“Come inside, Ranu, there’s a jhor coming.”
Maa had been calling out to her for a while now, but Ranu wanted to play a little longer.
She looked up at the sky, and saw black clouds gathering. “Come, Jhinuk,” she said to her little doll, and they made their way over the railway line to their home under the flyover.
“Eat quickly now,” said Maa, “It looks like a big storm is coming.”
“Is this the kaal-boishakhi, maa?” Ranu asked.
“Na, shona, this is much bigger than the kaal boishakhi,” said Maa.
Even as Ranu ate, she could see the wind tearing at the tarpaulin that made up their roof. She gave one mouthful of her dalbhat to Jhinuk, when Maa wasn’t looking. She carefully put Jhinuk to sleep on a makeshift cardboard shelf, “Don’t be scared, Jhinuk. Close your eyes and sleep will come. And when you wake up, the rain will have gone.”
And then it started to rain. Ranu had never seen rain like this. It was a wind rain, more than just rain rain. Maa had warned her not to step outside, but Ranu could see whole trees dancing in the wind, the branches swaying wildly, leaves trying to hold on, and then when they could not, anymore, flying away.
Their tarpaulin roof was doing its own dance in the wind. Rainwater was pouring into their home, through the sides of the tarpaulin. The water soaked up all the places in the wall that were only cardboard.
Maa was keeping an eye on the tarpaulin. With one eye on it, and the other on Ranu, she picked up whatever she could — a few clothes, some coins and notes that she stuffed into a tiffin box for safe keeping.
A big gust of wind blew the tarpaulin over to one side, and the rain was upon them. Maa grabbed the tarpaulin before it could completely fly away, and tearing it free of the nails and bricks that had weighed it down, pulled it around herself and Ranu.
“Come, Ranu,” Maa shouted over the rain, “let’s go.” Ranu and Maa ran on the street, looking for a place to hide. It was raining so hard that Ranu could only see the shapes of what had been things blowing in the wind.
“Come inside here, everyone, come in here,” some people were shouting. Maa caught the eye of an old man who said, “Take shelter here. Don’t worry. This is a school.”
Maa dragged Ranu by the hand into the yellow building. It was the first time Ranu had been inside a school!
The rain was still coming down hard. But inside the school now, Ranu felt safe. Maa took out some ruti that she had rolled up in a cloth and gave it to her. Ranu saw two other children — a boy who was as tall as her, and a girl, who was almost a baby — she could just about walk.
The boy looked at her face, and then at her hand. “Do you want some,” she asked. “I’m Ranu. And you?”
“Rahul,” he said. He was a boy of few words.
It was only then that Ranu remembered. Jhinuk! She must still be sleeping on the ledge. And she must have got soaked in the rain. But Ranu took one look at Maa’s worried face. There was no way they could go back today to get Jhinuk, at any rate.
She curled up next to Maa that night and tried to sleep. “Close your eyes, and sleep will come,” Maa said, softly. Ranu shut her eyes and mumbled, “You also close your eyes, Maa.” Hmmm, said Maa. Ranu cocked an eye open and saw Maa staring at the ceiling, both eyes wide open.
The next morning was a flurry of activity. Cardboard boxes upon boxes arrived at the school, with bedsheets, sarees, clothes, rice, dal, potatoes, oil, soap. The stove was pulled out of the school kitchen and brought to the quadrangle. Maa went to help with the cooking, warning Ranu, “Play inside, ok? Don’t go outside.”
Ranu and Rahul played in one of the schoolrooms that was empty. Rahul was the teacher. He knew how to play the teacher, as he had once been to school. Ranu liked the feel of the wooden benches and the desks. She felt quite important when Rahul gave her a chalk stub and asked her to draw on the blackboard.
In the evening, more cardboard boxes arrived. The old man who had asked Maa and Ranu to come into the school building was taking things out of the box and sorting them into piles. He was telling people to move all the food stuff into one room, and the clothes, bedsheets and towels and soap into another corner. Ranu and Rahul went over to look inside the boxes, but Maa shooed them away. “Let them stay and look,” said the old man.
He pulled out two bedsheets and dug into the side of a large cardboard box. “Come see this, Ranu, see what someone has sent!” he called out. He dug further into the box and pulled out a doll with blinking eyes and a red frock with white dots on it. “Here, for you.”
“For me?” asked Ranu. “Yes, take it.” The old man thrust it into her hands.
The doll was beautiful. Not as nice as Jhinuk of course. But still, beautiful.
Ranu took the doll and went to the empty schoolroom. She thought and thought.
Would Jhinuk be upset that she had a new friend? But she had so many new friends now. Rahul was also a new friend. As was this doll. Rahul’s sister too, maybe, though she couldn’t talk yet.
She thought some more. Maybe Jhinuk had made some new friends too. The thought made her a little sad, but she didn’t want Jhinuk to be alone.
Yes, that was it. Somewhere, some other girl must have found Jhinuk. That little girl would have been happy to have a friend through the rain.
“I’ll call you Titir,” Ranu whispered. Titir blinked at her. It was her way of saying that she liked the name.
