The Cherry Thief

“ Where’s the newspaper? I saw the paperboy throwing right here under this mango tree. See the broken twig with the leaves”, shouted uncle Krish. Almost a dozen relatives gathered around, some looking at uncle and some at the mango tree, a few at the whitewashed compound wall. But there was no trace of the newspaper. At the far end of the house, the octogenarian Mr. Rao was busy tearing and throwing the bits of the newspaper into the water tank. Mrs. Rao who was observing this antic, rushed like Matador toward the old Bull.

“ What do you think you are doing? The entire house is looking for the newspaper. Don't you know that everyone was waiting to know the results of the local election results. Look at you! tearing the paper like a kid?”. Enough of your childishness. I have no more patience with you.” Cried Mrs. Rao, his companion for the last fifty years.

Mr. Rao retired has an elementary school teacher, the eldest of the entire Rao family of thirty members consisting of brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, cousins and grandchildren. The little town knew him as a good teacher, neighbour and colleague. But back at home he was different person especially when all the family members gathered during vacations. 

Mrs. Rao never understood that sudden childish changes in Mr.Rao. She always felt he was the double faced Jauns, with his unpredictable behaviour. She vividly remembered the day their elder daughter Uma was going back to her husband. The train was late in the afternoon. Everything was set. The luggage was ready. The Big Grandpa clock hands in close embrace showed twelve pm, still three hours to go. The station was barely one furlong from the house. One could distinctly hear the sound of the train entering or leaving the station. Everyone was relaxed. Mr. Rao was playing happily with his first grandson in the courtyard.

‘Didi, didi, the train, the train.. almost collapsing like an athlete reaching the finish line, Bhola, the servant shouted that the train had already arrived and would leave in ten minutes. The luggage was thrown in the rickshaw, along with Uma and the little one with instructions to the driver to pedal as fast he could.. The rest of the family ran behind the rickshaw. The moment they entered the station, the break-van with the guard waving the green flag left the station.

All came back. Uma was disappointed since the train was weekly once. Mr.Rao was the only person who was happy. Mrs. Rao looked at the clock which still showed twelve ‘o’clock . Even before she could react, Mr. Rao carrying his grandson piggyback entered the room.

“Don’t be surprised my dear, I jammed the hands on twevel. No harm! I would get a chance to play with the little one for one more week”, whistling softly he left the room leaving his wife red blue ,green in anger.

As the president of the pensioners union, Mr. Rao did extraordinary service to the pensioners, their widows. He would draft the memorandum in his own handwriting and never believed using a  Desktop or a printer. He fought the grievances with all sincerity and never charged anyone for the expenses incurred.  

One morning there was a call from one Mrs. Rukamini. “ I went to the pension office and requested them to release my late husband’s pension. The man in the counter was very rude. He asked me to submit an undertaking that I was not married again. Imagine sir I am seventy five years old. Would anybody come forward to marry me? I felt insulted and hurt. I left the office crying all the way. But neither tears nor anger is going to solve my financial problems. So I request you to please intervene and help me”, the harassed widow told her story to Mr. Rao.

Mr.Rao without wasting a minute left for the pensioners building. He barged into the manager’s office, brushing aside the peon who dared to stop him. He threw the papers on the table and spoke extempore without letting the other man a chance to explain. Again he went out and dragged the erring clerk to the manger’s office. The clerk was totally shocked with the turn of the events especially to experience an eighty years old man’s strength. He sincerely apologised and promised to take the papers personally to the Mrs.Rukmani and to release the payments as well. Mr. Rao left the office and came home for lunch. He shared the events with mrs.Rao like a little boy who roughened his classmate in the school for stealing his favourite comics.

Mrs. Rao was proud of her husband. She served the choicest ripe mango pieces in a plate. Mr. Rao looked at the plate and started shouting.

“ Why only two mangoes? I had counted there were a dozen mangoes . What happened to the rest? Give me more mangoes!”  he started throwing tantrums. Mrs. Rao was really cheesed up. How could she tell the old man that she distributed the mangoes to her neighbours? 

Mr.Rao never compromised with his routine. Wake up time, exercise, breakfast, reading newspaper, lunch, or afternoon nap. Even when guests came or on special occasions, he would never yield. Last year, his brother-in-law Ramnath, made the mistake of using the washroom before Mr. Rao. The man was having a shower and singing loudly a popular film song. Mr.Rao knocked once or twice and the other person failed to hear in the din of his song and shower. Mr.Rao immediately closed the water connection, and latched the door from outside. The poor man with soap on his face, body and not a mug of water to clean his eyes, kept knocking and shouting at the top of his voice. Mr.Rao was seen reading his newspaper with no guilt on his face. Ramnath got his freedom after one hour, and swore never to visit this house again. 

It was Mr. Rao’s eighty first birthday. All the family members assembled except Ramnath, the washroom prisoner. A delicious three tier cake made with a beautiful cherry on the top attracted all eyes. In a little while, Mr. Rao was about to cut the cake, and found the cherry missing.There was only a creamy dent in place of the cherry. He refused to cut the cake. All the guests were shocked and Mrs.Rao was embarrassed. She implored silently to cut the cake, But Rao was in no mood. After lot of cajoling, the guest had their dinner but the cake remained untouched.

The next day the digital photos were screened on the television. The cake was on focus with a cherry in the first picture. In the second it was still there, the third pic had the cherry with a hand as if feeling the plump red fruit, the fourth picture -the hand picked up the cherry, the face still invisible... every one was curious and Mrs. Rao looked at her husband.

“ Oh god! You ate the cherry and blaming all of us. Look! its your hand. The wedding band on the finger...” Mrs.Rao almost pounced like a wounded tigress. Mr.Rao ducked a little and with a passive face , all he said, “ I didn’t want to share my cherry with anyone but I forgot that I ate it. Please respect my age. I am an old man ,may be a little childish. Come! lets cut the cake”

He left the room whistling softly.