Going home is like a pilgrimage

Going home is like a pilgrimage. When you are at home, never know when and how the faces and places , long forgotten, suddenly come alive in your memory as if you met them just yesterday. This morning at home after quite some time, my mind drifted back down the memory lane . Seeing the backyard pond of my home at Hajo, a small incident with my childhood friend came to my mind . During the holidays, while my mother had her afternoon siesta assuming that her son had already slept, I used the sneak out to the outside world which was far more interesting than the hopeless school books.

In that backyard pond, someone parked a country boat . During the rainy season , when the flood water inundates the fields and the pond, the country boat in a village is a very essential transport. My friend and I used to row the boat from one corner of the pond to the other in those winter afternoons and it was a tremendous adventure.

But trouble brewed here too like in the other areas when both of us wanted to be the Captain of the boat. The Captain would control the boat with the stick used as oar till he gets bored or tired while the other had to sit pillion waiting for his coveted moment to come. Both were not ready to forfeit the legitimate claim to be the Captain and all my arguments of becoming the captain on the basis that the pond was in our land fell flat. I proposed a novel idea to settle for once and all who the boss was. A few days ago, I read about two warriors fighting a "duel" to decide the supremacy of one over the other in older time. My friend agreed for one. It was also decided that the winner gets the sole right over the boat and would also dictate terms in other areas like with the Cricket bat. 

So we had a real" duel " that afternoon . Only we had sticks instead of sword. In those childhood days , I was fascinated by the Great Napoleon after I saw him in a book cover riding a horse and with an open sword in one hand. I finished the book in one sitting and I too imagined myself as a legendary warrior like him.

Finally, we were rescued by one elder who raised the alarm and with great difficulty separated us. But by then both of us had through beating with rashes and swelling everywhere. Mother kept on yelling at me while applying cotton soaked in Dettol over the prized wounds of her little warrior. But the "Duel"remained still indecisive. 

My friend today struggles in life to make both ends meet while I galloped the ladder of success. Yet at the end of the day all your success in the eyes of the society may not see you win. So the "Duel" remains indecisive.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com