It was a hot summer afternoon in the small town of Kalyanpur. The streets buzzed with the sounds of honking horns, bicycle bells, and the distant cry of street vendors. Rajan, a 45-year-old rickshaw driver, wiped the sweat off his forehead with a ragged towel. His rickshaw creaked as he leaned back, taking a short break near the tea stall. Life had been tough for him, but he had learned to live with it. His passengers came and went, each with a story of their own.
Just as Rajan took a sip of his cutting chai, a boy in a crumpled school uniform ran past him. The boy's face was flushed with fear, his backpack swinging wildly behind him. Something about the boy’s frantic movement caught Rajan's attention. "Hey, where are you running off to like that?" he called out. The boy stopped, his eyes darting around like a rabbit looking for an escape. His name was Joy, a 12-year-old boy with messy hair, wide eyes, and the weight of the world on his small shoulders.
"Uncle, please… can you take me far away from here?" Joy's voice was shaky, almost pleading. His breath was labored as if he had been running for miles. Rajan raised an eyebrow. "Where do you want to go, kid? And why are you running like a thief?" he asked, sipping his tea slowly. "I don’t care where. Just far. I can’t go home," Joy muttered, looking over his shoulder as if someone was chasing him. "Why not?" Rajan pressed. "I… I failed my exam," Joy whispered, his eyes welling up with tears.
Rajan sighed deeply. He had seen that look before — on his own son’s face years ago. “Get in,” he said, gesturing toward the rickshaw. Joy climbed in without hesitation, wiping his face on his sleeve. Rajan pedaled slowly, unsure of where to take the boy. “You think running away will solve it, huh?” Rajan asked, glancing at him in the mirror. Joy stayed silent, staring at his hands. “My father will kill me,” he muttered. “He’s always saying I have to be first in class. Now I’m last.”
Rajan chuckled, surprising Joy. “Your father won’t kill you, boy. He’s just angry because he loves you,” he said. “No, you don’t know him,” Joy shot back, his voice trembling. “He told me if I fail, I’m not his son anymore.” Rajan’s heart ached. He’d been through a similar struggle with his father. “You’re wrong,” Rajan replied firmly. “Parents say a lot of things when they’re angry. It’s not always true.” Joy looked up, his eyes questioning Rajan’s words.
“Where do you plan to go, huh?” Rajan asked, pedaling through narrow lanes shaded by neem trees. Joy shrugged. “Maybe I’ll live in the jungle. I saw it in a movie once. The boy there was brave, and nobody told him to study.” Rajan shook his head with a small grin. “You think it’s that easy? The jungle isn’t a movie set, kid. You’ll be hungry, cold, and scared.” Joy stayed quiet, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Minutes passed in silence. Rajan kept glancing back at Joy. “You know, I failed too,” Rajan said, breaking the quiet. Joy looked at him, surprised. “Really? What happened?” he asked, leaning forward. “I failed in school, failed in life too,” Rajan said with a sad smile. “But I didn’t run away. I stayed, fought with it. And now, I’m still here, riding this rickshaw.” Joy frowned. “But you’re still poor,” he pointed out. Rajan laughed out loud. “True! But I’m not ashamed of it.”
They passed the local market where people bargained loudly with fruit sellers. The smell of ripe mangoes filled the air. Rajan slowed down. “Listen, kid. You don’t have to be first in everything. It’s okay to fall sometimes. It’s how you get up that matters,” he said, looking back at Joy. The boy’s eyes softened. “But my father won’t understand,” he murmured. “Then help him understand,” Rajan replied. “Show him you’re more than your marks.”
The rickshaw stopped near the edge of the town where the open fields began. The golden wheat swayed in the breeze like waves. Rajan parked the rickshaw and turned to face Joy. “Look at those fields,” he said, pointing to the horizon. “They get burnt by the sun, beaten by rain, and pulled from the ground. But they still grow back every season. That’s life, Joy.” The boy stared at the fields, his eyes narrowing with thought. “So… you’re saying I should go back?”
“Only you can decide that, Joy,” Rajan said, his voice calm but firm. “But remember, no one will believe in you if you don’t believe in yourself first.” Joy nodded slowly, the weight of the words sinking in. He stared at his shoes for a long moment before looking up. “Uncle, will you take me home?” Rajan smiled. “Now you’re talking, kid,” he said, turning the rickshaw around.
As they rode back, the town’s noise returned — the honking horns, barking dogs, and the chatter of people. Joy sat quietly, lost in thought. Rajan glanced at him. “You want me to talk to your father for you?” he offered. Joy hesitated, then nodded. “He listens to strangers more than me,” he muttered. Rajan shook his head. “That’s because strangers don’t give up on you. Parents don't either, but you don’t see it until later.”
They reached Joy’s street, and the boy's face grew tense. His house was small, with peeling paint and a bicycle parked outside. His heart pounded in his chest. “Uncle, maybe we should go back to the jungle plan,” Joy said nervously. Rajan laughed. “Too late for that. Come on.” He got down and knocked on the door.
A tall, stern-looking man opened the door. His face was sharp, his eyes tired. “Yes? What is it?” he asked, his voice cold. Rajan stepped aside, revealing Joy. The man’s eyes widened in shock. “Where were you, boy? Do you know how worried we were?” he yelled. Joy flinched but didn’t speak. Rajan raised a hand. “Bhai, listen. The boy’s scared. Not of you, but of disappointing you.” The father’s face softened. “Scared? Of me?” he muttered, his anger deflating.
“Yes. He thinks you’ll stop loving him because he failed an exam,” Rajan said. The father’s eyes filled with guilt. “You think that, Joy?” he asked. Joy nodded slowly, tears falling down his cheeks. The man knelt and hugged his son tightly. “I’m sorry, beta. I said things I didn’t mean. You’re more important to me than any exam,” his father whispered, his voice cracking.
Joy’s tears flowed freely, and for the first time in a while, he felt safe. Rajan smiled, wiping his own eyes. “That’s all the boy needed to hear,” he said. The father looked at Rajan, gratitude shining in his eyes. “Thank you, bhai.” Rajan waved it off. “Just remember, wheat grows back every season.”
As the door closed, Rajan got back on his rickshaw, his heart lighter. He knew the world didn’t change in a day, but sometimes, one conversation was enough to make it better. He pedaled away, humming a tune, ready to pick up his next passenger — and maybe another story.
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