold letters read: "STD ISD FAX."

In front of the shop, a man was arranging new notebooks on shelves.

"Can we use a computer, uncle?" Sandeep asked the man.

"Sure," Ibrahim turned around and glanced at the boys. "Before you do that, can I please see some ID?"

Seldo stopped for a minute to search for his identity card in his wallet. Sandeep intervened, "I will show mine; you go and do what you need to."

"Uncle, is this enough?" Sandeep took his wallet out and removed his old school ID. "We are new to this place. We will be given new student cards from the college soon."

Ibrahim took the ID and scanned it, "Where are you staying?"

"At the hostel. The address is..." then he checked the piece of paper he had carried all the way from home, where he had the address and the phone number.

"Oh, it's OK, keep it with you," said Ibrahim. "I understood: you are new students staying in the college hostel." Then he went to one of the computers and turned it on.

Seldo searched for the train and booked the ticket. In a few minutes, he came out of the cubicle and requested, "Uncle, can you please print something for me and fax it to this number?"

"Sure," uncle Ibrahim moved into the cubicle and hit the commands, then quickly walked to the printer near his counter. He took the paper that came out of the printer and placed it in the fax machine. He dialed the number and waited for the process to complete.

"Does your father have our address and the warden's phone number?" asked Sandeep while Ibrahim was sending the fax.

"No, he only has my mobile number."

"What happens when he reaches this city, in case we are in the classroom, and no mobile phones are allowed?"

"True, I didn't think of that," Seldo looked at Sandeep with appreciation. He was really starting to respect his friend for his practical sense.

"So what shall I do?"

"Send one more fax."

"What fax?"

"This is the address of our residence and the warden's number." Sandeep showed the piece of paper he was carrying in his wallet. "He can call the warden even if we are not available. Or he can find the place by showing the address to people."

"You are right, thanks."

Then he turned to Ibrahim, "Uncle, please send this also."

Ibrahim took the paper. It was wrinkled and had few yellow spots. He held the paper high in his hand, looking at it for a while. He was in a strange emotional state as he touched it, and he did not know why he felt that way at that particular time. He did not know what the strange feeling of attachment toward the paper meant. He looked at the photo of his son on the corner of the table.

Maybe my nostalgia for my son is waking up when I see these boys; he would be almost their age now, Ibrahim thought.

Before placing it in the machine, he put it on the table and pressed it with his hand two-three times to make it as flat as possible. His hands started shaking.

Why? What's happening to me today? My son's absence is killing me everyday. I don't know how long I can stand this pressure. He looked at the image of his son. A tear rolled down from the corner of his eye.

"Uncle, any problem?" Sandeep asked, noticing it.

"No, no, my dear boy, something must have gotten into my eye." He rubbed his eyes, then he dialed the number of the booth in Calcutta.

Quickly, they received the confirmation copy. Sandeep received the piece of paper with the address back from uncle Ibrahim, folded it in four, and put it in his wallet.

As Seldo was making a confirmation call to the lady in Calcutta, Sandeep looked around the shop for items he might need.

"Can I get small tube of toothpaste?"

"Oh, yes," said Ibrahim and picked one from the shelf. "Here it is," he handed the little tube over.

Sandeep was taking money from his wallet, when Seldo cried out from the corner, "Sandeep, we made a mistake."

Sandeep looked at him inquiringly.

"Please show me the piece of paper."

Confused, Sandeep took the paper out of his wallet again.

"We haven't sent the address. By mistake, this has been faxed to the lady in Calcutta," Seldo said and showed the other side of the paper, which looked like a poem written by an elementary school kid.

"Oh, sorry, it was my mistake," Ibrahim said, overhearing the conversation and glancing at the scribbling. "I will send it again for free." He put out his hand to receive the paper again.

Seldo gave it to him, and uncle Ibrahim sent the address again, this time very careful when placing the paper. Seldo was on the phone with the lady, and she confirmed that they had received the address.

"Thanks, uncle, my name is Seldo," he introduced himself to Ibrahim, "and this is my friend, Sandeep. We will be here for the next four years."

"My name is Ibrahim; students call me uncle Ibrahim."

"OK, uncle Ibrahim, see you soon."

Uncle Ibrahim watched the boys walk away from the shop.

"My son would be a little younger than you," he whispered to himself, raised his head up, and brought his hands together. "Oh, God, please bring my son back to me. Wherever he may be, I beseech You to look after him. I have no one else to ask this from, except You. You are the only One, the Protector, so I ask You. Bring me my son."

The fax machine beeped and rolled the paper out. It read:

"Your message was sent successfully."
Chapter 9

Calcutta. A sleepless city in the east of India.

"The Ex-Serviceman Booth." That was the name of the telephone booth Reema was running. She decided to give that name to her shop as a sign of recognition toward the ex-servicemen welfare board, who provided needy people with means to live. She started her business when her husband's little pension didn't seem to be enough to make ends meet anymore. She found it difficult to pay for her children's school fees, rent, and to afford the daily rising food prices.

Many people criticized and discouraged her after hearing her idea of opening a telephone booth in the area. But she was ambitious and proved people wrong by running a successful business for six years. Life taught her to be a leader, although she was the mere daughter of a farmer from a village near Calcutta.

She was the fourth and youngest daughter in the peasant's family. Contrary to popular practices, her father had not killed her in the womb or after birth, even if he feared the expense of growing her up and the huge dowry he would have to offer for her to be married. But for her father's relief, God had blessed his daughters with an exceptional beauty. Reema was the most beautiful among the sisters, and many men wished to tie the nuptial knot with her since she was only in middle school. And when the proposal came from a soldier, her father did not think twice about marrying her off to him. Who didn't want to have a government servant as their son-in-law? And without dowry! Her beauty equalled a big amount of cash in her father's pocket. The Indian saying that a beautiful girl is born with her dowry is true. Therefore, she was married to a soldier when she was just sixteen years of age.

During the first three years of marriage, she had roamed many Indian states due to her husband's frequent transfers. She had a happy marriage, and she enjoyed the numerous travels until one morning, when a phone call from the army headquarters announced her that her husband was missing. The army truck that was carrying soldiers through the mountains had been caught in an avalanche, and none of the persons in the vehicle could be found. Three days later, her husband was rescued. He had been unconscious, trapped under the snow in the ice-swept valley, and by the time they got to him, his legs were severely frostbitten. He was the only one left alive, although in a critical state. Eventually, the expert doctors in the military hospital saved his life, but could not do anything for his legs.

Consequently, thanks to the military rehabilitation program for the disabled soldiers, Reema could receive a loan with government subsidy, which financed her communication booth. Reema's husband always sat in the cashier's chair behind the counter while she looked after the business. She had to learn how to use the computer, the network, and simple software technologies to run the systems in her shop.

She was thankful to God for the miracle of saving her husband. The only one saved out of forty-eight. It had been a selfless, herculean task for the soldiers to rescue the victim and to recover the bodies from under the snow. The help from people and government moved her so much that she decided to return the favor in whatever ways she could. From that day on, she found the meaning of life. Thus, at the opening ceremony of her shop, and at every auspicious occasion, in a country where people generally bring seers for puja – offerings to gods - she preferred to give food to orphans. She also offered discounts to the poor school children and housewives, sometimes paying their calls from her own pocket.

Whenever someone came to her for help, she thanked them for giving her the opportunity to help them. Therefore, she was happy when she received the phone call from Seldo. She understood the amount of stress father and son were under, so she took a special interest in their case. She sat the man down in her little room behind the shop and prepared parcels of food for his dinner. She had her helper, a young boy, keep him company and look after him the whole time. In the evening, she sent the boy to see him off at the train station and to help him in all respects.

"Here is the ticket and the address, Father," she respectfully said to the old man. "When the examiner comes, show this ticket and your identity card if he asks," she explained him. Then she zipped open his backpack and put the papers in it.

"Thank you," said the old man, tears in his eyes, when he was about to leave the shop.

"I am helping myself, my dear father. You are not less than a father to me. Thank you for giving me the opportunity, and whenever you are in Calcutta, please visit me. I will be happy to see and help you," she said graciously, as always. From behind the counter, her husband smiled at the old man.

They left and reached the station fifteen minutes before eight. The young boy found the seat number written on the ticket.

"I am going to put the bag under the seat; please take a look," the boy said.

"Thank you very much," said the old man again. How good these people are!  He thought.

The whistle blew, and the train started moving without delay. It started slowly, then picked up speed. The old man held his parcel with food and lay back in the seat. The day's mental and physical toil, along with the rhythmic swinging of the train, drove him into a deep sleep.
Chapter 10

On a narrow bridge over a backwater channel in Vizag, a port on the eastern coast, three thieves gathered late at night. A sodium-vapor lamp was lighting up the bridge with its bright yellow glow.

Altaf, the leader of the thieves, went over the banknotes from the purses they had picked up during that evening. There were four purses. After removing the cash, he threw them one by one into the black depths of the channel. That was his style. He never kept any proofs. Nothing. Whatever it might have been. No valuable documents or credit cards. It never mattered to him. He only wanted the money and the gold. Everything else found its place on the dark bottom of the channel bed.

Any man who had lost his wallet on the east coast train could probably retrieve his driving license from the channel if he dived for it.

The other two men, Roopesh and Babu, looked at each other impatiently. That was the tensest moment of their operation. The short but sweet delay before receiving their loot. It was Altaf's unwritten rule to pick the wallets and pockets and flee the area without even looking at the things they have taken. All the possessions would be opened and shared at their usual meeting place: the bridge. He was a clever thief and an able leader.

Altaf counted the notes. Seven hundred and forty rupees. He cleverly divided the amount into three: three hundred for himself, and two hundred and twenty each for his two attendants. He always took the lion's share because he was the one planning the operations and making things happen. The other two were merely his helpers. That was their understanding, and there was no fight between them as Altaf always stood upto the expectations of their dishonorable profession. He knew nothing in the world survives without proper leadership.

"Not bad," said Altaf, giving Roopesh and Babu their shares.

The two minions took the cash and counted. Their faces blossomed at the notes rustling between their fingers. It was a good prize after a long day's work.

"Tomorrow we go to Coromandel," said Altaf, "I'll let you know more in the morning."

He kept his plans secret until the last moment. He believed that even the walls had ears, and the water that flowed under the bridge could communicate.

"Come in good, decent clothes... Never mind, I'll tell what to wear: Roopesh, blue jeans and white shirt. Trim your hair and mustache if possible."

"How can I get a barber at this time?" asked Roopesh, blind follower of his master.

"I only said, 'if possible'," Altaf stressed. "If you're lucky, that old barber near your house is nicely wasted, and you'll still find him in his shop cuz he's too afraid of his old lady to go home." Then he shifted his eyes to Babu, "And you, plain clothes, wear those grey pants and striped shirt you like so much. Don't forget to tuck it in. And wear shoes cuz we ride in style tomorrow: AC coaches."

The followers just nodded.

"So three in the morning," Altaf reminded them once again, "Sharp. Outside the station, near the cigarette shop."

Babu looked at his watch. It showed eleven fifteen.

"You have three hours of sleep if you go directly home and catch the bed," Altaf said in an authoritative voice, "Understood? Anything else?"

"Nothing," Roopesh and Babu shook their heads and looked at each other.

"Tomorrow, then," he raised his thumbs up and all three, on their two-wheelers, disappeared through the winding alleys of Vizag.

At three a.m., the night was still dark, even though there were a few sodium lamps shining around the railway station. The air was hot and humid.

"Where is Altaf?" asked Roopesh, with his hands in his jeans pockets. "He said we should be here by three in the morning, did we get it right?"

"Yep, he asked us to be here at three."

Ten minutes passed. They were looking around for him impatiently, walking up and down around the shop. More than Altaf's delay, their unusual, gentleman attire made them uncomfortable.

"I don't know how these men spend the whole day with their shirts tucked in and the belt tied around themselves; it's really suffocating," said Babu.

"Right. And they call themselves free and developed... haha," said Roopesh mockingly and took a bundle of beedis out of his jeans pocket. He put one cigarette in his mouth and offered another to Babu.

"Where the hell is he?" Exhaling the thick smoke in the air, they tried to spot Altaf's old Bajaj scooter in the distance. The smoke from the beedis swirled higher and shone in the sodium light like silver clouds. Babu raised his head and continued to exhale the smoke under the light, enjoying it like a child enjoys soap bubbles.

"You idiots!" the reprimand came from behind. "What decent people on earth smoke a beedi in public?"

The two thieves looked back, slightly scared. A railway employee, with his gray pants and a railway catering uniform worn over a gray shirt, was looking at them. It took them a few seconds to realize it was none other than Altaf.

"Altaf!" they both shouted in awe.

"Don't bark, you idiots!"

"You called us in these uncomfortable clothes, but you...? You don't plan to come with us today?"

"Yes, I called you in fine clothes," whispered Altaf, "but not me. Today I am a chaiwala."

"Tea vendor?" they were curious as to what ingenious plan Altaf may have come up with this time.

"Yes. I borrowed this uniform from a friend, a railway employee. His train was a little late. You idiots throw away the beedis and don't even think of smoking again until we finish today."

Then Altaf detailed the plan to them and disappeared toward the station.

Roopesh and Babu were dumbfounded by Altaf's ingenuity.

"I didn't know these things," Roopesh frowned.

"That's Altaf," said Babu, excited.
Chapter 11

Seldo's father opened his eyes. He raised his hand and looked at his watch, then he gazed through the window with a puzzled expression, unable to comprehend where he was.

Although it was only seven in the morning, the sun was burning bright and appeared like a red hot circle just above the distant hills. It traveled with the train, flashing between the trees along the tracks. The old man squinted and lowered his gaze. The countless rice crops lay ahead, and the plateau looked like an endless desert over which a great bucket of green paint had been spilled.

The old man felt like he was traveling to the end of this flat world to find a new civilization.

I don't know how my son will cope with this new world. Home is the safest place, he thought and moved his eyes away from the window to find other travelers sleeping on their beds, wrapped in the heavy blankets provided by the railway. One family - a young man, his wife, and a baby boy –had given up the coziness of their blankets to enjoy the morning with tea and biscuits on the side lower seat. The lady poured milk from a flask in a glass and reached out to her child.

"The train is two hours late," Seldo's father heard the man say.

"Two hours! So we will get home two hours late?" asked the lady, struggling to feed the milk to the boy. The baby was persistent in refusing the drink.

"Not necessarily; the train will speed up and make up for the lost time."

"It has become very common for trains to not arrive in time."

"What can they do if elephants cross the tracks and don't allow the train to pass?" the man shrugged. "Nowadays we have to give more value to the animals, or else our little king won't be fortunate to see them when he grows up."

The train slowed down, and they could hear a broken voice coming from the speaker, announcing Vizag. People started getting ready to disembark as quickly as possible, although they all knew that the train would stop for twenty minutes at the major junction. Suddenly, the compartments filled with noise from luggage being moved around, murmurs of people waking up, cries of children who wanted to sleep more, and screeching of wheels.

"Chai, chai – tea, sir, tea?" a man in a railway uniform with a tea urn in his hand looked at the old man and asked.

"One cup," Seldo's father ordered, climbing down from his berth. His hand automatically went to his pocket for the wallet, and he took out ten rupees in coins to pay for the tea. As the vendor was going out after giving the change, the train came to a halt at the station. A few good minutes of commotion followed, as people got off the train and others got in, hustling each other in search for their seats. A short while after, the train started moving again.

When things settled down, the old man bent down to take his toothbrush and toothpaste from the bag. He started panicking when he could not see it in the spot where the young boy had placed it the previous evening. Then, frantically, he started searching under all the seats in the compartment.

He found many bags, but not his. He sat there, looking at the empty space where his backpack should have been, and realized that someone had taken it.
Chapter 12

The sun was burning bright, painting the sky in dazzling hues of gold. The pillars of the bridge were deeply submerged due to the high tide. The backwater was flowing like a river toward the land. Hundreds of cranes were perched on the mangroves, on either side of the water. The milky white birds looked like white spots on the green background. They crossed the channel frequently, diving into the water midway, and rising with their catch in their beaks. It was a great day for the birds, as there were plenty of fish jumping over the water. They seemed to like their new, rich dwellings; maybe that was the reason why they had chosen that place to migrate, rather than any other corner of the globe. The water body reflected the morning sun, a delightful, soul-lifting scene, although there was no one around to enjoy the blessings of nature.

Suddenly, three motorbikes screeched to a stop near the bridge. Carefully looking around, but without noticing the beauty of nature, the three thieves gathered at their usual place. They had two luggage bags, a dozen wallets, and a few purses with them. It had been one of the simplest operations.

"It was cool; nice work, you guys," said Altaf, admiring the catch. "There were guards around the station. I had to pay a hundred to one of them for a hassle-free exit, and that will come out of your share."

The first bag to be opened was a trolley with a lock, but no lock was a challenge for Altaf after his eighteen years of experience. He broke it open and frantically searched for money or jewelry. Unfortunately, all he could find were some files, certificates, two sets of clothes, and a pair of slippers in a plastic bag. He was disappointed. Disappointment also lurked in the other two thieves' eyes, who were watching the search, overwrought. Altaf jammed everything back in, got up, and just slid the bag onto the handrail of the bridge. Gravity did the rest. The trolley splashed when it hit the water.

Then he picked up the golden purse that seemed to have been owned by some rich lady. He opened it with great expectation. Frantically, he fumbled through it and took out the items one by one: a comb, a small mirror, face-cleansing tissues, a lipstick, and a few more items, which he was not content to see at all.

Altaf had a cross look on his face. Staring at the other two thieves, he threw the purse into the water.

He grabbed the other purses and wallets one at a time, and as he searched them, his disappointment grew heavier because there was little money or no valuables he could find in them.

They all ended up being thrown over the railing.

There was one more bag left on the ground. Babu picked it and respectfully gave it to Altaf.

Altaf grabbed it with indifference, staring straight at Babu. It was a small backpack. It was not locked, so he unzipped it fast, and to his dissatisfaction again, he found nothing in it, other than a few used clothes.

He rose to his feet. All three thieves were disheartened after weighing that morning's catch.

"Crap," Altaf murmured, looking in the distance. Then he grabbed the backpack and was ready to throw it over the handrail.

"Altaf..." yelled Roopesh, gripping his leader's arm at the last moment. Altaf stopped and threw his companion an inquiring and irritated look.

"Sorry... If you permit, can I take the bag?" Roopesh requested, looking down, ashamed at his own audacity.

Altaf looked at him in awe. Until then, there had been no requests since they started their business together, not to mention Altaf's aversion toward anyone interrupting him or disobeying his rules.

Babu looked at both, confused. He scratched his head, fearing an unnecessary scene.

"May I ask why you need this bag?" Altaf asked Roopesh, with mock politeness, but maintaining his composure.

"Altaf, you know my son is going to school these days, and he has no bag to carry his books. He been asking for one since he started, but I couldn't buy him one, and I think this would fit him," Roopesh said humbly.

Altaf stood for a moment with the bag in his hand. It was clear that conflicting thoughts were running through his mind.

"I need it only if you agree. Nothing should come between us." Roopesh kept his eyes down, regretting now that he had even opened his mouth.

"Roopesh," Altaf replied after a brief silence, "in our long history together, this is the first time you're asking for something for you personally, other than what I give..." Altaf stopped.

Roopesh and Babu looked at him, anxious and unable to comprehend what he wanted to say.

"And as your request is for the studies of your son, I'll give it to you cuz I don't want our sons to be like us in the future," he removed all the clothes from inside the bag, threw them in the water, and handed the backpack over to Roopesh.

"Be extremely careful. If the pigs smell it, this can very easily put all of us behind bars!"

Babu looked worried. He tried to get the bag from Roopesh and said, "Altaf-bhai, please throw this into the water. He'll buy a new one."

"No, let him have it. This is his first and last request."

Roopesh nodded as he understood both the grave danger of keeping the backpack with him and the fact that he wouldn't be able to ask anything from his master in the future.

Then, Altaf moved his hand swiftly in the air, the signal to disperse, so they climbed on their bikes and zoomed off to their shabby dwellings.
Chapter 13

The building could not be called a school formally. It was an old building, which had been utilized for stacking vegetables and as granary for rice, corn, beans, lentils, and other seeds that the farmers would then send across the country. As the market was shifted to a new place near the fields, the open hangar-like room became empty. Hence, the space was used by philanthropists for their charity works, as a location for blood donations, or for their palliative care meetings. After a while, the famous bank who owned the building approached the farmers committee that conducted the humanitarian works and offered it to them to be used as a school for poor children. The premises were cleaned and brought to a quasi-decent state. The bank provided them with desks and blackboards to facilitate the transformation.

Sitting on the wooden chair, Kavita was impatiently tapping the table that served as a teacher's desk with her fingers. A pedestal fan was running behind her—one of the few luxuries the bank had handed out—which provided great relief in the sultry climate. A book was open on the table, and its pages fluttered when the airflow of the fan came in their direction. She kept her phone on the open page to prevent it from turning.

It was eleven thirty, and her first period for the language was about to finish, and in another fifteen minutes - recess time - she should have been be ready for the second period, Mathematics. She glanced at the students sitting in their desks, in rows and columns, and she understood they were eagerly waiting for the recess. It was time for their snack, the biscuits and milk provided by the government: a nutritious treat in the poor children's life.

"Alright, children, you may go for a break. Everybody must be seated back before the next bell rings," then she signalled the boy sitting in the first row, in front of her, to ring the bell. The boy stood and ran as he was waiting for the order. It was a great honor in the boys' lives to announce recess, and they competed every day for that place near the teacher, each trying to arrive first at school and occupy it. Only the first comer got the chance to ring the bell.

The child picked up the iron rod and, with it, hit the wheel cap hanging outside the door. As the bell rang, children ran out of their classes and lined up to receive their food. The teacher responsible with food distribution that day was trying to appease them and diminish the commotion that had started. After receiving their share, the children went to a clearing they had made themselves near the building and sat down on the ground to enjoy their first meal of the day.

It was Kavita's last month in the fellowship program offered by the bank. She had just finished high school in Bangalore, her native city, and was about to apply for higher education. In a twist of fate, she came across the fellowship program in a personalized email from the bank. She applied for it, although she thought she didn't stand a chance. But fate decided for her, and she was selected to be part of the one-year fellowship program for upgrading the life of rural population and providing education to underprivileged children. She saw it as a chance to grow, experience being in a different atmosphere, and a nice thing to add to her resume, so she was happy to join.

Looking back and considering her year's experience in the program, a wave of warmth and happiness washed over her.

Sitting on the chair, alone in the large classroom, she kept her eyes on the smartphone on the table, eager to see her husband online. Her husband, Vijay, was working in a multinational software company, and she knew that he had to turn his phone off during working hours. He usually came online on Facebook whenever he found himself free, usually during his coffee break or at lunch time. It was about time for his coffee break, so she was impatiently waiting for him to come online. She was so excited to tell him the good news.

As a matter of fact, just six months ago, Kavita didn't even know Vijay. It was her uncle who brought the alliance with Vijay's family. After her parents and uncles held a long discussion at home, her mother let Kavita know about the proposal over the phone. She was initially reluctant to get married as she wanted to study further and secure a good government job, just like any other Indian girl. However, the next day, when she opened her inbox, she saw an email from her father about the marriage proposal with a photo attached to it. She blushed when she saw Vijay's photo as he was handsome. After finding out that he also earned a good salary, she agreed with the marriage. Everything was fine, except for the huge dowry Vijay's family was asking for: eight hundred grams of gold in jewelry, a Maruti Suzuki Swift - the sedan most Indians prefer- and all household appliances needed for a new home.

Her father was compelled by his family members, mainly his mother and his in-laws, to pay the dowry even if he had to take a bank loan. Therefore, he took a personal loan from the very bank that had offered his daughter the fellowship program, and he was aware he had to repay it in instalments for the rest of his life. He was sincerely thinking how lucky he was for not having another daughter. The marriage was well organized, though it happened quickly. The young couple were also very happy with the match, although they had to part soon due to the nearly a thousand kilometers distance between their work places. Most weekends, Vijay would surprise Kavita with his presence by flying from Bangalore, the city in the middle of the subcontinent, to Vizag, on the eastern shore.

Classes resumed after recess. She changed her English book to Math. She stood up and wrote some numbers on the blackboard, explained the lesson to the children, and then gave them an exercise to solve by themselves.

As the children were busily writing on their notebooks and counting on their little fingers, she was walking on the aisle between the desks. She noticed something different about one of the boys: he was smiling. That was rather uncommon during a math exercise, but more uncommon was the new backpack behind him on the chair.

This is interesting, she thought.

It is not at all surprising to see a schoolboy with a backpack, but for a boy from that dilapidated neighbourhood to have such a good quality bag was unexpected. Although the bank had initially provided bags to the children, the quality was so poor that they did not last long. In three months, the children came to school with the bag torn or no bag at all. This boy was the first student she had seen to come to school with a quality backpack.

"Good," she said as she took the bag from the child and asked, "Who has bought this for you, my son?"

"My father, teacher," said the boy with pride.

"Nice." Then she slid her hand in the bag, through the open zipper, and was happy to find the books they had provided. There were three more pockets on the outside of the bag, two on the sides and one on the front. She curiously opened all the small pockets. From one of the side pockets came out a few folded sheets of paper: a railway ticket and a paper with an address in Ernakulam.

Then she turned the page and found the scribbling on the back. They looked like rhymes written by a kid. The letters were large and not well rounded, but legible:

"I am a lost boy.

I lost my family many years ago

This is my tenth year here, I guess

That was what Bhai told me

I remember, a beggar gave me sweets

Who was beaten by Dada

I will come back here after a month

I will sit under the first shop from the Gateway

God, bring my family here.

June 7, 2014. Evening 5."

For a moment, she stared at the paper. Initially she thought the doodle could belong to some kindergarten child, but something caught her eye and made her think it over. The paper was dated just four days ago, and a young kid wouldn't know to write a date.

"What does your father do?" she asked.

"I don't know, miss," the innocent answer came.

"Good bag," she said, without thinking much of its origin.

"Thank you, miss," the child responded quickly.

Kavita was happy to hear that the child was well-mannered and replied fondly, "Welcome."

Soon, the math class was over, and lunchtime arrived. The children were given food: rice, eggs, and sambar – vegetable curry. She usually ate the same food, as the management was welcomed to eat with the children. She was happy to share the same food with them.

However, that day, she was eagerly waiting for her husband to come online and did not feel like eating. She looked at her phone restlessly. She dialed his number. The automated message came, "The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please..." She ended it before completion as she had heard it many times that day. She walked away slowly, thinking. She wandered on the paths in the schoolyard.

"Kavita, are you not having your lunch?" a fellow teacher asked, as the time for the afternoon session was nearing.

She looked at her watch: fifteen minutes more.

"One minute; I am coming," she replied and tapped on her phone to send a message to her husband.
Chapter 14

"We are the modern era slaves," said Vijay to his colleague Jacob on the way to the washroom. Entering the washroom, he removed his spectacles and placed them on the slab, collected water in his hands, and threw it on his face. As the cold water splashed his face, he felt the coolness transferring from the water to his eyes and then to his brain. He closed his eyes for a minute, covering them with his wet hand, leaning on the sink, and looked intently into the dark spot he perceived behind his eyelids. Then he opened his eyes and combed his hair with the wet hand, running his fingers through hairlocks and over the ears. He felt relieved from the stress caused by the many hours of work on the computer.

Time passed very quickly.

Taking a long breath, he came out of the room. His friend Jacob was already out and enjoying a cigarette and a cup of coffee. When Vijay came near, he handed him a cigarette too.

"Thanks," he took it and lit it up, "this is our best friend, even if we know it's very harmful; however, less damaging than sitting the whole day in front of the computer." He took a long puff and exhaled. Slowly, he felt his heart rate increasing and his head heavy.

"It seems we have to work the whole night," said Jacob with a cross look on his face, taking another puff.

"Look there," suddenly Vijay started laughing and pointed with his half-burnt cigarette to a whiteboard placed on a stand in a corner of the hallway. White smoke rose up from his cigarette.

"Work is worship," Jacob turned around to see the 'thought of the day,' and his laughter joined Vijay's. Under the 'thought,' also scribbled on the board, were a constructive joke and a happy birthday wish for an employee.

"Yeah," Vijay added, not being able to stop laughing, "don't you see we even have forgotten to have lunch? What goes in our stomachs for the entire day are some cups of coffee and biscuits."

Vijay took another puff, and then he shrugged, "What are we working for? I don't understand."

Since childhood, Vijay always had an inherent spirit of adventure within him, and all he wanted to do was to roam the world and live freely. He was very brilliant in school and had won the coveted prize for finishing high school at the top of his class. When the town mayor had called him on stage during the award ceremony to give him the prize, he had asked him, "Son, what do you want to become in the future?"

"I would like to be a snake catcher," the young Vijay innocently replied.

A mutter arose from the hundreds of mouths, as the audience did not know whether to take the boy seriously or not. The next moment, disbelief was followed by contained laughter when they imagined the top-of-the-class boy going to catch snakes, with a stick in his hand and a sack on his shoulder.

Every parent in India wants their son to be an engineer or MBA graduate and their daughter to be a doctor and then go to the US or Europe to earn a nice salary. Or, atleast, a nurse to serve in Middle East or Australia. Therefore, that was the answer expected from an intelligent boy like Vijay, but the answer rattled everyone's thoughts. Above all, it shattered his mother's dreams.

"Did I hear right that you want to be a snake charmer?" asked the mayor, bringing the mic closer to the young boy's mouth.

"Yes, sir," the little Vijay assured him, "have you seen the cobra raising its hood, sir? How beautiful it is! And my ambition is to catch the black mamba in the African jungle; you know, it is the deadliest snake in the world."

The mic amplified his speech, and the big speakers broadcasted it. Parents and teachers listened to it. The laughter had stopped, and desperate mutterings reigned the atmosphere.

"Well, you don't need to graduate to tame wild snakes," the mayor teased.

"But they come on TV and educate people; have you not seen Steve Irvin on TV, sir?'

All that the honorable guest could do was to smile at the boy.

Later, it was for his mother that he joined a famous technical college and became a software engineer. Although he did not get a job in the US, he obtained a job in an American company and a beautiful salary. His mother was proud of his achievement. That also brought her a very good dowry from her daughter-in-law.

"You know, they were ready to give us even a BMW for my son's abilities," she used to tell her neighbors, "but we would have been too greedy, no? So we just refused it."

Thoughts occupied his mind for a few moments, and then, as the cigarette burned his fingers, he came back to reality.

"Am I not right? Aren't we the slaves of modern era?" he asked, putting the cigarette butt in the dust bin.

Jacob sighed.

"We have our boss. We work for him like oxen in the field. Atleast the oxen rest after sunset. Look at us - it's nearly eight o' clock in the evening, and we are only halfway through the project," Vijay said desperately. "You know, Jacob, I always wished to be in the African jungle, taking rare photos of the wildlife: elephants, lions, and snakes... enjoying the hot sun, drenching in the heavy rain, and running in the swirling dust... sleeping in the tent, listening to the rain outside, and bathing in the natural rivers... eating from the mud pot with the African children, and dancing with the tribes, with the stick in my hand and feathers on my head... I wanted my wild photos and videos to be seen by the world, and what am I doing here?" he stopped for a moment as a fellow worker went past him to the toilet.

"I am killing my dreams in this cubicle... caffeine is the only thing that gives me energy anymore, although I wanted to drink this coffee on the plantations in Ghana... soon, Jacob, I will leave this job and all the files behind, and buy myself a camera and a tent. There is no adventure here. We are just robots performing commands received from the boss," vomiting his thoughts out, he took his mobile phone and exclaimed, "Ha! Just look here! I totally forgot that my cell phone was discharged!"

Looking desperate, he put it to charge in the nearest plug, switched the mobile on, and waited for the messages.

The Samsung logo appeared, and slowly, the screen came to life. The icons came into view, and the network lines aligned themselves in the right corner. He turned on his mobile data. In a few moments, he could see several notifications from different social and service providers. He first looked for his email provider. His emails appeared in three different categories, and he was eager to check his personal one. There was a message from his wife, Kavita. He tapped on the subject line, opening it:

"Hi sweetheart, I have been waiting for your call or for you to come online since morning. I could not find you, so I guess you were very busy at work. It's OK.

I am very happy to inform you that a little life is growing inside me. You are going to be a father. I will be very, very happy if you come over here. Please call me as soon as you get this message...'

There were tears flowing from Vijay's eyes.

"Jacob...' he shouted.

Then he went ahead and hugged his colleague. Jacob stood wondering, not knowing how to respond to the unexpected gesture.

"What's the matter, Vijay?" he asked.

"I'm going to be a father soon."

"Really!?Yaaahooo, congratulations," now it was Jacob's turn to hug Vijay. Then he took the whiteboard marker and wrote:

"Congratulations to Vijay for being an expecting father."

Then they left to their cubicles to continue working. Vijay couldn't focus, so he gladly opened the message to read it again. His thumb scrolled down:

"...I will be very, very happy if you come over here. Please call me as soon as you get this message.

Thank you, darling, for making me a mother.

Other than that, everything's fine here. My job is also going well, the children's standard is increasing, and today a little boy came to class with a good quality bag. And I have found an interesting and peculiar note in that boy's bag, seemingly from a lost child to his parents. Unbelievably, it was written four days ago. I have taken a photo of it, and as I know you are interested in such intriguing things, I have attached it to this message.

Thanks again, and hope you will come to me soon.

Love you, darling."

The letter ended. Tears were still flowing from Vijay's eyes. He cleaned them and then got up to see the manager. He wanted an urgent leave for ten days. He was not sure whether he would get it, as the office was going through a busy schedule.

The manager was a middle-aged man, who spent most of his nights in the office, always in control and responsible, always on duty.

"May I come in, sir?" Vijay asked for permission, after knocking and slightly pushing the door open.

The manager glanced up from the monitor he was looking at and nodded at Vijay to enter and take a seat.

Vijay entered and humbly took the seat in front of the desk. From the corner of his eye, he could see the computer monitor on which the manager was working. The cursor was blinking on a Word document, and the boss seemed to be very deeply absorbed in thought. Behind him, slightly above his head, a TV was running mute. Vijay could watch the TV, its mirrored image, on the glass table, and he could read the reflection of the streaming stock prices. A lady was presenting the business news. A digital clock with a thermometer was on the table. The dots between the hour and minutes blinked.

The manager continued to look at the monitor. As the moments passed, Vijay started feeling uneasy, but didn't dare to move in his chair. Occasionally, his boss would hit a few keys of the keyboard, and that was the only thing that broke the silence.

Thinking of his request for a leave at this particular time, his anxiety shot up, so he could hear his own heartbeat like a drum in his chest. He took a long breath and left it out slowly, careful to not make any sound.

Two minutes passed.

"These Americans are very punctual, and they want everything in their time," the manager raised his head up and leaned back. Then he came forward, took the glass of water from the table, and drank it sip by sip. He placed the empty glass back on the table and again leaned back in his chair, as if to relax himself from a torturing job.

"Hope you are on track, Vijay?" he asked.

"Sir, we are working hard to complete the project by midnight; we are halfway through, sir." Vijay felt that the ice was broken, and his heartbeat slowed down its pace a little.

"Good. Let me know when it is over."

"Sure, sir," then Vijay waited for a while, unable to express his requirement.

"Anything else, Vijay?"

"Yes, sir," he hesitated. Mustering enough courage up, he said, "I am going to be a father soon, sir."

"Congratulations, Vijay, this is great news. We will celebrate it; the company will cover the expense." He leaned forward to shake his hand.

Vijay blushed. He shook hands with the manager.

"Sir, my wife is alone in a rural area, and I wanted to be with her at least for a week," he said in very humble tone. "If you could, please, grant me a ten-day leave, I would be very happy."

The boss's face changed expression, growing distressed.

"Vijay, you know our situation," the manager said. Then he leaned back again in his chair, thinking deeply, comprehending the situation of his valuable employee and, in the same time, considering the company's needs. The manager was a smart leader and was aware of the dilemma he was in. He knew that if he did not grant the leave, the motivational factor would affect Vijay, and it would probably influence his output negatively. The company was mostly depending on the creativity of its employees, and the brain works well when it's happy and trouble-free.

Vijay grew apprehensive, looking at his manager.

"Alright," said the boss, releasing the leaning chair from under his weight. "I can grant you a five-day leave, including the weekend, Vijay. I hope that would suffice."

"Sir, it's around a thousand-kilometer journey from here to Vizag. The train takes nearly 24 hours to reach there. I will lose more than two days on the road."

The manager thought for a while, and then he turned his chair toward the personal laptop he kept open at his left. It was in sleep mode, so he hit some keys, and the monitor lit up.

"Vijay, the flight takes just one hour and a half," he said after quickly searching the internet. "You go by plane, get me the tickets, and I will record it as a business trip, so you can enjoy the whole five days with your wife; a win-win deal, isn't it?"

"Thank you, sir," Vijay was happy, although he had already decided to go to his wife by plane at his own expense. Now that it was official, he could save a considerable amount, which he could spend on buying a nice gift for her.

"Then you can catch the morning flight at 8 a.m. And be present on the sixth day here, is that alright?"

"Alright, sir. Thanks again."

Vijay stood up and started to leave. As he was reaching the door, the manager said in a commanding voice, "And don't forget to complete the job tonight."

"Sure, sir, I will only leave when the project has been completed."

The manager smiled. He was satisfied with himself for finding such a solution for the problem. He had to give up his employee only for three days, other than the weekend.
Chapter 15

At seven in the morning, Vijay was in his flat, a posh apartment in the heart of Bangalore city, on the fourth floor of a ten-story apartment complex. He had just arrived home and was frantically packing his bag. He ran in and out of rooms like greased lightning. The flat looked like a storm from the Bay of Bengal had just crossed it. A bag lay open on the sofa near the entrance, looking like a mouth of an anaconda that gulped everything that was thrown into it. Quickly, as he finished packing everything he needed for five days, he turned the main switch off as he was not sure whether he had turned off all the electric appliances. He locked the door and pushed the button of the elevator, but didn't wait for it to come. He thought climbing down the stairs would save him time. He jumped two steps at a time until he reached the ground floor. In the parking lot, he opened the door of his car and flung his bag in it. Throwing himself in the driver's seat, he started the car, and then swung it around, like in a Bollywood car stunt, and headed for the airport. The tires screeched, and the car reached the highest power the engine permitted. Meanwhile, he did not forget to wave his hand, grinning at the security guard, who was staring at him, bewildered.

He knew it would take him at least forty-five minutes in the busy traffic to reach the airport. The houses and lonely trees moved past. Even though it was early in the morning, the Bangalore city had already woken up, and the roads became busier with every passing minute. Vijay felt as if the car was not moving, although his engine was continuously revving up. Frustrated, he was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, keeping his eyes on the clock.

Forty minutes later, he was in front of the airport. He parked the car in the parking lot, then ran toward the entrance, rushed in, and stopped in front of the first counter.

"I need a ticket for the flight to Vizag that's around 8 a.m."

"Sorry, sir," the girl behind the counter replied with a forced smile on her face, "all the passengers have already checked in, and the flight is ready for takeoff."

"Crap!" Vijay banged on the counter. The lady looked at him shocked. Her eyebrows furrowed up. A few people were around, in the waiting area, and they all turned their gaze on him.

Realizing his mistake, Vijay controlled his emotions and tried to regain his composure.

"Sorry, I am really sorry," he said and added in a pleading voice, "Can you please tell me when the next flight is?"

Shaking her head, so as to show her disapproval of such customers at the start of the day, she looked at the monitor and continuously clicked on the mouse.

"Sir, you have one at nine, but it will have a stop in Hyderabad," she said in a few seconds.

"What time will it reach Vizag?"

"At noon."

"What about a direct flight?"

"Direct flight at two p.m."

"OK," he said instantly, "please book me a ticket for the flight at nine via Hyderabad."

It felt like a long wait at the airport, even though it wasn't even an hour. He cursed the traffic and everything that came in his way that made him late. If only he had arrived there ten minutes earlier... He walked on the corridor, restless, checked things on his mobile, read the newspaper, and observed the different kinds of people who came and went. He was tired and felt more lethargic as time passed. The sleepless night had made him drowsy, and he dozed off on one or two occasions, so he intermittently went for coffee and to the washroom to overcome his sleepiness.

Then, the announcement came for his flight, and he embarked the plane without any unpleasant events. He felt butterflies in his stomach when the aircraft took off. Although he was hyperactive, he tried to settle down in the seat. He took long, deep breaths and closed his eyes, focusing on his breath to keep himself calm.

"A cup of coffee."

Vijay opened his eyes when he heard the voice. He was surprised that he did not even notice his fellow travelers who were sitting in the seats next to him- a man in his thirties and a young girl around six years old. He had a very light complexion and was slightly plump, and the girl was simply cute. A beautiful airhostess was standing on the aisle, pouring coffee in a cup.

"What do you want, Elizabeth?" asked the man, who seemed to be the father of the child.

"Chips,' she said, pouting.

"Chips, tomato flavor," the man repeated to the airhostess.

She fumbled through the items in the trolley and handed the plastic bag over to the man.

"Would you like to have something, sir?" the airhostess turned to Vijay.

"A bottle of water, please," he said.

"Anything else, sir?" asked the airhostess handing over the water bottle.

"Two bars of chocolate," he ordered, received them from the airhostess, and held them out to the child sitting near him.

"Sorry, uncle," the little girl said, "I don't take anything from strangers."

Her father turned to Vijay, looking perplexed.

"I am going to be a father. I am happy. I just want to share it with you," Vijay said to the man.

"Congratulations," the man put his hand forth and smiled; he took the chocolates and gave one to his child.

"My name is Vijay; I'm a software engineer."

"I am Toji, Toji Mathew. A psychologist in Bangalore."

"A psychologist! I hope you won't put me to sleep, haha,' Vijay smiled.

"No, but you will sleep without my help, anyway, as soon as this aircraft gains altitude."

"How do you know?"

"Your eyes say so."

"Oh, you are right," Vijay sighed, "I had a hectic night. Anyways, I am going to Vizag. I will have to change planes at Hyderabad. Are you going to Hyderabad?"

"No, we are going to Delhi; we will get off at Hyderabad. My daughter is on vacation," then he looked at his daughter, "she is studying in Delhi. We are going back, what about you?"

"I am from Bangalore, and my wife is working in Vizag, and I am going there to see her as she yesterday informed me about the happy news."

"Oh, good. Your wife is also a software engineer?"

"No sir, she is a teacher now; she is doing her fellowship in a village in Vizag."

"That's fantastic; I am happy to hear your wife is doing such a great work. I always wanted to go and work with underprivileged children, but it hasn't happened until now."

"Thank you, sir; she will complete her fellowship next month, and you may try for it next year," Vijay said, smiling.

Toji smiled back.

Their conversation stopped there, and soon, Vijay started drifting off. The intermittent announcements from the captain reached his ears as if from a dream in a hazy world.

"Dear passengers, the flight will land in Hyderabad in a few minutes..." He finally heard, quickly opened his eyes, and looked around.

"Papa, look there..." the child shouted looking through the windowpane, enthralled to show her father the beautiful lakes and the winding roads between the numerous buildings.

As the aircraft landed, the doctor handed his business card to Vijay and said, "This is my card, drop by my office in Bangalore anytime; I would be happy to see you with your wife and child."

"Why? We are a happy family, sir." Vijay said with a smile on his face.

"Haha," he laughed, "I like it; come for a cup of coffee sometime."

"Sure, sir, I will," Vijay too smiled at him.
Chapter 16

"This is your last day in this office," said the manager and handed the letter over to Apurva. "I am sorry."

I don't understand... Did I hear this right? Apurva stood frozen, looking at her dismissal letter.

"Sir, if you give me a little more time, I can prove myself," Apurva said, humbly.

"I have given you enough time, I'm sorry. The board has decided."

She had learned from the years of service with him there was nothing more to say to the cruel manager. He only wanted results. Apurva had seen many employees fired in front of her eyes. She was expecting it at any time, but not this soon.

"Now you can go," said the broadcasting manager.

"Thank you, sir; it was a great privilege for me to work under you for all these years; I am grateful..." she said, with tears welling up in her eyes. Her voice was shaking, so she stopped there, turned her back, and exited through the glass door.

"Everything has ended. My freedom, my confidence, my self-esteem. Where should I go now? What should I do?" She stood there, numb.

As she exited, the manager sighed, took his glasses off, and put them on the table. He looked up and tried to find solace in the mental abyss. This was the most abhorred moment in his profession. He had to become part of removing the weeds from the company. However, after firing a large number of people, a frequent experience in his life as a manager, he became indifferent to the situation. But this time was different. He felt a little pain in his heart. Apurva was a talented woman; she had given her best to the television station from its beginnings.
Chapter 17

Doctor Toji Mathew and his little daughter walked out of the Delhi airport, and one person was desperately waiting for them, waving her hands in the air and smiling as she caught sight of them - Toji's wife, Apurva Mathew.

Elizabeth ran toward her mother as she saw her standing in the public space outside the exit point.

"My little sweetheart," Apurva took Elizabeth in her arms and swirled her in the air. She kissed her all over her cheeks, and the little one returned the kisses. Toji stood there holding his trolley and was happy looking at them. Then Apurva advanced to Toji, and they hugged each other.

"I missed you," she whispered in his ear. "It was so terrible without my little darling," Apurva said while walking, leading the group to their car in the parking lot.

"Aha, then think about me: I only get to see her once a month," Toji said, following her.

"Leave the job and come back to Delhi," she said mockingly, but the next moment she looked sad, as if some bitter thoughts had rewound in her mind. "Don't lose your job, Toji, because I had already lost mine. Yesterday I was fired."

"You were fired!" Toji stood for a moment. His eyebrows furrowed in awe.

"Yes, dear, I am out of job now. Start walking, this is a road," she pulled her husband forward.

"But why?"

"The ratings of the station have been considerably low in the past year..." she opened the trunk of the car for Toji to place his bag in it, then moved ahead and sat in the driving seat, while her husband sat next to her, and their daughter took her place in the back. As the car moved out of the airport, she continued, "The network has been losing money in the last few months. Six months back, the station gave an ultimatum to create new programs that would grab the masses. We did our best with new comedies, series, dance programs, and whatever we could think of... but nothing worked, and the ratings went even lower... finally, it was yesterday that I received my dismissal letter, along with the rest of my team."

"No problem, dear, we still have a lot to enjoy. You can come with me to Bangalore, where we can have a life together," he stopped for a moment, then said to lift her mood, "Actually, losing your job serves a greater purpose. I can finally be with my darlings."

She turned to her husband and smiled.

"It's been seven years since our marriage, and we have been living apart all this time. Now it's the time to live together."

Toji was from Kerala, but had settled in Delhi. His wife, Apurva, was born and brought up in Mumbai. While Toji was completing his post-graduation studies in psychology, in Mumbai, he met Apurva, who, at the time, was working part-time selling bags in a shop in the mall.

Love at first sight.

The first time he saw her, Toji looked at her with such passion, being convinced, that instant, that he wanted her to be his life partner. Thereafter he went many times to the shop, under the pretext of buying bags, but most of the times she was not present. He rarely saw her and spoke to her even less often.

About six months went by like that, then one day, his day had come. He went with his friend Anil to the shop, looking for his sweetheart, and he found her standing behind the counter, staring at the computer in front of her. The only other person in the shop was a boy dusting the bags.

Instantly, Toji mustered all his courage up and explained the plan to his friend: Anil would take care of the boy, and Toji would propose to her. That was their cleverly-designed plan.

First, they asked the boy about the shop owner, a fat man with a big mustache hanging over his lips. He wasn't there that day. When they found out they wouldn't be disturbed, they followed the plan.

Anil started asking the boy about prices and types of bags, trying to look interested. Toji neared the counter with his heart rate rising. Although the mall was very noisy, he could hear his own palpitations.

After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the counter and looked straight at the girl. Apurva also looked nervous, not knowing what to expect from this guy, whom she had seen wasting time around the shop many times, always looking at her in a strange way.

"I love you and I would like to marry you," Toji whispered his words. He felt his throat dry. There was a drum beating behind his ribs. He felt his shivering legs were about to cheat him, and he would fall at any moment.

Apurva, who was equally nervous, was lost for words.

"I don't decide in such matters; it must be all planned by my father," she replied after a few moments, regaining her composure.

"So do you want me to discuss this matter with your father?" Toji asked her.

"My father decides everything; it's upto you."

"Where is your father? Where do you live?"

"My father will come in a few minutes; I am here because he was busy in a business meeting."

"You mean, the big mustache, the gigantic man, the potbelly... is your father?"

"What?" She looked at him with a cross look on her face, and said, "Yes, he will come soon." That same moment, she could see the boy's energy leaving him.

"Ok, then I will talk to him soon. Now I am leaving," he said and left the shop quickly, forgetting about his friend.

Another week went by, full of tension and anxiety. He wanted the girl, but the big mustached man was a nightmare. He did not know what the man's reaction would be when he would go to him with the proposal.

Will he accept me?

Or will he just slap me in the face?

He was scared and imagined all the possible outcomes vividly.

Whatever it was, he had to talk to her father. His love toward her was stronger than his fear. He practiced how to talk, how to walk, how to enter the shop, how to greet her father, and how to present his proposal. After he rehearsed everything well, the next Sunday he went to meet the man of his nightmares.

Anil waited outside. Toji alone entered the shop. The shop owner stood up behind the counter. The shop was empty.

He smiled and welcomed the young customer.

Toji tried to smile. But it was just a vain attempt. His face blushed.

With trembling knees, which, thanks to the loose pants, were not visible from the outside, he put forth his wish to the man with the big mustache.

"My name is Toji," he said, "I am doing my post-graduation... in psychology..."

"Good," the man said, "we have trendy bags for college students."

"I would like to marry your girl." The spontaneous words came out, not requiring him to think as they had been rehearsed many times.

The man stood for a moment in disbelief.

"What does your father do and which part of the country are you from?" he responsibly asked, coming down to earth, and understanding the gravity of the situation.

"My father is a government employee, and we are residing in Delhi, although we are basically from Kerala," he said and felt the tension all over his body.

"Actually, we don't get united with other castes, and especially, not with people from other states." Then a sermon came about the disadvantages of marrying someone from a different caste or state.

Disheartened, Toji listened to his lecture. He was very careful not to make any counterstatements as he knew he was just making an impression, and listening to what the father had to say was also a powerful communication skill.

Then he bade Apurva's father good bye, dejectedly.

The following months, Toji was busy with his study tours. Although his marriage proposal had failed, no day went by without him thinking of Apurva.

Six months later, when he went to the mall again, he happened to see her alone in the shop, so he went in.

"Hi, long time no see," she greeted him.

"Yeah, I was on a study tour. And as I said I would, I have talked to your father, but he refused my proposal; are you aware of this?"

"Yes, he discussed this matter with us. He warned me not to talk to strangers like you."

"Oh, no, he doesn't like me, I think."

"You can give it one more try; he may agree," she said smilingly, unable to hide her womanly qualities.

Toji stood there. He could not believe those words. This time, he felt the butterflies in his stomach. Yes, that was a clear proof that she liked him. He had crossed the first obstacle. She loved him.

"Sure. I will," he replied smiling.

Later, Toji tried not once, but many times, and it was a great struggle for him to convince their parents, as the cultures were different between the Malayalees of Kerala and the Marathas of Maharashtra. Two years went by, and finally Apurva's father had to agree to the marriage, as she was persistent in marrying Toji only.

"How quickly time passes!" he sighed, looking at the asphalt through the windshield. "It's been seven years already."

"What a shot, it's four runs, Papa," said Elizabeth jumping on the sofa. Sitting next to her, watching the game, Toji smiled at her. On his right, Apurva was leaning on his shoulder.

"It is very disappointing, dear," Apurva said to Toji.

"What, you losing the job? It happens to everyone, dear. Don't worry. Only a window closed. God will open a thousand more windows for you. There may be a reason for everything that happens. People don't like change. That's why they are struggling. Now horizons are open for you. Do whatever you feel like. Life is yours. Come on, be positive. All the twenty-four hours in the day are now yours. Welcome the change. In you and the people around you," Toji counseled her.

His mobile, on the teapoy before him, blinked, and the vibration brought ripples in the water glass. He checked it. It was a friend request from Vijay on Facebook, so he accepted it, and in a second, there was a notification, "Now you are friends with Vijay. Click to write on his timeline."

He tapped to see Vijay's timeline. He was eager to know about his new friend. Scrolling down, he saw his details and his recent posts expressing his excitement about his expected fatherhood.

"Congratulations," Toji commented.

Then a photo drew his eyes.

He read it and reread it. It looked like the scribbling of a nursery child.

"I am a lost boy.

I lost my family many years ago

This is my tenth year here, I guess

That was what Bhai told me

I remember, a beggar gave me sweets

Who was beaten by Dada

I will come back here after a month

I will sit under the first shop from the Gateway

God, bring my family here.

June 7, 2014. Evening 5."

The commentator on TV was shouting about the huge hit, and the ball was flying toward the pavilion. The umpire was raising his hands to show a six. The famous player who had scored a hundred raised his bat in the air in return to the public's applause.

"Papa, it's a six," cried Elizabeth.

Doctor Toji kept staring at the phone.

It was a surprise for Apurva as her husband was a diehard fan of cricket and of that particular player, but he was not even taking his eyes off the phone.

"Toji, it was a six, and the player scored a hundred."

"Do you want to go back to the TV station?" he asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Would you like to work again for the network and make a change in the life of a child?"

"Sorry, I don't understand what you..." Apurva said to her husband.

"Read it," Toji handed over the phone.

"What is this?" She read the message.

"It's not just a poem; it was dated. If that's real, an intelligent lost boy wrote it, and he is in search of his unknown family."

"That's interesting," Apurva thought for a moment, then she asked, "But how would it bring my profession back?"

"It will, I guarantee." Then he told her his plan.

She agreed with her husband, though thinking about the way her manager had treated her last filled her with anger and frustration.

"Dear, I am with you," she said, finding refuge on his shoulder.
Chapter 18

The phone rang. Manager Rishi was hesitant to pick it up. He used to receive such phone calls from the fired employees often, as to reconsider them for the job. The ringing stopped, and then it started again.

"Crap," crying out, he picked up the phone, staring at the number. After a long ring, he swiped the screen to receive it.

"Ha, sorry Apurva, I was busy..."

"Sir, I have an important program to run; this will help our ratings; the whole nation will watch it."

"Apurva, the board had decided to fire some employees, and unfortunately, you were one of them. I can't help, sorry."

"Sir, give me just twenty days. I will make it happen. I don't even need payment if it does not make a wave all over the country," she was determined.

Manager Rishi thought for a while. He had never heard such a confident Apurva in his life.

"Sir, give me a chance," Apurva pleaded. She needed it badly because more than being a simple job, it was a mission for her now. She wanted to find the child and his parents. She liked the adventure the project implied.

"It is difficult now for me, Apurva..."

"Sir, but it is not impossible," Apurva interrupted.

"Alright, come to the office tomorrow; we will think of it. And don't come with any bullshit."

"Thank you, sir."

"Good night."

"Good night, sir."

Rishi tossed the phone on the bed, disturbed.

Apurva looked at her husband, doubtfully.

"We'll do it," Toji raised his right thumb and smiled.

Then he phoned his clinic, letting them know he wouldn't be in for the next few days.
Chapter 19

"This won't work," Rishi leaned forward to return the paper to Apurva.

Apurva and Toji looked at each other. A gust of disappointment shadowed Apurva's face.

"A child lost ten years ago!" Rishi cried, moving his arms apart, in an exaggerated posture. "What do we care for a ten-year-old lost boy? Who will watch it?" he accompanied his words with excessive agitation of his hands to express the hyperbolic impossibility of the project.

"Sir, first of all, thanks a lot for having me here," now Toji said, sitting calmly near Apurva. "May I please ask you why you think it won't work?"

"Because there is no credibility to this paper!" Rishi answered with a petulant toss of the head. "And what is worse, you don't even have the original paper. This is just a copy. And who is going to believe that a little poem-like message bears such a meaning... I'm ninety-nine percent sure this is fake."

"Sir, but there is still one chance it could be true," Toji said, smiling.

Rishi shook his head in disgust, "And do you think any company will offer to sponsor such a program?"

"Sir, there are two goals to this operation. As far as I am concerned, I have a chance to link together two desperate people looking for each other out in the world. And for you, there's a chance of boosting the ratings of your station..."

"You may be right if the message had been written by a real lost boy, just tell me... which street child in this world knows to read and write? In English, for that matter! English is not a mother tongue in any of our states," Rishi looked down at Toji, highly confident that he was right in his assumptions. Encouraged by his own aplomb, he continued his tirade, to achieve triumph over the couple's morale, "People like dance programs and crime series that can hook them. Such shows had the highest ratings in all other channels in the past years. Your program would be a great risk."

"Sir, I value your experience in this area. But everyone likes a change. We are the ones to tell the world what will work in the future, not the other way around, and not what worked in the past. Let's think differently. Thinking out of the box will bring us success. Every new venture is a risk," Toji maintained his composure and spoke in a well-trained manner. Years of practice in his clinic helped him convince the man in front of him. "And if it's fake, I would be the only one who loses, and you would still be a winner."

"How?" Rishi drew his palms wide apart again, unable to hide his astonishment.

"Being a psychotherapist, I know that humans love such unions, love to see families reunite. The whole program will be aired live. We will broadcast details about the letter, and we will hire a celebrity to attract people into it. He will talk before the camera as instructed, like the guests who talk during the half-time break of a football game. We will invite people who have lost their kids to call us. I believe this is a nation where there is no dearth of such people. We will get calls from different parts of the country. I will counsel the poor parents and will find the most suitable family according to the information we have.

We will get calls, we will answer, we will chat with them, and everything goes live. As we get more information from them, we can filter the people and pinpoint one family. Then, on the final day, we will get the family to this place, where the child has indicated in his message... and in between I will discuss with the celebrity. One hour will go like that..." he snapped his fingers, "and the whole nation will watch keenly to see whether the boy will get his family, or if he will come to the place.

I think everything is going to run smoothly... and in that case, whether the child comes or not, your ratings will soar high... And the beauty of it all is that you don't need to pay my wife or me... just give us an opportunity..."

Rishi just kept looking at him. He was mesmerized by Toji's words. He was all ears.

Toji now leaned forward, brought his hands together, and requested:

"Sir, this is not just about making money or for the game of ratings... Please help us bring this problem before the nation and help us join two desperate hearts... There are many such children living in the streets. Let's do something for them. Every business thrives when it contributes to society. That's the law of nature. You help others to get help."

Rishi leaned back and turned his gaze toward the small aquarium where a goldfish was swimming. He continuously stared at it and followed its zig-zag movements. Whenever he was in a dilemma, he did that, believing that the goldfish brought a solution to the problem. It wasn't superstition that drove him to rely on the tiny creature. He was aware his mind relaxed when he followed the fish, and thus, it was diverted for a moment from the problem. Soon the solution emerged from the calm mind.

"Alright, I will give you a chance... This is for you, only for you, doctor." Then he glanced at the calendar on the table and continued to speak, "I will spare one hour from nine to ten p.m., for the next twenty days."

"Thank you, sir, thank you very much!" Toji's eyes widened in happiness, showing his gratitude. "I will prove that you are not mistaken in giving us this opportunity."

"You have very little time to prepare. I am giving you prime time, my best hours in the evening, although I have to alter the schedule for many programs to do so. So you can start your show two days from now, on the16th."

Manager Rishi turned out to be fully cooperative.

I knew you would help me, Toji thought, smiling at Rishi. Because the universe works in such a manner that it brings fortune to the earnest seeker, and every atom in the creation works for him.
Chapter 20

It was the Indian Premier League (IPL) season. Homes in India were completely caught up in big hits, spectacular catches, and beautiful bowling. Cricket is the unwritten national game, although the official national game is hockey.

Between the end of cricket matches and the homely serials, along with the commercials, the ad for a new show aired frequently, reaching the subconscious of the viewers.

On the millions of TVs, on a black and white background, a typewriter hammered a message on the screen, letter by letter: "In search of my family..." The sound of the keys was audible.

Then, a husky, manly voice spoke on top of the video:

"A child lost his family... years ago,

The boy...

Now in his teens...

Begging in the streets...

Searching for his dear family...

He wants to reach his parents...

But how?...

He does not remember who his parents are...

He doesn't remember where he is from...

What he knows is only...

That he does not belong to the beggars' world...

And he has a family living somewhere...

His search, he leaves it to God...

He is optimistic...

He writes it on a piece of paper...

And leaves it in the street...

The paper travels...

And, accidentally, the paper reaches us...

Will God bring his family to him?

A reality show. Watch the program at 9 p.m. daily, starting Monday, June 16, live, exclusively on..."

The ad went on and on.

In two days, men talked about it in the cafeteria, mothers spoke about it when they were waiting for their children to come out of school, girls chatted over phones, boys talked between games. Soon the country was electrified by the unusual show.
Chapter 21

The set was ready, and the eagerly-awaited program was about to begin. The setting was simple. Three armchairs were placed facing the glass coffee table in the central area. A wireless phone was placed on the table. The room was well lit. The Bollywood celebrity Amir Khan sat in the middle chair facing the camera. On his left was the psychologist and to his right, Apurva.

Amir Khan was one of the highly paid stars in the Indian film industry. When Toji had called the celebrity up, asking him if he would like to be a part of his show, the actor had only asked when he should come to the studio. Toji believed that it was God's grace that didn't let his old college mate forget the times they had spent together on campus. Amir Khan had been just a normal student, who spent more of his time in the gym than in the classroom. He had dreamt to be a hero in Indian movies.

He followed his dream. And the dream came to him.

"5,4,3,..." the assistant director counted down.

The cameraman rolled the camera.

"Hi, welcome to the show 'In search of my family...' a reality program like you have never seen before," Apurva began with her introduction. "It all started when our station received a message in the form of a poem..."

Then the poem flashed on the screen, and Apurva read it aloud.

"We don't vouch for the credibility of this poem," Apurva spoke again, "but we believe that it could be true... because it was dated June seven, and the author has indicated the precise place where he would be back exactly after a month, that is on July seventh.

Theoretically, we cannot call this a poem, but its lines convey an important message. Nevertheless, not looking into the beauty of it, we concluded that the author could be a lost child who desperately wants to join his family.

Positively expecting the boy to come to the named place, we are inviting calls from the parents who had lost children in the past, so that we can establish the exact family before going to meet the boy on July seventh.

With me we have Amir Khan and the clinical psychologist from Bangalore, Toji Mathew." She stopped there and turned toward the celebrity.

"Sir, what do you think about this letter and the story?"

"Life sometimes is stranger than fiction..." Mr. Khan said. "Anything could happen... this letter could be true, or maybe someone has played a trick, but whatever it is, we will give it a try... What do you say, sir?"

Although it was all well-rehearsed, they spoke as if it was all spontaneous.

"Yes, of course," Toji now spoke, with genuine concern on his face, "the chances are that this is true, because as far as I can tell from my studying of this letter, this boy could be from a well-off family. He learned English at a very young age, is very intelligent, and believes in God..." he stopped and took the copy of the paper in front of him.

"See, here, in the first four lines, he talks about himself..." as he said that, the camera focused on the paper.

"I am a lost boy.

I lost my family many years ago

This is my tenth year here, I guess

That was what Bhai told me."

"We don't know who the Bhai is here, but I can guess that it could be his guardian or the kidnapper," Toji explained his thoughts to Mr. Khan.

"Yes, that could be right," Mr. Khan nodded, agreeing with the psychologist.

Apurva too nodded with a smile on her face.

"Then the boy writes about his kidnapping," Toji then spoke again, "from the house or from wherever he was at the time, and the reason behind this atrocious act... maybe revenge as the boy remembers that someone beat the kidnapper."

The content was shown again.

"I remember, a beggar gave me sweets

Who was beaten by Dada."

"And in the next three lines, he speaks about his returning on a specific date... a month after he wrote the message, and he is smart enough to add the time and place... If the date had not been written, the whole message would have been of no use..."

"I will come back here after a month

I will sit under the first shop

God, bring my family here.

June 7, 2014. Evening 5."

"Sir," she called her husband formally, "how can we find and single out the parents of this boy out of so many viewers who will call us?"

"We have to trace them following the letter and the inquiries..." replied the psychologist.

The rest is in God's hands, Toji Mathew thought.

Millions watched the show, and many thought that it was one of the strangest, but also most interesting shows they had ever seen.
Chapter 22

Five minutes into the show, the phone number scrolled under the screen. The talk continued between the three, although in the back of their mind, they were eagerly waiting for the phone to ring. Time seemed to pass at a snail's pace. Outside the room, Rishi walked to and fro, watching the show through the glass walls. There were many screens fitted in a curved wall in the studio that broadcasted the live program.

Seven minutes passed. The phone was just as dead as before. Beads of sweat trickled from his forehead.

I have to save them.

He ordered one of his assistants to make a fake call.

The assistant took his mobile phone out and dialed the number.

The next moment, to everyone's relief, the phone rang.

Amir Khan briskly pressed the button to receive it. Then he switched on the speaker, so that the conversation could be heard in the room.

There was a husky sound.

"Hello..."

"Hello," Khan replied

"Sir, is this 'In search of my family' program?" asked the voice.

"Yes, sir, you have reached the right number. Have you lost your son in the past?"

There was a delay in the answer.

Rishi just looked at them pitifully, almost losing the interest he had had until then. He turned to his assistant, gesturing him to continue to talk like a father, but his mood changed to confusion first, and then to exhilaration as he saw his assistant with his arms in the air, the phone in his hand, meaning he was not the caller.

A broad smile sprang on his face. He folded his palm and hit the air, excitedly. Then he listened to the conversation impatiently.

"Sir, please do not look at the TV," Mr. Khan explained, "as you will feel it difficult to follow the discussion because of the slight time delay... Just talk to me over the phone."

"Yes, sir, I am still searching for my son."

"Sir, your name, please?"

"I am Munna from Bihar, sir... One day, my son disappeared suddenly. He was so dear to me, sir; he used to call me papa, and he was my only son. He was born after seven years of marriage, after visiting many temples, churches, and mosques... sir... sir, please find my son..." the words were stumbling out, and the listeners could feel the depth of sorrow in the man's voice.

The whole nation watched. Millions felt the sadness in their hearts.

"Munna," the actor said, "we are very sorry to hear about your tragedy... Tell me, Munna, when have you lost your son?"

"Three years ago, sir,"

"Three years ago?" Amir turned his head toward Toji. Toji shook his head as Munna could not be the father of that particular child.

"Munna, I am really sorry for your loss. It is very, very painful to lose our dear ones. But here we have the boy's message, saying that he had lost his family around ten years ago..." he then turned to Toji, "am I right, doctor?"

"Yes, Mr. Khan, because from the third line we can understand that the boy has spent atleast ten years with the beggars," as Toji repeated the information, the lines flashed on the screen again, "and he remembers the event of his kidnapping. Taking into account that a person usually has no memories prior to three years of age, we can estimate that the boy could be thirteen years old or more."

"Yeah, you are right." Turning toward the phone, Amir continued, "Mr. Munna, what has happened to you is a tragedy, but according to the information in the message, the boy could be atleast thirteen years old, and he has been away from his family for the last ten years, so he cannot be your son. I am sorry. Have you notified the police?"

"Yes, sir, I have given a full report to the police. On the day we lost our son, one of the neighbors also disappeared, so I am sure that he took my son. I have even traveled all over the country looking for my boy, hoping that I would find him begging somewhere... I walked the streets and slept in train stations, looking closely in the faces of hundreds of boys on the streets of India... sir... from Kashmir to Kanyakumari..."

A silent sob came from Munna, a sob that resonated in the millions of homes where people were watching the show.

Munna stopped crying and continued to talk, 'Sir, please find my son... please...'

Tears rolled down from Khan's eyes. He wiped them with the handkerchief in his hand. The nation cried hearing the heartfelt story and seeing real tears in their idol's eyes.

Apurva too wiped away the beads of tears trickling from the corners of her eyes. Toji removed his spectacles and cleaned his wet eyes with his fingers. The cameraman took advantage of the moment, moving the camera slowly from one to the other.

The phone was indicating a waiting call. Amir ended the phone conversation to give a chance to other callers, "Mr. Munna, we are very sad, and we pray that your son may live well and meet you soon."

Then he took a long breath and pressed the button to take the next call.

There was no shortage of calls. The phone just kept ringing. Amir Khan talked to the callers, and Toji studied the details of each case and drew the conclusions. Apurva mediated the discussion. The hour went by like minutes.

When the end of the show came near, Apurva took over, "Dear viewers, with this call, the program ends today, but we will be expecting you tomorrow, same time. Until then, good bye. We hope we will be able to find the right father for the missing boy. Do not hesitate to call us if you have ever lost a child. You may find your son."

"Namaste," the actor saluted the viewers, bringing his hands together.

The next moment, commercials filled the screen.
Chapter 23

Apurva was busy preparing the set.

"Apurva, the manager is calling you," one of her fellow workers bawled.

She had been waiting for it. She did not know the viewers' response. Whatever it was, the only way to find out was from the manager. The ratings came to him first, and then he announced them to the employees. It was the third day of the show, and there had been no comments from Rishi until then.

She walked apace toward the office. She knew that by that time, the manager would have gotten the feedback from the public and the board.

She entered the office nervously.

"Apurva, sit down," Rishi welcomed her in, smiling. His pleasant mood was contagious, so Apurva smiled back at him.

"Congratulations!" He turned his computer to her, "Your program is a success. Look at the number of emails! The public is requesting us to extend the duration of the show because there are lots of people out there who wanted to talk to you during the program, but they did not get a chance. There are many families whose children have gone missing sometime in the past. Moreover, the prime minister himself watched it, and an official mail came from his office, requesting us to extend the allocated hours."

Apurva just glanced at Rishi, and she could not control the tears of happiness flowing from her eyes. She covered her face with her hand.

"So I asked Mr. Khan if he would be kind enough to give us a few more hours of his time, and he accepted. I hope you don't have any problems running it for more than an hour."

"Thank you, sir," she said, wiping her tears.

"People believe in us. That's a great responsibility on our shoulders. Finding the right family is a gigantic task. It is like searching for a needle in a haystack."

"Yes, sir, we are trying, and we are sure that we will come up with the right family."

"All the best, Apurva."

Apurva then exited the office, excited.
Chapter 24

Toji opened his eyes, hearing his alarm ring. He turned around and curled in the cozy blanket. It was raining outside.

"Dear, wake up," Apurva entered the room, "you have to take Elizabeth to school. The school bus won't come."

"Oh, not again, they had a strike last week too," Toji mumbled.

"Strikes have become common now. They work less and ask for more," Apurva said, driving the vacuum cleaner on the floor. "They are asking for bigger wages again, and all the buses in the city won't run today."

"I think we are the only people working fifteen hours a day, and we've never asked for a raise." Reluctantly, Toji got up. "Anyways, I am happy to have a great morning with my little girl," he suppressed the negativity that was about to creep up his veins. He smiled broadly, standing in front of the mirror, to welcome the day.

"Jesus, please make the right father call us on the show today and give me the ability to recognize him," he prayed. That was the first thing he did those days since the start of the program. Also the last thing each day before going to bed.

"Dear father, your son is alive out there. He will come to meet me on the seventh of July. Call me. Wherever you are, just make a call. You will be reunited with your son," he sent the telepathic message to the unknown father who had lost his child. He wished that his message would reach the real father.

Fifteen days had passed since the first telecast of the program. And yet, the team could not decide on the right family. As the days went by, with only a week left to the target day, uneasiness was growing in all their minds.

"Have you got the family?" wherever Apurva went, her colleagues asked.

When she answered negatively, they would say, "Oh, no, you just want to keep us in suspense. We know you have them."

I wish I were doing that, she would think.

Everyone was deeply involved in the case. More than ever, the direct participants depended on the program's outcome. Apurva needed to find the family and the boy because the success of the program meant her success and it ensured her position in the network. Toji needed it to help his wife get over the depression caused by the loss of her job, and he also felt a kind of inner accomplishment in doing humanitarian acts, in helping those less fortunate. The Bollywood celebrity needed it to maintain his reputation as a philanthropist and because his name was now closely connected with the program. Manager Rishi hadn't experienced such good ratings for the past years, and a favorable ending meant that he could continue the program even after the boy would have been found and the family reunited, with another case.

More than anyone, the viewers needed to keep their faith in God and in the goodness of people by seeing the unknown boy join his family.

Dozens of phone calls came to the studio everyday, and all the information was stored. After each show, Toji and his team reviewed the calls and filtered the callers according to the information they had, in order to find the most appropriate family.

"The man must be from Bengal!" Toji shouted out of the blue. He stopped shaving his beard as it suddenly hit him.

"How?!" Apurva asked, turning the vacuum cleaner off. She came closer to Toji as she could not hide her astonishment.

"You see, the boy mentioned 'dada' in his message."

"Yes, that is true," she grew curious.

"'Dada' is a respectable word used to call one's big brother in Bengal."

"So you mean we must concentrate on Bengal or Bengali-speaking parents."

"Yes, you are very quick," Toji teased her.

"However, I am still anxious," Apurva said to her husband. "What if we don't get the right person, or what if the boy does not turn up?"

"Hope for the best. Expect the best... we will find the father and the boy on the final day. The entire nation will be watching," he said, washing his razor. "All the inventions and discoveries in history took place when someone hoped for the best and worked day and night. They had visualized what they wanted in their minds even before things actually materialized. We are doing the same," Toji spoke like a counselor. "Getting a family for the boy won't be difficult compared to how problematic it would be for the boy to find the family himself. If we meet the boy, we will be able to reunite father and son, and we will broadcast the emotional union live."

Toji washed his face.

"Worst-case scenario, if we don't come upon the right parents, we will keep the boy with us and then will decide what to do. The most important thing is for the boy to come to the predetermined place."

"Toji, this must happen; the boy has to come," she hugged her husband. "Although the whole story sometimes seems unbelievable, I am emotionally attached to this imaginary boy and his family. Now, after the last fifteen days, I understand how many people have been in a living hell after losing their child. At least this program has brought the stories of such people to the world. I've been distressed when our Elizabeth was away with you for just one week. I can only imagine the pain of those who have lost their children forever!"

"God help us all," Toji sighed, softly.
Chapter 25

Ibrahim finished his evening prayer and returned to the dining room, where Zubaida was waiting for him with dinner.

"It's been almost three weeks. They haven't been able to find the family yet. We must also try, right, Zubaida?" Ibrahim said to his wife and switched the channel to their favorite reality show.

Ibrahim had not missed a single episode. Ramdas told him about it since the beginning, and he had been watching it since. He closed his shop earlier those days to get back home in time for the show. His heart told him to make the call, but he did not dare do it. There were thousands of people that had their lost children; he felt he was just a drop in the ocean. For the first time ever, he felt related to the myriad of unseen people who were also in search for their lost children. The show had brought them together in a sort of brotherhood, and he wasn't all alone in the world anymore.

"We must give it a try; I am calling them," Ibrahim stood up, finishing his dinner. He washed his hands and walked toward the phone.

He picked up the receiver with his shivering hands, then he looked up to the phone number on the TV screen. The celebrity and Toji were speaking to each other.

"The boy could be from Bengal as he had mentioned 'dada' in his letter," Toji said to Mr. Khan.

The words came like a bolt from the blue. Ibrahim stopped dead in his tracks, holding the receiver in his hand. As the conversation went on, his confidence and hope drained away from his soul, leaving him like an empty barrel. He sat down as his legs could not hold his own weight. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. He wiped them before Zubaida could see him.

"The boy is a Bengali!" Zubaida exclaimed, dejectedly, while putting the dishes from the table away. Then she brought a glass of water and a few pills to Ibrahim.

"May Allah unite them! I will be happy for them, after all," Ibrahim said to her, receiving the medicine and water.

After Toji shared his conclusion based on the word written in the boy's note, the calls came mainly from Bengal. Within two days, Apurva was finally announcing that her team had found the father of the child, a man who had lost his son approximately ten years before.
Chapter 26

The D-day arrived. The team was ready in all aspects. There were eight hidden cameras in various locations, focusing on the first shop from the Gateway. The untrained eye could not detect them in the trees, in the shops, and in vehicles. The cameras had been tested and were ready to capture every event. Toji had been wise enough to not disclose the exact location to the public, not giving the possibility to anyone to interfere with their operation.

Coincidentally, that day was also the final of the IPL cricket matches. However, the ratings showed that people were more interested in seeing the reunion between the lost boy and his father. A historic union. A miracle.

At four forty-five in the afternoon, the cameras slowly started to film the life on the street of Mumbai. The images were being broadcasted live. Time moved slowly. The nation waited.

The digits in the corner of the television screen showed five.

"Will he come?" Apurva stared blankly at the target place. She had butterflies in her stomach.

The viewers watched their screens, growing uneasier with every second.

It was Monday, and the place was comparatively less crowded than on weekends. It was a cool, gray evening, and there was a sense of relaxation and peace in the deep pervading calm and silence of the sea. A few people were watching the historical gate. The sea was calm, and even the winds were holding their breath.

The camera was fixated on the shop mentioned on the paper, the first one from the Gateway. Near it, a banyan tree was standing upright; its large branches made a canopy, home for numerous birds and tiny creatures. Crows and pigeons flew intermittently. Not a leaf stirred. A few cars moved honking, their drivers unaware that they were being captured and broadcasted on television.

From time to time, the silence was broken by Apurva's slow, languishing speech, giving the impression of a mournful commentary of a funeral. The camera moved its focus away from the shop and kept scanning the area. Only when it showed the big Gateway did the viewers know the place was the famous "Gateway of India."

A few boys were walking around, but none of them came and sat near the first shop. Paying close attention to every boy who looked around thirteen, Apurva eagerly expected one of them to go and sit in front of the shop. In her mind, she was silently inviting the beggar boys to come.

Ten minutes had passed after the predetermined hour, and there was no boy yet!

The television screen showed the empty space in front of the shop. It was unusually calm, and no customers were in sight.

Apurva sat in the studio van, heavy-heartedly. The whole nation shared her disappointment.

Many lips all over the country muttered, "It's all fake. It was a set-up."

It is over. It's all over. For a minute, Apurva thought of her job. She looked up toward the sky to relax. She took a long breath.

As she raised her head, she noticed something that they had missed the whole day. A big banner was announcing one of the greatest events in the city: the Monsoon Festival. She understood that the festival was taking place those days.

A thought struck Apurva's mind like lightning. She turned back swiftly to the place where a boy had been sitting a little while ago.

"Yes! He is the one. Where is he?"

A few yards away, a boy had been loitering around few minutes before. And now he had disappeared!

For the festival, some makeshift stands had been added to the line of shops. So the first shop mentioned in the letter was not actually the first shop now. It was the third from the Gateway. She could determine that from the banners they had and the way they were made.
Chapter 27

Apurva jumped out of the van. She saw, in the distance, the boy moving away listlessly.

"Follow me," she shouted. Unable to understand, the cameramen followed running behind Apurva.

Gasping for breath, she reached the boy who was walking languidly. She put her hand on his shoulder.

"Hello," she breathed heavily.

The boy stared at her, not knowing what was going on and what the lady wanted from him.

The numerous cameras were broadcasting the scene to the millions of homes in India and around the world. People were sitting on the edge of their seats, eyes glued to the screens.

Apurva took a hundred-rupee banknote from her pocket and held it out toward the boy. The boy's weary eyes twinkled for a moment. He stared at the woman, glanced down at the note, and then raised his hand to grab it.

She pulled her hand back quickly and showed her other hand that was tightly holding the paper on which the poem was written.

The boy's face didn't show any response.

The camera focused on the little dirty face to catch any emotion that would blossom there. They all knew that, if he was the author of the message, emotion will show and it would bring credibility and success to their program.

Apurva was still showing the paper to the boy. As no changes occurred on his face, a feeling of dejection rooted in her mind.

"This guy is just wondering what is going on."

"I don't think this boy can even read it."

"What he wants is just that hundred-rupee note."

Across the country, viewers had different opinions.

Desperation was spreading in Apurva's mind. As a last resort, she placed the paper closer to his eyes, making sure that he could see the poem.

The next moment, the boy looked at the paper, and his expression changed suddenly. He looked up to see the lady's eyes. Then he looked back at the paper. He grabbed it as if it was something dear to him. His head moved left to right and right to left as he was reading the lines. Wonder and disbelief blossomed on his face. And the camera caught every bit of it. Millions of people were watching, mouth agape, holding their breath, like they would be watching the climax of a great Hindi movie. But no actor could match this performance. This was real and came from the heart.

The paper was vibrating as the boy's hands started shivering.

"Have you written this?" Apurva slowly asked.

"Yes," the boy replied, nodding, without taking his eyes from the paper. He never knew the power of belief and hope could be strong.

The universe works in such a manner that it brings fortune to the earnest seeker, and every atom in the creation works for him, the words ran through his mind.

"I wrote it. I wrote it. I left it at the panipuri shop," he pointed with his finger toward the shop. With tears welling up in his eyes, he added, "I am in search of my family."

The little microphone picked up every sound the boy uttered and transmitted it to the viewers.

"Then... come with me," Apurva said to him, excited, "you will meet your father."

"How?" a broad smile unfolded on the boy's dirty face, and hope blossomed in his heart.

"I will tell you everything. Just come with me."

"No, I can't. I have to go back to Bhai."

"Do not worry about it. That will be looked after by my police friend," she pointed at a policeman who was guarding the Gate. "I have your father with me. Come, I will show you."

The boy looked at her, in disbelief.

Thousands of kilometers away, Ibrahim watched with tears in his eyes.

The boy followed Apurva, and the camera transmitted every emotion and every step he was taking. In a few moments, they reached the van, near which a middle-aged man was standing.

"I believe that's your father, isn't it?" asked Apurva.

"Here is your son," she said to the man. Then she waited for their hugging and for the emotional burst-out.

Moments passed. The boy and the man stood like rocks. Nothing moved on the TV screens.

They stood looking at each other.

"Come on," Apurva whispered, "hug your son."

They didn't move. A few more seconds passed.

"Come on, Apurva, do something," her boss said from the car. She heard him through her wireless earpiece, "Make them hug. The world is watching."

People awaited for the physical union, although the differences between the man and the boy were obvious. The man was dark, plump, and very short. The sun had tanned the skin of the boy; however, it was clear that he was originally fair. Plus, he was slim and taller than boys his age. But anything was possible.

The viewers and crew waited.

"Well, it seems it is very difficult for them to go ahead. Let's help them," Apurva started acting, her face displaying a forceful smile, and went forward. He grabbed the boy's hand.

Taking no note of time, the audience was absorbing the scene, expecting the boy to run and hug his father. Captivated by the fascinating tale, people were sitting on the edge of their seats, and the nervous tension reached its climax when the boy said,

"No, he is not my father!"

If anyone had looked from above, like from a space ship, he could have seen a huge ripple of discouragement in homes all over India piercing the hearts of the feeble human beings, as everyone was disappointed by the cruel answer.

In the middle of the confusion and disappointment, Apurva was aware of her responsibility. Forcing herself to stay calm, she turned to the middle-aged man, "Come on uncle, go ahead, hug your son, we have selected you from many hundreds, this can't be wrong... come on, go ahead," she whispered slowly, and gestured with her hands, trying to make them hug each other.

"No, he cannot be my son!" this time the man said. He put a full stop to the drama with his words.

Everyone was disconcerted.

Apurva earnestly wished for a hero to save her show at that point.
Chapter 28

The nation was lost in Raja's wonder story, and it was very difficult for them to accept the truth. An air of desperation floated in all the homes and on the streets. Although the reunion was not happening, the public was applauding the station and its team for their work, from their hearts. Manager Rishi was disappointed too, but he had nothing against Apurva's team because they had found the boy, and that was the most important thing.

"I am sorry, Rishi. I couldn't find the right father," said Toji, who was watching the scene, sitting near the manager, in the production van. "But I hope it did really help improve your rating."

"The hell with the rating!" Rishi shouted, "I want them to be reunited."

That was a transformation Toji did not expect.

"Yes, the paper had originally been written by the boy. You were right, Toji. I was just wrong and pessimistic," he said slowly. There was desperation in his words, "I looked at the problem with the limited capacity of my human eyes. But you saw beyond it. Things are possible for those who believe in the unseen and act according to it. Thanks. I have learned from this."

Toji brought a forced smile to his face.

"And still, there is room to be optimistic," Rishi cheerfully said. "We have the boy with us. The vagabond. The hero of the story. The story doesn't end until the hero finds his purpose. The program can be run for a few more days while we keep the boy with us, so that we find his family. Right?" he asked Toji.

"Yes. We can do that, but I would've been happier if it had happened right now. Right at the climax."

"It's OK, Toji. We did our best."

"Yes, we did. The rest is in His hands," Toji looked up.

Thousands of kilometers away, Ibrahim too watched discouraged, also feeling sad for the parents and the boy.

Everything went well. But in the end, they were not father and son!

Some viewers were ready to change the channel. It was then that the announcement came:

"A twist in the story... We have just received a phone call from England, from someone claiming that the boy could be his relative..." a man's voice disclosed. Rishi's voice. After a moment of confusion, when Apurva and the cameramen looked at each other, the scene was shifted to the manager.

Rishi put the phone on speaker.

"Hello, sir, I am calling from England. I think I know this boy... I have proof..." the voice from the other end said. Apurva heard it in her earpiece, transmitted from the van.

A phone from England? And he has proof... impossible. Apurva stood there for a moment, amazed and confused.

"You have proof?" Rishi interrupted.

"Yes, sir, I have knowledge of a physical mark that could disclose the boy's identity... if you could please look for that in the boy..."

"Alright, mister, please hold on, I am transferring the call to Apurva."

"Hello," said Apurva, getting over the lethargy caused by dejection, and showed herself energetic again. She seemed pleased by the twist in the events. The camera now focused on Apurva.

"Hello, Apurva, I am calling from England."

"From England? Can you please tell us why you think this boy could be your relative?"

"I can, I can, he could be my relative..."

"Subhan Allah!" Watching the event on the screen, Ibrahim sprang up from his chair and shouted, "Zubaida! Zubaida!"

Zubaida put her needle and the clothes she was mending aside and came quickly to Ibrahim, "What happened? Have they found the boy's father?"

Tears in eyes, Ibrahim pointed his finger to the television.

Apurva was in the middle of the screen.

"Can you please do me a favor," the voice from the other end of the phone asked, "will you please open the mouth of the boy and see if there is a cut and three stitches on his tongue?"

A call from England and stitches on the tongue!

The world listened to the conversation.

"Sure," she asked, frantically turning toward the boy. "Three stitches on the tongue? How do you know about it?"

"Please do it; I am dying to see if they are there."

"Alright, we have here a man calling from England who tells us to look for three stitches on the tongue of this boy," Apurva looked at the camera while moving toward the boy. "However, I think there is a slim chance... The man is from England, and this boy could not have been taken from there..."

The camera moved with her.

"Apurva, will you please look for it? I am on thorns," she was interrupted by the caller.

Not only the caller, the world was impatient. Every second seemed as long as eons.

"It seems the man is in real hurry. Let us look for the marks on the tongue."

She stopped with a forced laugh as she neared the boy, "Will you please open your mouth and put your tongue out?"

She put her fingers on the dirty face of the boy and stared into his mouth.

Looking on the tongue, Apurva took two steps back in disbelief, putting her palms across her wide open mouth.

The next moment, regaining her composure, she held the boy's mouth open for the camera to zoom in.

And there, lo and behold, between the stained teeth, was the tongue with a scar and the mark left behind by three stitches!

"Yes! It's there!" she cried, "Yes! It's there!"

"Hello, hello!" Apurva shouted, touching the mic. The situation had changed, "Sir, are you there?"

"He is my brother," a voice mumbled from the other end.

All the people watching the television could clearly make out the quiver in the voice. It was followed by an explosion of emotion. The person on the other side was sobbing.

Apurva was crying too, and she was trying to wipe her tears away with her hand, but they wouldn't stop flowing. Feelings of compassion, love, success of achieving something against all odds overwhelmed her all at once.

The scene brought tears in the eyes of every viewer.

All the while, the boy just stood there, unable to understand what was going on.

Kilometers away, in Kerala, Zubaida fell down, losing her consciousness. Ibrahim held her, tears in his eyes. But this time, they were tears of happiness. He had found his son.

"Oh, God, how You are glorious!" he whispered, an ocean of gratitude drowning his soul.
Chapter 29

The bright lights made the studio shine like during daytime, even though it was late evening. The setting was simple, as usual. Two large sofas accommodated five people. Ibrahim, his wife, and their newly found son were sitting on one of them, and on the other one, Apurva and Toji. Amir Khan had been given an armchair placed in the center, between the sofas.

Hundreds of people were in the audience. All of them, together with millions more on the other side of their TV screens, waited impatiently. It was the finale of the most viewed show in the history of the network.

The camera focused on the handsome boy who was sitting between the parents. People could not believe that he had been a beggar for ten years. His skin was glowing, his hair was decently cut, looking fresh and trendy with the gel that had been applied. He was wearing a white shirt and dark jeans. A new digital watch was on his wrist, and his feet were parading a pair of expensive shoes. The camera didn't miss one single element of what made up a total transformation.

Apurva was very happy after completing this task that had seemed impossible to her initially. The glow on her face, which hadn't been there the last few days, radiated delight.

As she received the signal, Apurva began the show with the usual salutation and a brief introduction. Everything she said came from her heart.

"Ibrahim, as the world knows, you are unmistakably happy now," she said, smiling warmly toward the proud father. "Please let us know how you feel now."

With great pleasure and gratitude, Ibrahim said, "My sincere thanks to everyone. To the station and all the people who worked to bring my son back to me. My happiness is beyond measureable."

A tear fell from his eyes.

"This reminds me a story I've heard in my childhood. There was a sailor, a cook, returning from a long voyage. He was at the other end of the world, and it would take him many years to come back home. One day while he was washing the scullery onboard, his wedding ring slipped out from his finger and went into the deep waters. It was a very valuable ring to him. In the middle of the ocean, he prayed to God that he would get the ring back before he reached his wife, even if he knew it was humanly impossible.

The place where he had dropped the ring was a breeding place for a type of migrating fish. When the ring fell into the depth of the ocean, a young fish mistook it for food and swallowed it. Then the bank of fish started traveling to return to their feeding grounds. Months passed by, and the little fish grew up. When that particular fish reached its destination, it was caught by a fisherman. The ship had reached the port and coincidentally, the same fish was bought for cooking to the ship. That would have been the last dish the cook was making onboard before going home. When the fish was brought to the cook and he cut it, to his surprise, he found the ring in it. That day he went home with the ring on his finger."

"Oh, this is a great inspirational story!" Apurva said, in delight.

"Like the sailor, I believed unconditionally that the Creator would bring my son back to me one day."

"Yes, yes, prayers and true belief give results," Toji nodded.

"I've lost my son ten years ago. Although I've searched through all of India, I could not find him. However, I've always kept faith that I would get him back," tears were flowing continuously from the corners of his eyes. He put his hand over the boy's shoulder, pulled him in, and kissed him on the head.

"There were a few moments of desperation when I too lost hope. But I bounced back every time and reassured myself that my son would come back, and I believed in it, although my consciousness was against the truth, telling me that it was only a distant dream with very slim chances of coming true, that my son was like the ring in the deep ocean." He stopped and took a long breath, wiping the tears that were flowing on his cheeks.

Zubaida too covered her face with her hands as feelings overcame her.

Apurva shook her head, touched.

"When I first came across the advertisement about this show on TV, I was thinking of contacting you, and I was hopeful. But later it was announced that the boy could be from Bengal as you found that he had written something related to Bengali. I was slightly discouraged, but I was happy to know that you had come closer to finding the right family.

I was also shocked to learn from the people who had contacted the studio that thousands of children are lost every year in India, and most of them are never found by the police."

"Yes, we too." Khan nodded his head.

Ibrahim continued, "Like every other Indian, I too sat in front of the television every evening, watching this show. I was happy to see the union of the child and the father, and waited eagerly to see the joy of that father. But things changed, and I never knew that Amjad, my elder son, would remember his brother, which I could not." Saying that, Ibrahim turned toward the big screen in the studio, where his elder son could be seen, in a live stream.

The smiling face of a teenage boy was broadcast, Ibrahim's elder son. He smiled and brought his hands together, greeting the public.

"He is studying in London," said Ibrahim, "with the help of government scholarship. I once informed him about this show, but I never knew that he would be watching it. Later I came to know that he was also interested in seeing the reunion happen because the story was similar to our own. He too was very much affected by the loss of his brother."

"Hi, Amjad, how did you guess that this was your brother?" Apurva asked the boy on the big screen.

"Hi, Apurva, I did not suspect anything until the moment I saw the boy on the television screen," Amjad answered, calm and collected. "Things changed in that moment, and I had a strange feeling that the boy could be my brother. It just hit me suddenly, like a flash of lighting. And then, as I expected, the child and the man did not recognize each other. There were a lot of physical differences between them."

The TV now went back to showing the unsuccessful union of the boy and the man they had selected earlier.

"The next moment, I was sure that he was my brother," Amjad returned on the screen and continued, "because I remembered we used to call the shopkeeper 'dada'. We used to sit on the bench in dada's shop, eating sweets, and count the vehicles that passed by. It was our favorite pastime."

Amjad took a deep breath. The story was becoming clear to the world.

"I remember that day," recounted Ibrahim. The camera focused on his face. "I gave ten rupees to my son when he came with lunch to give it to his mother. And a one-rupee coin for them to buy sweets from the little sweet shop on their way home. A beggar pickpocketed my elder son at the shop and took the ten-rupee note. The old shopkeeper, dada, how my sons used to call him, saw the beggar taking the money, alarmed the people around, and they made a scene. All the people that were in the area got together and thrashed the beggar. The next day, our younger son had disappeared from school, and no one ever saw the beggar there again."

Amjad finished the story from England, "So I called up the television station. I remembered about the three stitches. It was an accident while I was learning to ride the bicycle and was carrying him behind... And you know the rest."

The camera shifted, showing the entire family.

"Dear son," with tears in his eyes, Ibrahim said, "I love you, I can't believe you are with me. I praise the Almighty for what He has done for me."

"Papa," the boy uttered hesitatingly, "I love you too."

"And on top of it all, here we have the positive DNA report, which notifies us that, beyond any doubt, the boy is Mr. Ibrahim's son," said Amir, wiping the tears from his eyes. "The message was not written only by the boy. The real author behind it all is the Almighty, Who writes about all of us."

"Yes, definitely," said Toji, "the author was the Almighty. And He chose a happy ending for this story... But that's not all, we were able to save seven other children from the beggar's gang, and we will do the same to help them find their parents. The show will continue."

"Moreover, here we have the people who played crucial roles in finding the family," Apurva said, and the camera turned toward the front row in the audience. "We've tried to bring them all here, and they are all present, with a few exceptions." Then she revealed how she came to know about the paper, the connection between Toji and Vijay, the email from Kavita to Vijay, Kavita's little student, his father – the thief, Seldo's father and Reema, and the college boys, Sandeep and Seldo. Everything was briefly explained to the public, and only a few changes were made to protect the identity of the thieves. Apurva had agreed to the thieves' request to not disclose their identity as they were an important link in the journey of the message. Everybody was there, sitting in the front row, except for the thieves.

The show ended there. Commercials took over the TV. Apurva looked at the manager, who was standing behind the glass window. She raised her thumbs up, which meant that the show had been a success. He smiled back and raised his thumbs up too.

In the remote village of Vizag, Altaf, Roopesh, and Babu watched the program, in utter disbelief to the fact that their actions had indirectly saved someone's life.

"See, we are helping people with our deeds!" Altaf said. "So now, let's turn off the TV and go help someone else in need."

And the thieves started their motorbikes, going out to earn their daily bread.
Epilogue

Dear reader,

How would you feel if you were a parent and one afternoon, you came to know that your child had not returned from school?

How would you feel if you were a child taken by a stranger who would poke your eyes out or break your legs to make you look pitiful enough to beg in the streets?

I pray to God that this does not happen to you.

Maybe you are living in a better world where this nightmare does not exist. But this kind of terrible events take place everyday in some parts of the world.

I wrote this story to inspire you to find your way in times of despair and to keep your hope up by believing in God Almighty. However, my inspiration to write this story came from the shockingly big number of missing children in India.

The plot came to my mind after reading about a three-year-old girl having been returned to her parents. She had been kidnapped by a beggar while she was sleeping near her parents in a bus station. Eventually, the child was transported to some other city, and she was dressed in boy's clothes as an evasive tactic. The case was reported, and the child was brought back to the family thanks to the relentless strive of the Kerala Police. I congratulate the police department for their hard work and for bringing joy to the family and the child.

When the child was brought for identification in the police station, she ran to her father the moment she saw him, calling "papa" loudly.

It wasn't only my eyes that cried, my heart did too. Seeing their happiness in the newspaper photo and imagining the reunion, my heart wept.

It is really heartbreaking to know that many such children, while playing around their homes, returning from school, or traveling on a busy train, are grabbed by the black hands of kidnappers. They use them to beg, make them child laborers, and sometimes exploit and molest them sexually. It becomes a great deal of loss for the family and for the child. Above all, it is a great loss for the society.

When I was a young boy, there was a wandering young man in our neighborhood. People called him Ravi, and he was mentally ill to some extent. He was roaming the streets in his dirty clothes. People abused him verbally and children threw stones at him. My father found him lying on the pavement one evening, in the piercing cold, and brought him to our house. He stayed with us for a year. It turned out that his family had been relentlessly searching for him, and one day they reached us. From them we came to know that he had been lost for many years, and his mother was ill and bedridden because of the sudden loss. His family was extremely grateful to my father, and the happiness we felt then is invaluable. He and his family members went out of our home with tears in their eyes.

In India, posters of lost children are a common sight in every police station, bus stops, and any public places. At the bottom of each poster one can read the address of the unfortunate parents, who are hoping their child would return one day.

Please take a look at the statistics:

On average, 18 children go missing in Delhi every day, and four of them are never traced - a report from the Alliance for People's Rights.

A total of 6,494 children, 53 percent of them girls, disappeared in Delhi from January 1 to December 31, 2013. The report stated, "more than 50 percent of them (rescued victims) are from the socially deprived sections of society."

Keep in mind that these statistics are only for Delhi, the capital of India.

What would the statistics look like for the other parts of the country inhabited by 1.2 billion people? How about other third world countries in Africa, where children are kidnapped to be made into soldiers to fight in local wars?

Young, innocent soldiers kill innocent people, not knowing what they are doing!

I hope this endeavor will shed a small light on this great plague. I wrote this story to raise awareness on this issue. I hope this brings international attention to this social epidemic. And, therefore, I kept the price for this book as low as possible.

I request from you, dear reader, to write a short review and share the book with friends so that it is found and read by many people. I am hoping this will cause a ripple that may shake the government and the people around the world to save the children of the streets. I expect governments to have a system for finding the lost children and to bring the criminals before justice. A review may cost you a minute, but it may eventually help someone find his way home.

The news about the women who, at this moment, are waiting to be hanged for killing the children is, unfortunately, true!

Thanking you, with love,

Firoz Khan

FB page. https://www.facebook.com/firozwriter

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/firozwrites

Email: firozking@gmail.com

Other inspirational books from the author

1

"Between the Cradle and the Grave"

BY FAR THE BEST NOVEL I HAVE READ IN 2013 - (one of the reviews, dated 19 Dec 2013)

A boy is miraculously rescued from a lonely island. Upon investigation it is found that he is the lone survivor of an air crash that happened thirteen years ago. Unbelievably, the boy is only thirteen years old... he was born at the time of air crash!

Two people manage to escape from the aircraft, a soon-to-die cancer patient who is going for medical treatment, and a pregnant lady. The lady gives birth to a baby, and dies in childbirth, due to hardships. Helpless on a lonely island, and being aware of his inevitable death soon, the man develops an ingenious idea to teach the child about the mainland and how to reach it. Then he dies.

What is the 'Master Plan' that teaches the infant about the mainland at the age of thirteen? How does he come to know about it and escape from there? How did he manage to live alone for so long in spite of being so young?

A story that inspires us to find a way, even out of utter hopelessness and teaches the purpose of life.

And a striking message comes along with this captivating adventurous tale, that can change the way you think about life. Read and find the hidden treasures in you; and live towards the ultimate goal of life.

Click here to see it on Smashwords:

"Between the Cradle and the Grave"

2

"GUARDED BY THE GREATS"

What would you do if you are suddenly given a boon to travel the time and meet people in the ancient world?

This is a magical story of a boy who receives such a boon. A boy considers taking his own life after realizing a terrible family secret. By twist of fate, his desire to end it all, ends up taking him on an incredible journey through time.

A fable in search of the secret to find the worldly treasure... on a life-changing odyssey in the adventure-filled nights to some of the most brilliant minds ever lived...

Will he discover the secret to the worldly treasures?

Or, will he end up discovering something much more valuable?

The book takes the reader through ancient life and provides spiritual inspiration, joy and abundance of mind... and much more.

In short, it is a fable about living a great life.

Whatever, the boy has to pay a hefty price for his journey... as nothing is free in this world...

Read and get inspired. Achieve your dream and enjoy in the great days ahead; as today is the first day of your rest of life.

Click here to see it on Smashwords:

"GUARDED BY THE GREATS"

Excerpts from some reviews:-

"Another incredible book by Firoz Khan... This is one of my favorite modern inspiration writers."

"A thought provoking read... thoroughly enjoyed...Highly recommended."

"Great read."

Acknowledgements

To my father

My mother, for her prayers

Anca Damiean, my editor
