It was one of those hazy summer days when time stood still under the scorching sun. Kabin was unwilling to step outside the comfort of his breezy room. He loved the fact that his room had two massive windows. The view was amazing and the draft it let in on summer days like this was pure bliss. 

He gazed outside. It was a dull, languid Saturday morning. Normally, his weekends were spent doing homework, helping mum with chores or visiting hajurbuwa and hajurmuwa at mamaghar. He loved mamaghar because they had a puppy. His mum had refused to let him keep a pet. So Kabin had long resorted to petting toys. It kept everyone happy.

Baba was a very vague word to him. He came and went into the oblivion from time to time. Kabin knew how his dad looked like but that was all he could ever know about him. His mum was his dad’s “mistress” and it was taboo to discuss his dad in their household. Whenever his “dad” paid a visit, Kabin would often hide in the next room praying that the visit was cut short as the sounds of his mum crying, grunting, and finally being bashed up always unsettled him and made his blood boil. 

Once, he had even managed to bang open the door in an attempt and put an end to the misery but his mum slapped him and told him not to interfere. That day, he had sworn he would disappear from her life if they did not relocate. Mum gave in to his demand, maybe partly because she knew he was making a valid point. He wouldn’t know exactly why though. So it was just him and mum who were his family. That, and books and music were his only solace.

Today was different though. He had made up his mind not to face the brutal heat. Mum kept rushing him to get dressed to visit mamaghar. He lingered, he loitered, and he made it obvious he didn’t want to go. After much coaxing that quickly turned into bargaining, mum retaliated. So he had to do all the dirty dishes, washing, and the cleaning today for having the liberty to stay back home on his own. During his 12 years of life, he had hardly spent a day on his own. Today was that ominous day. It felt exciting. 

He went to the terrace to watch the birds perched on the tree nearby seeking shelter from the cruel heat. For the first time, he noticed how the neighborhood looked like from an aerial view of his terrace. There was a vast pasture of greenery near where they lived. Far across the meadow, stood a pink house, almost like a sore in the eye. 

Tiny figure shuffling in the balcony of the pink house caught his attention. He tried to squint his eyes in the sunlight to make out what that shadow was. He could see a silhouette. It looked like a boy. It was hard to tell whether the boy was his age or older or even younger. He thought he would wave anyway. He had always wanted a friend in his neighborhood he could go talk to or bring home for sleepovers. His mum had always been a protective hen, keeping him under her wings all the time. This, he thought, was his chance to find his foothold and make friends. He could picture having a secret meeting with his new friend after school. He could almost see them chuckling in mischief. 

He waved at that almost indistinguishable figure. The return wave back almost made him leap in joy. He signaled the figure to come down. There was no response for a while. He frantically signaled again. The figure was waving with both hands up in the air now holding what looked like a book. He wasn’t sure what that meant. After all, he had never used sign language before. He laughed to himself. It was getting hotter and he could feel sweat drip down from him temple. He gave up on being out in the sun and got started with the chores his mum had asked him to do. 

His mind kept going back to that “friend” in the neighborhood. He looked at his watch. He wasn’t sure what time mum said she was going to be back, he had only half listened to her conversation in the excitement of being home alone. He cursed himself. He didn’t have the house key to sneak out to the neighborhood and sneak back in before mum arrived. What if she caught him? It couldn’t be that bad, he thought. After all, he wasn’t stealing or doing bad stuff. He was only trying to make friends.

Half an hour later, he found himself listening to his favorite music. Footsteps on the staircase indicated mum was home. After a routine chitchat he found himself asking mum who the pink house belonged to. 

“Oh THAT pink house? Why, it’s the Sharma Baajey’s family. Bajaini is quite friendly. She is the only lady I like in the neighborhood. Can’t say the same about her husband though,” she said casually. He wanted to ask about that boy but thought he would do his own research. He quickly had dinner and then locked himself up in his room and started looking up residential phone number for “Sharma’s” in the phone directory. He found the address that matched with the pink house. 

Few rings later a sweet voice picked up the phone. It sounded more like a girl than of an elderly bajaini. He hung up immediately.

Next day was a friendly cricket match organized by the local community. Kabin’s mum had been harping about about it since they had moved into the neighborhood about a month ago. He was all excited about it too. It meant getting to know more people his age, making new friends, being accepted in the community. Kabin was secretly hoping for that teenage boy from Sharma baajey’s house in that match. However, when the match started, he was completely attuned to the game being the newcomer in the area.

By the time match was over, he was sweating profusely and totally parched. Unaware of the bystanders, he swung his arms to get big gasps of air into his lungs and in the process brushed against someone. He immediately heard a little cry.

Startled, he turned around, squarely facing a person about his height. 
“Shouldn’t you be apologizing to me?” she asked. 

He knew by her voice that it was her who had picked up his call last night. He knew now it was her who had waved him back from the terrace from that “pink” house. His heart raced. Should he be happy? He felt an ache. He had been badly hoping for a boy to strike up great friendship in the coming days.

Before he could answer her or apologize, a huge crowd across the field caught his attention. He smiled at her and excused himself, ignoring his wish to form a bond of friendship at that moment. Shuffling his unsteady gait, he made his way to the crowd. He could only hear a few words.

“Coward”
“What a shame”
“Kasto bijog”
“Poor thing”
“Rest in peace”

He felt dizzy as he approached the center of the crowd. Suddenly everyone appeared to look at him and stop talking. He thought he was imagining things until a pair of dark, sad, looming eyes looked straight at him sending chills down his spine. He almost cursed those eyes for making him feel scared and threatened. Then he saw the bigger picture. Those hollow empty eyes belonged to a frowned old face of a frail man. He was staring at him unflinchingly.

“What happened?” Kabin asked.

“Sit down son,” the old man sounded even more melancholy than he appeared.

“There’s nowhere to sit!” Kabin complained. He was truly tired and hungry after the match.

“Just sit on the ground son. It will be a while before you stand up again on your feet,” said the old man, this time avoiding Kabin’s eyes and looking towards a silhouette. 

Kabin followed the old man’s gaze. He found himself looking at his own house. He saw about a dozen people cramped in the terrace. He sprung up instantly and ran home. Pushing his way through the crowd, he found himself at the entrance of his mother’s bedroom door. And he collapsed.

Far across the room, in an empty corner, hung a lifeless body of a young woman who was once Kabin’s mother.
 

 
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