Orange Toffee – Episode 5
The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of dew on the fields and the soft rustle of leaves in the village. The horizon was painted in delicate strokes of pink and pale orange, signaling the first light of dawn. At exactly five, the rooster crowed—its sharp, piercing cry cutting through the stillness like a sudden alarm.
Katu sprang out of bed as if an invisible hand had lifted him. His bare feet hit the cold floor, sending shivers up his legs, but he didn't pause for a moment. He rushed out to the veranda, still half-dreaming, half-awake, his heart beating with excitement.
There, sitting on her usual charpai, was his grandmother. She had already completed her Fajr prayer and was now reciting the Quran in her soft, melodious voice, her lips moving rhythmically over each word. The morning sunlight kissed her wrinkled face, highlighting the calm serenity that seemed to flow from her very being.
"Assalamu Alaikum, Dadi," Katu whispered, bowing slightly with deep respect.
"Wa Alaikum Assalam, my child," she replied, her warm smile spreading across her face like the morning sun.
Katu didn't wait. He hurried to the washroom, splashing cold water over his face. Each droplet sparkled like a tiny pearl, sliding along his cheeks and jaw, some running down the left, some the right, catching the light in a fleeting dance. His hands and feet glistened too, as if the morning itself had washed him clean.
He carefully placed his prayer mat beside his grandmother's charpai, aligning it perfectly with the edge of the wooden frame. His movements were precise, disciplined, almost ritualistic. Katu began his morning prayers with full focus, each bow and prostration a reflection of devotion. At the conclusion, he turned his face toward his right shoulder and softly whispered, "Assalamu Alaikum wa Rahmatullah wa Barakatuhu." Then, repeating it, he raised his hands and whispered personal prayers in a hushed tone, lost in a private conversation with the Divine. Two minutes passed like a gentle breeze, and he finally folded his mat neatly before returning to sit beside his grandmother.
"Tell me, Katu," she asked gently, "what did you ask for in your prayer?"
Katu hesitated, the innocence in his wide eyes almost tangible.
"Why, Dadi? You want to know?"
"I could see the sincerity in your voice," she replied softly. "So I asked."
A mischievous smile crept across Katu's lips.
"It's about yesterday's cricket match, Dadi. We were so close to winning… just three balls and eight runs left. The bat was in my hand, Katu was bowling, and Shalan was fielding. I hit a six with my first swing, just two runs away from victory… and then a fat boy ran in, grabbed the ball, and ran straight into the Principal's house! I chased him, but our game was ruined. So… I prayed for him to get a hard kick from a bull, so he wouldn't interfere again!"
Grandmother raised her hand gently, stopping him.
"Katu! That's not how prayers work. You must never wish harm on anyone."
"But, Dadi… he stole our ball! Isn't that wrong?" Katu protested, his voice tinged with frustration.
"Yes, he did wrong," she replied calmly. "But you also wished something bad for him. So now both of you acted wrongly. Do you see the difference?"
Katu frowned, conflicted. His little mind struggled to balance fairness, justice, and the teachings he loved.
"So… what should I do?"
"Go and ask him why he did it. Perhaps he only wanted to play with you. Stealing is taking something secretly. He took the ball openly, so maybe he only wanted to join your game. Ask him."
Katu's eyes brightened with understanding.
"Alright, Dadi," he said softly, nodding.
At that moment, his father entered the veranda, his presence immediately commanding attention.
"Abba! Where were you?" Katu asked, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.
His father looked at him sternly. "No greetings? Just jumping straight into questions? I went to the mosque, child. Where else at this hour?"
Katu grinned sheepishly, the usual playful banter beginning to dance between father and son. Soon, Katu went about his morning chores. He fed the goats, tying them carefully in their usual spots, humming a little tune as he moved.
His twin siblings, Sunny and Shany, were still half-asleep, rubbing their eyes and wagging their tails. Excited squeals filled the veranda as Katu ran up to them, untying them from the pen and moving them under the cool shade of a mulberry tree.
With a bottle in hand, he trotted to his father.
"Abba, look!" he exclaimed with glee. "There are so many orange caps! Can we have a few?"
His father pretended to be stern but handed each child a cap. Katu's eyes twinkled mischievously as he teased:
"Abba… even in generosity, you are stingy!"
From her charpai, grandmother's voice rang out, full of laughter:
"Katu is right! If there are so many, give ten to each child. These are their toys, not yours."
The twins squealed in delight, clutching their caps tightly. Katu, finishing his breakfast, grabbed ten caps for himself, grinning at the playful chaos he had orchestrated.
Suddenly, Lalu's voice rang out from the street:
"Katu! Hurry! You'll be late for school!"
Katu quickly packed his school bag, stole a quick glance at his father, and ran out with the twins, all three of them laughing and chattering as they headed for school.
School Adventures and Afternoon Mischief
At school, Katu and Lalu arrived late for the morning assembly, earning the usual scolding and playful "rooster" punishment. Even the minor reprimand couldn't dampen their spirits. Excitement bubbled within them, anticipation for the afternoon game keeping them energized.
By the time school ended at 1:00 pm, both boys were ready to run toward Lalu's father's field. As Katu glanced around, he noticed a cricket ball in Lalu's hand.
"Where did this come from?" Katu asked, surprised. "Wasn't it taken yesterday?"
Lalu smiled, pride evident in his expression. He recounted the events of the previous day: they had caught the boy who took the ball—Shalan had pinned him carefully while they retrieved it. The boy had escaped unharmed but had certainly learned a lesson.
Suddenly, Katu noticed the same boy approaching.
"He's back," Lalu whispered.
Katu nodded. "Maybe he wants to play… let's ask him."
The boy froze for a moment, then attempted to run, but Katu and Lalu gently caught him. Katu crouched down, speaking softly:
"Why were you running?"
The boy remained silent, eyes downcast. His shyness almost tangible, a wall built around him by grief and caution.
From behind, the Principal appeared, glasses slightly askew, face a mixture of sternness and kindness.
"What's happening here?" he asked.
Katu explained quickly:
"Sir, we want him to be our friend. But he ran and won't speak."
The boy looked at the Principal and suddenly hugged him tightly. Tears welled in the Principal's eyes.
"This… is my nephew. Ten years old. His parents… they passed away in front of him," he said softly, explaining the boy's silence and shyness.
Katu and Lalu remained silent, hearts heavy with empathy.
Gently, Katu extended his hand.
"Assalamu Alaikum, Kiwi. From today, we are best friends."
Kiwi hesitated, then placed his hand in Katu's. A tentative smile spread across his lips.
The three ran laughing toward Zubaida Aunty's mango tree, plotting to steal ripe mangoes, sprinkling salt and chili as a playful prank. The Principal called after them, half-angry, half-amused:
"If you do that, you'll all become roosters!"
But Katu, Lalu, and Kiwi laughed together, their friendship cemented, the morning's events already turning into memories they would cherish forever.