A dinner at Iqbal’s.

A dinner at Iqbal’s.

Rabinarayan Senapati.

Shefali and Sriballabha rushed to the school where their seven-year-old son Rohan studied. The school authority called at least one of them in an emergency. Rohan’s two elder cousins also studied in the same school, the famous Bhubaneswar Public School. What could have been the reason that these elder children could not manage and a need to call them did arise? Panic-stricken parents rushed to the school from their respective offices.

The school was running, as usual, all children were in their respective classrooms. The playground and the garden looked deserted. The taller trees appeared lonely and sleepy without the sweet words of the students. The trees did not look as happier as they looked earlier when they visited the school at opening or the closing times.

The Principal greeted them warmly, made them sit comfortably on the guest sofa assuring not to be worried at all. But both of them were very anxious and requested the principal to come to the point. The principal smiled and begged them to wait a few minutes. After about five minutes a man came inside this guest room and sent a slip for the Principal.

 The principal came out and greeted him with the same warmth, and introduced him to Rohan’s parents and vice versa. He was Rohan’s friend Latif Iqbal’s father Asif Iqbal. The clean-shaved man with the best of the western attire could be an Iqbal! They masked this query with a forced smile. Mutual greetings relaxed their tense mind.

The Principal brought all of them inside his office room with words to the guard for no entry of visitors until his next instruction.

 “Actually we have solved the issue between Latif and Rohan and there was no need to call the parents, this is only a formality following the school rules.”

What could be a matter between two children of only seven-year-old!

The Principal started again, “Don’t be worried. There was a games period before the refreshment break. Returning from the games, Latif found someone opened his bag and consumed his snacks. The teacher reported to me. From the CCTV replay, I found it to be Rohan who skipped the games and he consumed the food.”

Shefali and Sriballabha looked red and shy; sweat drops were visible on their forehead. Asif just laughed and made the situation light with his words, “Well done dear Rohan, my son was complaining for a month or so that his best friend Rohan was not talking to him or playing with him. He was very sad. They used to love each other’s food and almost on all the days they exchanged their boxes. Latif always told Rohan’s food is the best because he has a grandmother. Grannies knew magic. My mother died when he was six months old. Yes sister, he also praised your pudding and cakes.”

“Iqbalsab, we solved the matter exactly in that manner. Latif in a moment became very happy knowing that Rohan consumed his snacks after many days. Rohan did not eat his own supply and handed the box to his friend. They were smiling, so were all the children. One thing I request, please do not ask your children any questions regarding the incident. They are children, they won’t hide and let them ventilate voluntarily.”

Following the school rule book, Sriballabha and Asif signed the visitor’s register to prove their attendance.

The meeting closed there.

They came out quickly students did not see them. Outside the school campus, Sefali chided Mr. Asif, “You told one lie, sir, my mother in law never allowed me to prepare Rohan’s pack.”

The three laughed.

Asif invited them to their house to meet Latif’s mother. Both of them had to return back to their work. However, they accepted the invitation and assured a date at the weekend.

Shefali returned from the office at her usual time. Since the school visit, she remained thoughtful.  This only increased seeing Rohan studying at this unusual hour. However, she expressed happiness for his behavior concealing her concern.

After getting fresh she went inside the worship house for her evening prayers. Rohan did not follow her as he did every day. His grandmother reminded him to attend his prayer. Rohan obeyed. He saw his mother weeping and unable to sing the prayer.

“What did happen to you Moma? Sorry to make late.”

Shefali dragged him on to her lap and started the prayer with a moist tone.

Rohan gave the company.

Rohan thought about the school matter. He was sure that as God, mother too knew everything about her child. But he could not find his fault to be enough to make his mother so sad. After the prayer, Rohan started studying again.

A train of thoughts thronged inside Shefali's mind. She was not at all embarrassed for the day’s incident but was concerned about the built-up of this incident.

Long back Rohan told to her that he and his next roll number, his best friend Latif shared the two sitter bench. When asked, on every occasion his friends' list started with Latif.

One day he casually complained to her that Latif snatched his tiffin box and ate all his food.

Grandmother told, “No problem Rohu, I should supply more cakes that would be enough for both of you.”

Rohan replied, “No Jejee, that is not required, his home supply is far better than yours. But he loves my food. How is this Jejee? We love to exchange our food.”

Grandmother could not be sure about the statement, a compliment or a comment. Such a little kid is so pure in expression and told the truth, “Ghar ka murgi, dal barabar. (Homemade chicken tastes like dal).”

“Ok Rohu, that is fine.”

Rohan and Latif remained the best of friends. When a teacher reprimanded one of them the other got pain. When Rohan’s drawing stood first in the class, Latif became happy. When Latif owns the class sports Rohan enjoyed. After all, they were of adjacent roll numbers and they shared the same bench.

But in little children’s lives too there happened troughs and turmoil.

About a month back, a hesitant Rohan confided to Sefali in a whispering tone, “Moma, I have a question? Don’t tell to Papa. I am not sure if he would be happy with my question. This is too confidential Moma.

Moma, is Iqbal different than me? Is he a Musalman, and I am a Hindu? Some days before, that news on the TV, did you remember Moma? I am talking about the bomb blast news which killed many people. Moma, I know you knew everything, you clarify me. How much I and Latif differ. When I visited Papa’s village Chachaji explained to me that cow differed from buffalo and a Jersey cow differed from a country cow. Chachaji was only clearing my doubts. Now Moma you say, the difference between Latif and I is like cow and buffalo or it is like Jersey and country cow. Moma, is it harmful to share his food? ”

Shefali was sure; someone has polluted this innocent kid. She could not imagine her seven-year-old son one day should ask these bitter questions. She also judged Rohan bringing the bomb blast incident on which what possibly was his question. She had to answer, there was no way out. She tried to be confident, to behave emotionless, to tell truth, to save her child’s growing up, to safeguard his friend from bias. A series of shattered thoughts entered her mind.

 But she replied calmly, “Rohu my son, there is a difference but the difference is like your Papa’s difference from your Chacha. Do they look all the same even if their mother and father are the same? Your Papa works in an office, your Chacha does politics, Your Papa is average built, and your Chacha is strong and stout. Similarly, our motherland, our country India has several varieties of children. We are Hindus; we pray in a temple, Musalmans are those who pray in a mosque. On that day did I not show you a mosque on our way to a temple? And you have seen the Gurdwara where the Shikhs worship, the turban clad people. We all belong to one mother that is our motherland. A cow differs from a buffalo just like a monkey differs from a man; different species. So the difference between you and Latif is not comparable to that. I have introduced you to Peter  uncle and Venus aunty, and their daughter Susan. Peter belongs to the European white race, a German and Venus is from South Africa’s Black race. You can compare this difference like the difference between the country and the Jersey cow. With the little differences, we all are humans. There is another name to humans Rohan; Homo sapiens. So Latif is your friend just like Seema’s daughter Alfa is your friend.”

Rohan interrupted, “Don’t take the name of Alfa, she is quarreling with me, Moma, I do not like her. Don’t compare anyone with Latif. He is different, he is my best friend. But you know Moma some senior students have told me not to take his food. If I took his food, they would scold me again, if they knew. Should I discuss this with Latif?  One more question Moma, you told about Susan’s parents, tell me if she is a German or a South African? Susan is fair like her father and beautiful like her mother, is it not so? ”

These questions seemed to be more difficult for Shefali. Many times this little kid asked questions like grownups. But sure, she would be answering all of them. At this time Sriballabha entered and Rohan signaled his mother to be silent.

Shefali did not speak about this anymore as Rohan did not ask her again.

 She should have addressed his questions. Did not Asif say, Rohan was not sharing food with Latif for a month for which the child was not happy? Probably, Rohan did not share his food thereafter due to whatever fear it might be. The very same act of taking Latif’s food he tried secretly. Might be, abstaining from the food he used to like caused an irresistible desire in him that he could not overcome! Or it might be he wanted to correct a sense of guilt of hurting his friend. Shefali went on thinking; she had to wash her face several times to cleanse her moist eyes. She tried to avoid face contact with her only seven-year-old son.

Sriballabha reached home, he handed over a bar of chocolate to Rohan. That was unusual to a man who always cautioned Rohan not to take Chocolates.

Rohan felt sorry and unworthy to accept his father’s favor. He resolved inside himself that he should confess his mistake to his father. He always believed Moma knew everything about him and there was no need to confess to her. He thought father had no such privilege. Moreover, he was sure, she would not divulge her son’s secret to his father. So he felt like cheating his father. He remembered the story of Mahatma Gandhijee taking a piece of mutton when he was a child. Did not the goat bleat inside Mahatma’s throat in the night, in his sleep?

He called his father. “Papa, I have finished all my home works. I feel very sleepy. Come here, you have promised me to teach the game of Chess. Papa, let us play.”

Unlike the other days Sriballabha obliged at once without any hesitation.

Shefali remained busy in Kitchen. Grandparents were calling Rohan to their room but he pulled Sriballabha into his study room.

After a small session of Chess, Rohan closed the game and sat on his father’s lap, “Papa, I have to say something to you, please do not be angry. Will you excuse me?”

“No Rohan, I will never be unhappy if you have decided to say something that is not making you happy.”

“Listen carefully, Papa. You do not know that I have a friend Latif. How can you know when I have never told this to you? But Moma and Granny know this. He is my best friend; we sit on the same bench. We share our food. We help each other. Everyone in the class knows that we are very close. But papa, I did not know he is a Musalman. I understand, as per Moma, just like Chacha and you are Granny’s son, the Musalman and the Hindu are equal sons of our motherland. But I do not know why some senior boys told me not to share his food. He is Musalman, he has the capacity to make a bomb or hide a pistol in his school bag. I did not believe them Papa but I feared them when they repeated the same the next day. I did not feel comfortable to discuss this with Latif. Would not he be unhappy with these things?

I stopped sharing food with him. But Papa, I wanted to prove that my friend is good and he did not keep a pistol secretly in his bag. In our games period today, all went to the playground but I stayed back to be very sure by searching his bag. I searched his bag. I did not get anything. His essay copy was folded I made it correct. I read his essay, “Your Friend”. He has described me. He has written about my indifference to him for a month. He is very sorry that I did not take his food. He is sorry that I am not giving Granny’s tasty food to him. I wept Papa. I opened his box. The fragrance of his snacks I could not resist. I ate all his food. Papa, I am sure he did not guess that I could take his food after so many days. If he knew that he could not have complained to the teacher. And you know, he became very happy that I consumed his food. I gave him my lunch box. I hesitated to confess there because I did not like to say the actual purpose to open his bag. But the Principal somehow privately made me telling the truth. He did not get angry. Did I do a very big mistake, papa?”

“No my dear, you behaved like an innocent child. This happens. But try not to do anything in secret that you cannot do in open.”

“OK Papa, let me go to Moma.” Rohan ran away happily.

Soon he was telling to Sefali, “My Papa is the best.”

And the mother and son discussed the matter.

Probably one of the longest days in their lives surrendered to the Goddess of sleep in the most peaceful manner.

On the morning of the weekend, Mr. Asif Iqbal reminded Sriballabha about the promised visit to his home.

Shefali and her mother-in-law became very busy in the day to prepare many food items of their specialty. Shefali packed these perfectly.

“Where are we going, Papa?”

“We are to a friend’s house son, for dinner. I know our son would be smart and polite there. Will you?”

“Yes, Papa.”

Asif stood on the gate to receive them, Latif was on his side. What a pleasant surprise, Rohan jumped out. Children touched the feet of elders. Latif’s mother Sahina and her daughter Parwin welcomed Sefali to the inside. Sahina told, “My daughter is ten years older than Rohan, appearing twelfth, reads fewer plays with mobile more often.”

“No aunty, Amijan wants, I should study all the time; complained Parwin.”

The evening ran so quickly, the two children explored all the toys and comic books of Latif. The two ladies discussed about the latest purchase of their ornaments and sarees, about different cuisines, about the merit and demerit of working women and housewives, about the respective disciplines and liberties are given to them by their society, about the friendship of their children and about many other things.

But the two men discussed very seriously about matters ranging from politics, war, economics, social and communal tensions and many other things.

Parwin was everywhere, with the children, with the ladies and with the men.

Time passed so soon. The dinner got over.

Suddenly, Rohan asked, “Uncle, why you have kept that big gun inside the glass showcase?”

Shefali and Sriballabha blushed to shyness and discomfort. The Iqbals laughed.

And Sahina took the lead to explain Rohan, “That is not a gun dear Rohan, that is the replica of the gun uncle used in Kargil war. He lost his left foot completely but this gun not only saved him but saved the country from enemies. As he became unfit with an amputation of the foot he got his retirement early. His regiment gifted this replica at the farewell. He has received medals too.”

Rohan was looking to the left foot of his uncle. He felt proud of his best friend’s father.

Uncle laughed, “Son, like that gun this foot, is a replica only but quite a very good replica. Is it not so Rohan? But dear, I have an original gun too. You know I am handicapped to fight with dacoits, so the authority has given me a license to keep one. I have surrendered the weapon in the police station for renewal of the license and cannot show you now.”

“Uncle, will you give that gun to me when it comes back?”

“What will you do with that?”

“I shall join the army with that gun.”

Everyone laughed.

“Children will remain like children.” Parwin said as if she was no more a child.

Now the elders laughed.

It was the end of some good times, they bade farewell.