Free Classic Ruskin Bond by Ruskin Bond Page A

‘Meet my friend Ranbir. He is the best wrestler in the bazaar.’
    ‘Hullo, mister,’ said Ranbir, before the boy could open his mouth.
    ‘Hullo, mister,’ said the boy.
    Then Ranbir and Somi began a swift conversation in Punjabi, and the boy felt very lost; even, for some strange reason, jealous of the newcomer.
    Now someone was standing in the middle of the road, frantically waving his arms and shouting incomprehensibly.
    ‘It is Suri,’ said Somi.
    It was Suri.
    Bespectacled and owlish to behold, Suri possessed an almost criminal cunning, and was both respected and despised by all who knew him. It was strange to find him out of town, for his interests were confined to people and their privacies; which privacies, when known to Suri, were soon made public.
    He was a pale, bony, sickly boy, but he would probably live longer than Ranbir.
    ‘Hey, give me a lift!’ he shouted.
    ‘Too many already,’ said Somi.
    ‘Oh, come on Somi, I’m nearly drowned.’
    ‘It’s stopped raining.’
    ‘Oh, come on . . .’
    So Suri climbed on to the handlebar, which rather obscured Somi’s view of the road and caused the cycle to wobble all over the place. Ranbir kept slipping on and off the carrier, and the boy found the cross-bar exceedingly uncomfortable. The cycle had barely been controlled when Suri started to complain.
    ‘It hurts,’ he whimpered.
    ‘I haven’t got a cushion,’ said Somi.
    ‘It is a cycle,’ said Ranbir bitingly, ‘not a Rolls Royce.’
    Suddenly the road fell steeply, and the cycle gathered speed.
    ‘Take it easy, now,’ said Suri, ‘or I’ll fly off!’
    ‘Hold tight,’ warned Somi. ‘It’s downhill nearly all the way. We will have to go fast because the brakes aren’t very good.’
    ‘Oh, Mummy!’ wailed Suri.
    ‘Shut up!’ said Ranbir.
    The wind hit them with a sudden force, and their clothes blew up like balloons, almost tearing them from the machine. The boy forgot his discomfort and clung desperately to the cross-bar, too nervous to say a word. Suri howled and Ranbir kept telling him to shut up, but Somi was enjoying the ride. He laughed merrily, a clear, ringing laugh, a laugh that bore no malice and no derision but only enjoyment, fun . . .
    ‘It’s all right for you to laugh,’ said Suri. ‘If anything happens,
I’ll
get hurt!’
    ‘If anything happens,’ said Somi, ‘we
all
get hurt!’
    ‘That’s right,’ shouted Ranbir from behind.
    The boy closed his eyes and put his trust in God and Somi—but mainly Somi . . .
    ‘Oh, Mummy!’ wailed Suri.
    ‘Shut up!’ said Ranbir.
    The road twisted and turned as much as it could, and rose a little only to fall more steeply the other side. But eventually it began to even out, for they were nearing the town and almost in the residential area.
    ‘The run is over,’ said Somi, a little regretfully.
    ‘Oh, Mummy!’
    ‘Shut up.’
    The boy said, ‘I must get off now, I live very near.’ Somi skidded the cycle to a standstill, and Suri shot off the handlebar into a muddy side-track. The boy slipped off, but Somi and Ranbir remained on their seats, Ranbir steadying the cycle with his feet on the ground.
    ‘Well, thank you,’ said the boy.
    Somi said, ‘Why don’t you come and have your meal with us, there is not much further to go.’
    The boy’s shyness would not fall away.
    ‘I’ve got to go home,’ he said. ‘I’m expected. Thanks very much.’
    ‘Well, come and see us some time,’ said Somi. ‘If you come to the chaat shop in the bazaar, you are sure to find one of us. You know the bazaar?’
    ‘Well, I have passed through it—in a car.’
    ‘Oh.’
    The boy began walking away, his hands once more in his pockets.
    ‘Hey!’ shouted Somi. ‘You didn’t tell us your name!’
    The boy turned and hesitated and then said, ‘Rusty . . .’
    ‘See you soon, Rusty,’ said Somi, and the cycle pushed off.
    The boy watched the cycle receding down the road, and Suri’s shrill voice came to him