"Wuuhaaaaan!!", "Waaaaaahhaaaan!!", the shrill voice echoed out like a siren, piercing the many noises of a busy Sunday 'haat': Ponking rickshaws, vegetable vendors trying to capture the attention of the next buyer, old men sitting in the tea stall discussing politics, men with bags bargaining in loud voices, if they could get the fish a little cheaper they would buy more. Honking horns blaring through the cycle bells ringing, quarells, laughter, and voices of all possible colours. The contended man with a bag full of vegetables and meat, happy that he could get them fresh and cheap, thinking about the good lunch he would share in a conversation with his family; Stared down by hungry eyes of few skeletal figures sitting by the side with a bowl full of coins, their eyes made their mouth water with the thought of food they could never think of having: their meals were limited and "Wuuhaaaahaaaan!!", the cry was shriller and louder this time as sight caught to the source of the wail: a little boy stood stamping his feet some four and a half feet from the ground, hair cropped as much as can be cropped, the colour of which had turned grey by dust from black. His face heavily tanned and could be considered dirty particularly by his snot that kept pouring down to his upper lips which he immediately snorted and grunted in and swallowed as he wailed a spoilt cry: "Wuuuhaaaaan!! Wyaannh!!".
The reason for his wails was the old man, a cycle-van puller denying his wish of a little ride. "Control your son bibi, tell him to shut up, i am going home now, cant take him for any free ride, I have work to do", the man shouted out to the mother of that kid who was busy arguing a bargain with a customer at her vegetable stall. The heat added to the irritating mood of the man as well as the lady who immediately turned around and retorted her son, "Come here! stop nagging at that man, cranky, he is, there is no point in wailing here, go and play with your friends!", but the kid was adamant, He would not move and instead wailed louder, "please" as he tugged at the lungi of the cycle-van puller. He pushed aside the hand of the little boy," Go now! don't disturb" and while he said this his eyes met the boys and a sudden moment of nostalgia placed him some forty years back, a reflection of him in a school uniform carrying some old torn books. The torn uniform shirt and half pant the kid was wearing had no difference from the one he wore when he loved the books, the subjects, the studying, it was long ago and then when his father left with another woman and his mother died in poverty it became his duty as the eldest son to hold the family and stop it from breaking into non existence, it was then that he borrowed the van from his uncle and strarted earning by pedal. Compassion filled his heart as he said:
"ok, but not very far". A smiling kid was now jumping almost dancing with excited shrieks of laughter on the cycle-van. "yah! yah! yah! here we go... Yah! yah! yah! vrooooom". The mother smiled a reflection of the boys face, the joy, how she wished he forever kept that expression. The van puller rolled up his 'banyan', wiped the sweat off his brow and began to peddle, but had to stop as soon as he started for a crowd blocked his way.
A black sedan stopped the market traffic, as a fat man in loose baggy pants stepped off it, another with a bag followed: He lifted almost everything the market had to sell, and moved towards his car, ready to leave when he suddenly decided to have a paan and approached the cigarette shop, asked for his addictive.
The van puller pushed his way across the crowd to seek the reason for his halt and reached the black car, the kid followed him in suspicion.
After putting the lump of paan into his mouth to swell his cheek the man reached out for his wallet to pay and shrieked: "Pickpocket! My money! My cards! Stolen!"
The van puller found the wallet dropped beside the front tyre, picked it up and to make a show of his little education to the school going kid, opened it to read the name while explaining how it would lead them to the owner when, "THIEF!" shouted a helper a finger pointed towards the man. Before he could explain anything he felt a huge knuckle on his back that made him fall to the ground, greeted by kicks and punches, his nose bled as he slowly fell unconscious: the sound of a siren made apparations in his mind as he felt being dragged to a van and taken.
The kid stood there silently, no wails, no cries, just a silent tear washed the dirt off his face.
"Today an incident happened in the market", the man said chewing on his rice and shaking off some from his hand as he sat opposite his wife enjoying his heavy Sunday lunch.
"What?"
"My wallet was nearly stolen by a thief, lucky Raju spotted him before he fled..."
"Then?"
"The what, the crowd caught him and gave him what he deserved, the police took him into custody"
The wife breathed a heavy sigh: "Thank god you are safe, what filth the world is filled with today", and they ate.
