5. And it happened one afternoon
While running around one afternoon after our sumptuous lunch, all of us barged into the study room. There was no one there at that hour and we started excavating for something interesting in the cupboards. It was then that we found a dissection box - and boy! What an afternoon that turned out to be!
The surgical scissors, forceps, needles were completely new to us and we were more than eager to find out ourselves how can these be put to use. Though Bhaiya was not the eldest one in the motley group which had discovered the dissection box, he was our intellectual leader (de facto or de jure is left to one's imagination). It was still early afternoon and the elders were catching up with whatever the other party had missed or enjoying their siesta.
We, a group of around seven-eight kids, tiptoed towards the open field on the right side of the house with our prized possession. This field to the right also used to be our cricket ground earlier and hence was the preferred one. The first hurdle was an easy one, since the aisle door at the verandah end was generally left open (Zamindars of repute and a renowned family name never close their palace doors, for who knows when a needy might come for help!). The major hurdle that lay between us and the open maidan was NanaBabu's room. This room was a protrusion on the eastern side of the house and had an entrance from the house. There was, though, another door that served as its exit facing the open field. The room most certainly was an after thought - probably to keep an eye on urchins creating nuisance in the middle of the day! To top it all there were two windows, both of which opened towards the verandah. The distance between the windows of the protruded room and verandah was at least fifty meters. This empty space was, as I recollect, where a tractor plough and its paraphernalia was perennially parked.
This was an open trap and any movement was easily traceable from either of the windows from NanaBabu's room. Our idea was simple - run towards the open field with all your might and don't stop even if someone yells your name. Stop only to catch breath or if you are away from your adversary's line of sight. Pretty lame eh! But you can't expect eight-nine-year-old kids to have military grade planning. The stars and all the planets of this motley bunch of kids were busy preparing for the real dampener, ergo all of us made to the other side.
The scalpel was pretty shiny and so were the other blades in the box. Only forceps was matte and that's what caught my eye when the box was opened. Like any other kid, all my cousins were attracted by the shiny blades and grabbed whatever blade was within their reach, while I calmly took the forceps which was the only thing left in the box after a brief flurry for the blades.
With weapons clenched in our fists, we spread across the place in search of our target for dissection. This field, which used to be our cricket ground in recent past, had been sold out and construction of houses had started there as well. There were brick walls of all sizes around us, though not higher than our waists. Ankle-length grass covered the regions between the walls and it was here that we were looking for our prey - not to feast on but to dissect it.
Jumping across one of the walls in characteristic hunter style, by putting his palm and pulling his entire weight over it, Haddi shrieked - "Yahan par hai, jaldi Baba"!
That was the moniker my cousins had for Bhaiya and Baba without wasting any time jumped over the wall, across which Haddi had spotted a...toad!
Within no time the entire gang had surrounded the toad and eagerly waiting for the Senapti's orders to neutralize it.
"Attack!", no sooner than Senapati shouted, the mini rangers jumped on the toad.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhh!", the shriek was pretty loud and we were sure it would reach NanaBabu's ears, who would by now be enjoying his afternoon siesta.
One of the mini rangers, or probably a few, in their eagerness and lack of blade swinging skills had hit (and gashed) our Senapati's webbing between the thumb and index finger. While Chhotu and Pujan tried to calm him down, Bhaiya started throwing choicest of expletives at all of us!
Haddi and Dhiro had had enough (or so i thought) and they ran towards the Phulwari. If we are caught because of these fools then gone are all our weapons, dissection box and all our future planning of cutting open a few menial beings.
Blood trickled down Bhaiya's palm to the wrists while Chhotu was holding the webbing tightly to stop the flow. None of us were carrying any handkerchief or were filmy enough to tear our clothes and tie a bandage on Bhaiya's palm. While he continued shouting at us, we saw Dhiro and Haddi running back towards us with some shrubs clenched in their fists. So these guys hadn't chickened out at least!
No sooner they reached the place of accident/mishap/adventure (in future, we would be using different lofty terms to recount it), we saw they were carrying a marigold branch with quite a few leaves on it. It was Ayurveda 101 for me when Dhiro spoke like a sage explaining the healing properties of marigold leaves - at least someone had a presence of mind to run to Phulwari and pluck this Ayurvedic wonder. All of us plucked the leaves from that branch and started crushing the leaves and applying the juice on Bhaiya's palm.
After a few rounds of pluck-crush-apply-rewind, the blood flow stopped. Consequently, Dhiro had that superlative smirk on his face while we gave a not so loud hurrah to celebrate.
The toad survived to die another day though another one of his consanguinity did sacrifice its life, to the cause of science, when the experiment was repeated at our home in Tilkamanjhi. I was the only help this time which reiterated my belief on the adage that too many cooks indeed spoil the broth. The silver lining that emerged out of that afternoon adventure - Dissection box was flicked on that day by Bhaiya (though he always maintained that he had borrowed it - from whom?) and would remain prized possession of our adventure kit for many of our errands.
While running around one afternoon after our sumptuous lunch, all of us barged into the study room. There was no one there at that hour and we started excavating for something interesting in the cupboards. It was then that we found a dissection box - and boy! What an afternoon that turned out to be!
The surgical scissors, forceps, needles were completely new to us and we were more than eager to find out ourselves how can these be put to use. Though Bhaiya was not the eldest one in the motley group which had discovered the dissection box, he was our intellectual leader (de facto or de jure is left to one's imagination). It was still early afternoon and the elders were catching up with whatever the other party had missed or enjoying their siesta.
We, a group of around seven-eight kids, tiptoed towards the open field on the right side of the house with our prized possession. This field to the right also used to be our cricket ground earlier and hence was the preferred one. The first hurdle was an easy one, since the aisle door at the verandah end was generally left open (Zamindars of repute and a renowned family name never close their palace doors, for who knows when a needy might come for help!). The major hurdle that lay between us and the open maidan was NanaBabu's room. This room was a protrusion on the eastern side of the house and had an entrance from the house. There was, though, another door that served as its exit facing the open field. The room most certainly was an after thought - probably to keep an eye on urchins creating nuisance in the middle of the day! To top it all there were two windows, both of which opened towards the verandah. The distance between the windows of the protruded room and verandah was at least fifty meters. This empty space was, as I recollect, where a tractor plough and its paraphernalia was perennially parked.
This was an open trap and any movement was easily traceable from either of the windows from NanaBabu's room. Our idea was simple - run towards the open field with all your might and don't stop even if someone yells your name. Stop only to catch breath or if you are away from your adversary's line of sight. Pretty lame eh! But you can't expect eight-nine-year-old kids to have military grade planning. The stars and all the planets of this motley bunch of kids were busy preparing for the real dampener, ergo all of us made to the other side.
The scalpel was pretty shiny and so were the other blades in the box. Only forceps was matte and that's what caught my eye when the box was opened. Like any other kid, all my cousins were attracted by the shiny blades and grabbed whatever blade was within their reach, while I calmly took the forceps which was the only thing left in the box after a brief flurry for the blades.
With weapons clenched in our fists, we spread across the place in search of our target for dissection. This field, which used to be our cricket ground in recent past, had been sold out and construction of houses had started there as well. There were brick walls of all sizes around us, though not higher than our waists. Ankle-length grass covered the regions between the walls and it was here that we were looking for our prey - not to feast on but to dissect it.
Jumping across one of the walls in characteristic hunter style, by putting his palm and pulling his entire weight over it, Haddi shrieked - "Yahan par hai, jaldi Baba"!
That was the moniker my cousins had for Bhaiya and Baba without wasting any time jumped over the wall, across which Haddi had spotted a...toad!
Within no time the entire gang had surrounded the toad and eagerly waiting for the Senapti's orders to neutralize it.
"Attack!", no sooner than Senapati shouted, the mini rangers jumped on the toad.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhh!", the shriek was pretty loud and we were sure it would reach NanaBabu's ears, who would by now be enjoying his afternoon siesta.
One of the mini rangers, or probably a few, in their eagerness and lack of blade swinging skills had hit (and gashed) our Senapati's webbing between the thumb and index finger. While Chhotu and Pujan tried to calm him down, Bhaiya started throwing choicest of expletives at all of us!
Haddi and Dhiro had had enough (or so i thought) and they ran towards the Phulwari. If we are caught because of these fools then gone are all our weapons, dissection box and all our future planning of cutting open a few menial beings.
Blood trickled down Bhaiya's palm to the wrists while Chhotu was holding the webbing tightly to stop the flow. None of us were carrying any handkerchief or were filmy enough to tear our clothes and tie a bandage on Bhaiya's palm. While he continued shouting at us, we saw Dhiro and Haddi running back towards us with some shrubs clenched in their fists. So these guys hadn't chickened out at least!
No sooner they reached the place of accident/mishap/adventure (in future, we would be using different lofty terms to recount it), we saw they were carrying a marigold branch with quite a few leaves on it. It was Ayurveda 101 for me when Dhiro spoke like a sage explaining the healing properties of marigold leaves - at least someone had a presence of mind to run to Phulwari and pluck this Ayurvedic wonder. All of us plucked the leaves from that branch and started crushing the leaves and applying the juice on Bhaiya's palm.
After a few rounds of pluck-crush-apply-rewind, the blood flow stopped. Consequently, Dhiro had that superlative smirk on his face while we gave a not so loud hurrah to celebrate.
The toad survived to die another day though another one of his consanguinity did sacrifice its life, to the cause of science, when the experiment was repeated at our home in Tilkamanjhi. I was the only help this time which reiterated my belief on the adage that too many cooks indeed spoil the broth. The silver lining that emerged out of that afternoon adventure - Dissection box was flicked on that day by Bhaiya (though he always maintained that he had borrowed it - from whom?) and would remain prized possession of our adventure kit for many of our errands.
