Beyond poverty

A Story by Sam

“That one! That one!” shouted a childish voice from nowhere around.

I was standing outside a shop counting shillings to kill the hunger of the bill which my son would make to satisfy his thirst for the newest and costliest toys in the fad. It was a pleasant summer noon and the crowd added life to the shops around. In this huge haste, where one could hear no crystal voice even with the sharpest ear, that certain call fell directly upon my ear and I, for a moment stopped counting the fresh notes from my thick wallet, and turned around. To my sight, I saw a young, skinny, whitish man had made a cosy seat over the back of his neck for his lean, 8-year old boy where he sat uncomplaining. The boy, with one of his sharp fingers, was pointing towards the toy shop at the footstep of which I was pretty busy with my infinite wealth. I followed the direction of his finger and discovered that he was pointing a mini truck inside the glass wall of that shop that would fit his small body.

“That one! That one! ”, the boy shouted again.

“Papa, there is the truck I was talking about. It is a nice toy and I want to take a ride on it.”

As I used my professional canny eyes to check them out, I found out that they both were very poor. I ignored them at once. I turned around and saw my son unfinished yet. He was very confused with his choices. So started looking busy with my better offs all over again.

Within long ere, a loud roaring sound as that of the engine of a truck came from behind. I paused and looked back.

After the cloud of dust had settled down, I saw that it was the same skinny man kneeling down with his child heavily heaped on his back and was crawling with both pace and base.

I was amazed at this. I wondered how he could do that sort of idiosyncrasy on this rough sandy road. I was dumbstruck.

The shopkeeper had called out my name several times, as my son had finished his longest list, only to get no answer from me. I was so stunned at the unusual scene I had seen, that even moving an inch was a herculean task. The shopkeeper, after getting very impatient, came out and poked my back. I handed him the money and continued to gaze at the two.

After two rounds about the street, the skinny man stood up. His son’s eyes were as lit as the shiniest diamond. The man’s eyes met mine as he, perhaps, noticed me looking at him for a long time.

He came nearer to me and said something.

I could not gather the meaning of his words, then. The words were still echoing in my ear while I watched them fading away in that busy crowd.

After they were vanished, I called upon my sub-conscious mind. I was stoned to recall all those words. He told me, “My poverty is not so poor enough to buy happiness for my child, Ramesh Babu.”