Just moments ago there was sunlight. There was the sun's fierce intensity. Suddenly, waves of black clouds came from nowhere and filled the sky. The sun seemed to have disappeared into a forest of clouds. Now and then it peeked through the gaps, playing hide and seek. Those who had beads of sweat forming on their bodies from the scorching heat breathed sighs of relief as the cool breeze touched them.
Kashem too offered silent thanks to God in his heart. He was carrying the sahib's lunch to the office in a tiffin carrier. In the blazing heat, sweat had been streaming from his body. Dark clouds were gathering heavy in the sky. A gentle cool breeze was blowing. From the looks of things, it seemed a heavy downpour could start any moment. The wind was gradually picking up speed. Kashem kept looking up at the sky again and again. He quickened his pace.
This twelve-year-old boy Kashem delivered the sahib's lunch to the office every day. His only family was his mother. His mother's earnings weren't enough to run the household properly. That's why Kashem had to take the sahib's lunch to the office. Between mother and son's earnings, they somehow managed their daily bread. If Kashem's father had been around, perhaps he wouldn't have had to work. Sometimes his heart filled with disgust and rage. Where were the days when he would laugh and play to his heart's content day and night, study like Nazir from their neighborhood? Instead, he had to work. Yet all the other boys his age spent their days playing marbles, ha-du-du, and cards. Nazir, Rashid, Mainka, Kala, Benga—they all had fathers. They had no worries at all, but Kashem had to think.
One day Kashem had asked his mother, "Tell me Ma, everyone else has a father, but where's mine, Ma?" Kashem's mother had answered angrily in a bitter voice, "Your father ran away. He divorced me."
"What's that supposed to mean, Ma?"
Kashem's mother already had a short temper. At her son's question, she got even angrier. Shouting and cursing, she said, "Your father married someone else and couldn't feed and clothe me, so he abandoned me, understand?"
"Damn him!"
A hatred for his father awakened in Kashem's tender heart. Kashem quickened his steps. The clouds hung heavy in the sky. A torrential rain could start any moment. As he walked, his sick mother's kind, sorrowful face floated before his mind. It was under his mother's loving shelter that he had entered this struggle for survival. He had such a longing to study. But the hand that should have held a pen now grasped the tools of survival. No! Kashem was quite worried. His mother had been suffering from fever for several days now.
As he walked, Kashem thought about taking his mother to a doctor—he would need to buy her medicine. But he didn't have any money at all. He couldn't figure out how to manage anything. To take his mother to a doctor, he had asked many people in the neighborhood for a loan. But no one gave him any—why would they? Everyone expected something from them in return. Besides, almost everyone was poor themselves—who could give what to whom! Kashem let out a long sigh.
"Ma's had fever for four days. Seeing a doctor costs a lot of money. If I take her to that useless government clinic, they give you one bottle of rotten red water and some expensive tablets. Those don't help at all." A flock of worried thoughts flew chaotically through Kashem's mind. He couldn't settle on anything. Somehow Kashem felt his mother wouldn't survive. "If Ma dies, who will I stay with? Who will love me?" His chest shook terribly with unknown dread. Again and again his mother's wan face floated up in his tender mind.
One night Kashem had asked his mother, "Tell me Ma, how do people die?" "Listen Kashem, when Allah commands it, an angel named Azrael tears the soul from a person's chest and takes it away." Kashem had shuddered with fear then.
Walking along, at one point Kashem reached a bus stop. By now drops of rain had started falling. A bus was standing there. Kashem broke into a run to catch the bus. Maybe if he could catch it, he'd escape the rain. Many times before he'd taken the bus to the office, but when he had no money, the conductor would grab him by the neck and throw him off. So Kashem never got on the bus without fare.
But today he had to get on. If the rain started properly, he might not be able to go at all. He ran up and climbed on just as the bus started moving. As he tried to board the moving bus by grabbing the handle, the helper shoved him, shouting "Hey you bastard, get off!" His hand slipped from the handle and Kashem fell onto the road. Then the rain began pouring down heavily. The tiffin carrier slipped from Kashem's hand and fell as well. Getting up quickly, Kashem saw that the locked tiffin carrier had fallen under the bus wheel and been crushed flat.
Seeing the tiffin carrier in this condition, something twisted inside him. What would he tell the sahib? From the fall, his knees and elbows were scraped. But he paid no attention to that. He quickly picked up the flattened tiffin carrier and tried shaking it for a while to see if it could be fixed. But failing, he finally set off again in the rain, soaked through. The knee injury was quite bad. Walking was painful, but Kashem wondered to himself, what would the sahib say to him? Then he thought, the sahib was rich, maybe he wouldn't say anything. At the same time, another worry raised its head in his mind—where would he get money? Should he ask the sahib for a loan? Tormented by various thoughts, Kashem eventually arrived and stood before the sahib's office. Coming to one side of the office's massive iron gate, Kashem stood silently for a while. Soaked by the rain, his body was shivering properly. In his mind he rehearsed what he would say to the sahib.
Just a few steps inside the gate, something inside him suddenly trembled. He stopped again. What if the sahib beat him! Kashem's mental agitation was steadily increasing. His breathing was rapid. He couldn't understand his mind's condition at all. At this moment Kashem remembered another sahib.
"If only our sahib was like that!" The words escaped his lips involuntarily. Once Kashem's mother had fallen terribly ill with fever. For two days his mother had been delirious with fever. It was as if fire was coming from her body. Kashem sat by his mother's bedside, pouring water on her head. After a while his mother opened her eyes and looked at him. In a tearful voice Kashem asked, "How do you feel now, Ma? You haven't eaten anything for two days, Ma. What do you feel like eating, tell me, Ma." Kashem's mother just looked at him helplessly then. A few drops of hot tears rolled down from the corners of her eyes. Kashem held his mother's hand and tried to comfort her.
"Why are you crying, Ma? Nothing will happen. Pray to Allah, He'll take away all your troubles." Hearing this tender, innocent boy's comforting words, the tears hidden in the helpless woman's heart seemed to know no bounds. Embracing Kashem, she broke down completely. That starving mother's heart thought of Kashem. If she died, what would become of Kashem? With whom would she leave this piece of her heart? Tears streamed from the mother's eyes. Kashem asked again, "What do you feel like eating, Ma, tell me."
In a plaintive voice, slowly, Kashem's mother said, "What can I eat, child! Do we have any good food in our fate? I feel like eating an apple. When the sahib gets sick, I see him eat so many apples!" "Alright, I'll buy you an apple."
Kashem wasted no more time. He set out for the market. On the street, he thought—he didn't have even a penny. What would he buy the apple with? Walking along, Kashem stopped in front of a fruit shop at the market. The shop had so many fruits arranged in rows. Kashem didn't even know the names of all the fruits. He stared with hungry eyes, mouth agape. He didn't dare ask the shopkeeper which fruit was the apple. What if he chased him away! Kashem had been standing there like this, but the shopkeeper hadn't noticed until now. Now seeing Kashem standing there like that, he shouted angrily. "Hey you little bastard! Get lost! You're standing there to steal. Get away from here."
Kashem quickly backs away in fear. At this moment he feels utterly helpless. A suppressed sob wells up deep within him. Driven away by the fruit vendor, Kashem goes and stands in front of a rice shop. A saheb who had bought rice was looking around for a coolie. Understanding the situation, Kashem hurries over to the saheb. "Give it to me, sir, I'll take it." "But you're so small! You won't be able to carry half a maund of rice." "No, sir, I can do it, sir. I have to be able to!" Almost desperately, Kashem begins tugging at the sack of rice. Left with no choice, the saheb says, "Alright, fine, you take it. But tell me how much I should pay you?" Kashem replies hurriedly, "Whatever you'd pay, sir! Whatever an apple costs, give me that!"
The saheb seems to furrow his brow in surprise and says, "Why, boy? What will you do with just one apple?" "Sir, my mother has a high fever. Mother wants to eat an apple." Hearing this, the saheb's heart seems to be touched with compassion for this poor, helpless boy. In the end, the saheb buys Kashem a whole dozen apples. Kashem feels as if he's received the moon from the sky. In his joy, he touches the saheb's feet in salaam.
"May Allah give you much, sir! May Allah give you much." Today, standing in front of the office, he remembers that saheb. He thinks, if only all sahebs were like that!
Gathering some courage in his chest, he steps toward the stairs. He thinks to himself what answer he'll give the saheb. And how on earth will he bring up the matter of money! But he needs the money—he absolutely needs it! Slowly, limping along, he stands with a broken heart before the door of the saheb's room. He pushes the door, then thinking something, steps back two paces. His heart is trembling today for some reason. Even with his wet body, he's sweating profusely. Thunder rumbles outside. The echo of the thunder seems to resonate within his very heart. After standing silent for a while, he pushes the door and comes to stand before the saheb.
The saheb was already sitting there fuming because Kashem was late bringing his meal. Seeing Kashem in this condition, especially the pitiful state of the tiffin carrier, he pounced on Kashem like a hungry beast. "Wretch, bastard, son of a bitch!" the saheb says, delivering a hard slap. Like a stunned fool, Kashem stares at the saheb... all his words seem to sink and disappear somewhere.