Diwali 2023 For Ram Kumar

Ram Kumar was sitting in his small, makeshift paan shop, watching the kids of the big apartment in front of his shop play with crackers. It was Diwali night; the town was dazzling with lights as if both land and sky were wearing matching dresses decorated with diamonds, but Ram Kumar had to open his shop as he needed money for the treatment of two elderly members of his family in his home: his old mother and his bedridden grandfather. His father died long ago. He was waiting in the hope that if someone came for a cigarette or paan, he would earn little.

But his mind was at home. The scene of his 5-year-old son Raghu waiting for his father to return home so that he could get crackers to play with his friends was floating in Ram's eyes again and again. The thought of Raghu standing at the door, having a worried and frustrated look, was making a sharp pain in Ram's heart.

He closed the shop at 8:30 p.m. realizing no one was going to come to his shop, put his empty tiffin box in the bag, hung the bag on the handle of the bicycle, and started towards his house. He stopped at the cracker market. There were twenty-some makeshift crackers shops, set up in a big, isolated field as ordered by the town administration. No cracker shops were allowed in the populated area of the town to avoid any unwanted situations. Ram Kumar watched these shops silently sometimes. He could not afford to waste any money on buying crackers, but he could not afford to disappoint his son either.

He entered the cracker market, pushing his bicycle hard due to the sand on the ground. As it was Diwali night, one or two people were guarding the shops, as they didn't expect to sell at this time of Diwali night.

Ram Kumar asked the cost of a packet of sparkles, some Habeli, some Lanka bombs, some Sutuli bombs, and a packet of fancy shorts. The salesman guessed that Ram was not going to buy anything, so he was telling the cost without showing interest. Ram Kumar roamed four or five shops, asked about costs, saw some material, and was about to leave when a salesman stopped his bicycle.

"Where is the rocket packet you were looking at?" He asked loudly.

" What? Oh! I have kept it there in your shop."

"No, it is not there. Give it back."

"Do you think I am a thief? I am a poor man; that's why you are accusing me of theft."

Some more salesmen gathered around Ram after listening to this commotion.

They started to check his bag and under his clothes. He kept complaining, but they didn't listen. They found a packet of sparkles and a bunch of Lanka bombs under Ram's shirt. Someone threw Ram's bicycle on the ground and started beating him; others joined in no time.

"Forgive me, please. Forgive me; please don't beat me. You have your things. Please let me go, please."

"Who knows what other things you are stealing from us?" One man shouted.

"Let's call the police." Another told.

"Please don't call the police. I am a poor man. I had given back everything that I was taking from you." Ram said.

"And today is Diwali; my family will be waiting. Please let me go."

After beating him black and blue, the men let him go.

He rode his bicycle and left that cracker market immediately.

Before entering his lane, he stepped off the bicycle, grabbed the tiffin from the bag, and opened it. He extracted a bunch of tala photaka from it, took off his slippers, and picked up a tiny packet of sparkles hidden between the slipper and his foot. He placed everything in the polythene he was carrying and proceeded to enter his lane. Upon seeing him, his son rushed towards him.

"Papa, papa, my photaka papa?"

Ram handed over the polythene-containing crackers to him.

"Very late, papa; my friends have almost finished their play." His son complained and ran to show his possessions to the boys playing in the lane.

"Wait for me. I am coming. Don't play with fire if I am not with you." Ram warned his son.

Ram entered his home. There were only two days his wife had lighted. One near the

picture of Lakshmi on the calendar hanging on the wall, and one outside the house on the veranda.

He greeted his mother and grandfather, washed his hands and feet, and prayed to Lakhmiji while standing in front of the calendar hanging on the wall.

Extending a glass of water and jaggery, Prasad's wife observed his bruises.

"What happened to you? Are you feeling well?" His wife asked.

"I fell down from my bicycle while turning into the corner of the road."

" Ohh! Are you injured? Let me check."

"Not now. Raghu is waiting for me. Let me help him to brust all his crackers."

"You told me the government has banned crackers this time, but everyone is burning crackers," said his wife.

"Areeee... in our time there was only lighting of dias in Diwali; no crackers were known to people? It was only after independence that rich people started bruising crackers. Ram's grandfather said.

"Humm, and slowly all started bursting crackers, rich and poor," his mother said.

"Dekha guru, shikha guru, pakh guru, pados guru." Grandfather said.

"These crackers are so costly. I don't know how you managed to buy today. Every Diwali, I feel like burning paper notes." His wife said it with a deep sigh.

Silently, Ram Kumar pulled the bed of his grandfather towards the door so that he could see the outside celebration. He helped his mother come outside and sit on the veranda. Then Ram went outside to his son and helped him light the sparkles and burst crackers.

The day dimmed, but the smile on Raghu's face didn't.

Ram forgot his body pain from beating just by looking at the satisfaction on Raghu's face.

“I may not be the perfect Ram; I may not win any war against evil; I may have done many wrong things; I don’t know who started bursting crackers on Diwali, but I cannot deprive my son of this happiness,” Ram thought to himself.

“Maybe next year, Maa Lakshmi will provide me with sufficient wealth to buy crackers so that I will not have to steal.” Ram continued thinking.