Earliest Memories - Part 9 - A Kid’s Curiosity And The Killed Cat

A Kid’s Curiosity And The Killed Cat

 The little boy’s father, who was away at work the night of the first bombing raid, came home in the afternoon. He wanted to check on his family and get some rest, before heading out again the next day. He rode home on his bicycle and had a little sack with some food and goodies clipped on to the rear seat.   He parked the bicycle next to the window in the front by kicking down the stand, removed the sack and headed in the front door.  His children had peeked out from behind the thick blinds through the window and seen him arrive. He heard them scramble to open the door for him.   They rushed to him as he entered the door, to greet him. They looked all scrubbed and clean, both talking at the same time to first tell him about the bombing raid. They did not realise that he had heard the news at work and knew more details than they about the bombing and its effects. He was curious to find out how his family had handled the raid. He handed out some sweet treats to them from the sack. He listened to them, smiling and then asked how their mother was.  

She was lying down in the bedroom. She had been exhausted after the drama, stress and efforts of the early morning raid and clean-up with her progressing pregnancy and the growing belly. She stirred awake as she heard the father come in. She sat up slowly, bracing herself just as they all walked in chattering.

The father unpacked the food he had brought. He too lay down to rest, while the children were told to remain indoors. The news on the radio said there had been heavy firing and clashes between the two armies near the Attari border crossing nearby.  Tanks had been involved. The father pointed in the direction of the war front and he knew that it was just beyond the distance they could see as a horizon from the house. There had been casualties on both sides. There was more coverage of the war news and then a break playing some songs. Everyone in the house dozed off for a while. In a few hours it would be time to eat dinner for the night meal and sleep.

The blackened out windows helped make the house dark enough that the parents could sleep easier during the daylight hours. There was the sound of traffic sirens in the evening indicating that an army convoy was coming by the road. They seemed to go mostly in one direction in the mornings and the opposite direction in the evenings. They usually drove fast and went in a long stream. Unlike the chaotic civilian road traffic that India is famous for, the army seemed to be very different. Everything appeared, orderly, efficient and fast. There were usually motorcycles or jeeps with sirens sounding and big signs at the head and tail end of the convoys.

The little boy woke up and went to the darkened living room.

He remembered: He had a little secret of his own. He knew he had been told not to look out the windows through the curtains. He could understand it when it was dark outside and there were lights on inside. While it was still light outside, he could not understand the need. He was very curious by nature as children are. He had, a few times, in the very early mornings, gotten up to use the toilet, come back quietly and instead of going to bed, had gone to the window facing the front road and peeked out of a small corner, with barely a sliver of opening. He had watched , fascinated, as vehicles of different types, trucks, motorcycles and tankers had passed by carrying men in uniform, helmets carrying large stick like rifles. There had been traffic controllers and directors, some vehicles had crawled carefully, barely avoiding the trenches, some having to be winched out after a wheel  slipped into a trench. Once the little boy’s sister had crept up quietly behind him and he had jumped in fright. He had begged her not to tell their mother. She had agreed, but had wielded some control and power over him since.

That afternoon, the little boy saw his family all sound asleep. He could not sleep. He went to the window and silently pulled a corner of it to stick his eye in the gap. He saw army trucks passing by.  Sometimes he used to hear soldiers singing loudly in chorus, cheerfully as they headed out towards the battlefront. Today he saw returning convoys. They were strangely silent. The boy could see the open rear ends of the large trucks. They had people, presumably soldiers, lying down. There were flashes of white bandages, bright red spots of blood on some and glimpses of odd numbers of hand and legs. It did not look normal or regular. A couple of trucks looked like their backs had exploded. There were people still in them – some lying and some crouching next to them. They looked messy and grimy compared to the usual neatness or army trucks he had seen. They drove by really fast.

The little boy did not understand or could make sense of what was in them. He noted that the trucks passed close to the trenches out front where they had been earlier in the day. He saw a neighbour’s striped cat sitting on a pile of earth, next to the trench. It was mewing and looking across the street as the trucks thundered by. Suddenly the cat tried to make a dash across the street, jumping between one set of wheels that passed by, under the transmission rods. It did not make it across to the other side. The army traffic was relentless as a dozens of vehicles drove by fast. Some were marked with crosses indicating ambulances.

The boy was still watching when he felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder at the same time she pulled the curtain a bit wider so that she too could see out. She quickly pulled the curtain back over the window and pulled her son inside.

“Don’t look out again! Did I not tell you not to?” she said firmly but kindly. She was torn between being cross with him and scolding him and realizing that her son needed some support and comfort as he saw the cruel reality of life and this world today. She also realised that perhaps not everything had registered in his young, innocent mind. She asked him quietly and softy, “What did you see?”

“I heard the cat squeal, I think he is hurt!” the little boy said.

“Oh, yes, the silly cat,” she said, “he should not be out there at this time.”

She was thankful the little boy had not said anything about the wounded soldiers she had seen.  He had only seen a blurry mess and not realized what it was about.  It was only when he grew up, that the boy, an older man, realized what he had seen and what it had meant.

To Be Continued..


Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2014
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