5.4 Viveka
I was still holding Mikey's shoe in my hand when a sound startled me. I realized I'd been hearing it for several seconds but had assumed it was from the battlefield below. Now, I recognized it for what it was.
It was the sound of a horse's hooves, galloping. It grew louder, the rider approaching in my direction. The smoky air and the distant sounds from the battlefield below made it difficult to tell from which direction the person was coming.
I looked around frantically for a place to hide. I couldn't be sure that the person would be friendly. After all, I was in the middle of some bizarre war zone that only resembled the world I knew in its geographical details. I had no way of knowing who this rider might be.
The broken wall by which I'd found the shoe was around three feet high. There was a pit in the ground beside it, probably caused by the same thing that had destroyed the house itself. I jumped down into this pit and crouched low. Now, I was almost completely concealed by the wall on one side. But if anyone came around the other side and looked down, they would definitely see me. I couldn't help it; there wasn't enough time to search for a better hiding place. Hopefully, the rider was just passing by.
The sound of the horse grew louder and finally the rider came into view. The same wall which protected me from the rider's sight also blocked my view, so I had to rely on my ears for information. To my dismay, I realized the horse was slowing down, not riding on.
The sound of the hooves slowed to a trot, the horse snickering lightly as the rider reined it in. When I was around 10, I had taken riding lessons. Dad had made me and my brothers members of The Amateur Riders Club. I still remembered the three of us riding together at Mahalaxmi Racecourse at dawn, the rich smell of dew-wettened grass in the air, and the sound of the ocean across the Hajiali Causeway clearly audible in the absence of traffic. It made me long to be back at home, in my own world again.
The horse snickered again, and now it was so close I could smell it. Then the sound of its hooves stopped completely. I thought I heard a voice pitched low, as if the rider was speaking to himself or herself, or perhaps to the horse. My brother Vhy, a movie maniac, would probably have commented wryly that it was probably Robert Redford in The Horse Whisperer!
I stifled a giggle at the thought, and at Vhy's obsession with movies. I missed him right now. I wished I had listened to him when he had tried to tell me about Mikey disappearing. Was that just this morning? I could still taste the flapjacks I had cooked for breakfast.
Then the sound of the horse moving came to me again, growing louder as it picked up speed. It was galloping again, and this time the sound was definitely moving away, growing softer. As it faded completely, I heaved a huge sigh of relief.
Climbing out of the pit, I grabbed the broken wall for support. As I pulled myself back up to level ground again, a voice spoke behind me:
"Keep your hands out where I can see them. Reach for a weapon and I will put this arrow through your heart before you can blink. I can put three arrows through a bird before it hits the ground, from three hundred yards, so don't think you can move faster than me."
The voice was a man's. And it spoke in Hindi, but not the shudh Hindi of North India like my parents spoke. This was a strange mixture of Hindi, English, Urdu, Gujarati, Marathi and whatnot. It was like the Bambaiya Hindi they speak in HIndi movies.
I understood it well enough to obey. I raised my hands, just like I had seen people do in the movies.
"Good. Now turn around. Slowly, very slowly. Sudden moves are bad for your health."
Trembling from a sudden wave of heart-stopping fear, I turned slowly to face my captor. Turning seemed to take forever.
When I saw the man who was pointing a crossbow at me, I cried out in shock.
It was the sound of a horse's hooves, galloping. It grew louder, the rider approaching in my direction. The smoky air and the distant sounds from the battlefield below made it difficult to tell from which direction the person was coming.
I looked around frantically for a place to hide. I couldn't be sure that the person would be friendly. After all, I was in the middle of some bizarre war zone that only resembled the world I knew in its geographical details. I had no way of knowing who this rider might be.
The broken wall by which I'd found the shoe was around three feet high. There was a pit in the ground beside it, probably caused by the same thing that had destroyed the house itself. I jumped down into this pit and crouched low. Now, I was almost completely concealed by the wall on one side. But if anyone came around the other side and looked down, they would definitely see me. I couldn't help it; there wasn't enough time to search for a better hiding place. Hopefully, the rider was just passing by.
The sound of the horse grew louder and finally the rider came into view. The same wall which protected me from the rider's sight also blocked my view, so I had to rely on my ears for information. To my dismay, I realized the horse was slowing down, not riding on.
The sound of the hooves slowed to a trot, the horse snickering lightly as the rider reined it in. When I was around 10, I had taken riding lessons. Dad had made me and my brothers members of The Amateur Riders Club. I still remembered the three of us riding together at Mahalaxmi Racecourse at dawn, the rich smell of dew-wettened grass in the air, and the sound of the ocean across the Hajiali Causeway clearly audible in the absence of traffic. It made me long to be back at home, in my own world again.
The horse snickered again, and now it was so close I could smell it. Then the sound of its hooves stopped completely. I thought I heard a voice pitched low, as if the rider was speaking to himself or herself, or perhaps to the horse. My brother Vhy, a movie maniac, would probably have commented wryly that it was probably Robert Redford in The Horse Whisperer!
I stifled a giggle at the thought, and at Vhy's obsession with movies. I missed him right now. I wished I had listened to him when he had tried to tell me about Mikey disappearing. Was that just this morning? I could still taste the flapjacks I had cooked for breakfast.
Then the sound of the horse moving came to me again, growing louder as it picked up speed. It was galloping again, and this time the sound was definitely moving away, growing softer. As it faded completely, I heaved a huge sigh of relief.
Climbing out of the pit, I grabbed the broken wall for support. As I pulled myself back up to level ground again, a voice spoke behind me:
"Keep your hands out where I can see them. Reach for a weapon and I will put this arrow through your heart before you can blink. I can put three arrows through a bird before it hits the ground, from three hundred yards, so don't think you can move faster than me."
The voice was a man's. And it spoke in Hindi, but not the shudh Hindi of North India like my parents spoke. This was a strange mixture of Hindi, English, Urdu, Gujarati, Marathi and whatnot. It was like the Bambaiya Hindi they speak in HIndi movies.
I understood it well enough to obey. I raised my hands, just like I had seen people do in the movies.
"Good. Now turn around. Slowly, very slowly. Sudden moves are bad for your health."
Trembling from a sudden wave of heart-stopping fear, I turned slowly to face my captor. Turning seemed to take forever.
When I saw the man who was pointing a crossbow at me, I cried out in shock.
posted by Ashok K. Banker at 12.10.05
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