Pocket Tales

An Unusual Punishment

GITANJALI MURARI A fictional narrative based on incidents from the childhood of Swami Vivekananda. “N aren, open the door.” “No,” came the loud answer. “I want to speak to you,” Bhuvaneshwari Devi’s voice had a firm ring to it. Naren took a deep breath and flung the door open. His mother walked into the room and before she could speak, he burst out, “I don’t want to hear anything about Kaka.”

“He is your uncle, Naren,” Bhuvaneshwari Devi sighed, “and since we all live together, you must learn to adjust to his wishes.”

Naren’s face flushed red with anger, “Ma, you and baba enjoyed the plays my friends and I put up in the worship hall but when Kaka smashed the stage, telling me he didn’t want me to perform at home, I let go of my drama group…but now he has gone too far—”

“Don’t talk like that,” his mother frowned.

The author is a media professional and writer. The Crown of Seven Stars is her first novel. She lives in Mumbai. gitanjalimurari@yahoo.com Illustrator: Smt. Lalithaa Thyagarajan. lalithyagu@gmail.com

Naren’s hands bunched into fists, “Why did he have to break the bench press and throw away my weights?”

“You know very well it was because Batul got hurt.”

“That is no reason to do what he did! I’m going to tell him what I think of him!”

“You will not be disrespectful,” his mother said, catching his chin and looking at him sternly, “he is your father’s brother.”

“You are always defending Kaka,” he shouted, pushing her, “even when he is in the wrong…go away, I don’t want to talk to you.”

Bhuvaneshwari Devi was about to speak but Naren turned away. She left the room slowly and saw her husband standing outside. Without saying a word to him, she closed the door behind her and went on to her room. Vishwanath Dutta thought for a moment. Then, taking a pen from his case, he carefully scratched out some words on Naren’s door.

Hearing a whistle, Naren jumped to his feet and ran to the window. Shibu and Hari waved to him, “Is your Kaka still angry?” they asked. “Don’t worry about him,” he replied, “come inside.”

When after a few minutes his friends hadn’t appeared, Naren went to look for them and found them outside the room. “Why are you waiting here?” he demanded. In answer, they silently pointed to the door. Startled, Naren peered at it and recognized his father’s handwriting. As he read the words, he felt his cheeks burn. “Today Naren was very rude to his mother,” his father had written, “he pushed her out of his room and told her he did not wish to speak with her anymore.”

“Did you really say that to your mother?” Shibu stared at him with shocked eyes. Embarrassed, Naren dropped his gaze to the floor. “Let’s play carrom,” Hari caught his hand, eager to make him smile again. But Naren’s heart was not in the game. After a little while, the two boys exchanged a look and got to their feet. As they left, Naren noticed them steal a glance at the door.

This went on for a few days, till one day Naren could not bear it anymore. Overwhelmed with shame, he rushed down the corridor and burst into his mother’s room.

“I’m very sorry, ma” he cried, throwing his arms around her, “I’ll never ever say a rude word to you again.”

Bhuvaneshwari Devi hugged him tightly, “I have news for you,” she whispered, “your father has spoken to Shri Mitra, our neighbour…he owns a gym…he says you are welcome to join it.” Naren’s tear-stained face broke into a radiant smile and kissing her on the cheek, he declared, “I have the best parents in the whole wide world!”

The love which my mother gave to me has made me what I am, and I owe a debt to her that I can never repay.

— Swami Vivekananda