Adventures of Piklu...Fishy

“Hold on — who’s there?” shouted the policeman in broken Bengali.

“It’s me, sir.” Piklu came out from his hiding place, trembling.

“And what were you doing there?” the policeman thundered, his big, rolled black waxed moustache bristling.

“I will never come here. I swear, I will never come this close to a pond. I am a good boy.”

The policeman studied him with rolling eyes.

“I am a good boy. I drink milk and I do my homework regularly, and I got a gold star in my diary because I corrected all my maths. Don’t take me to jail… please…” Piklu’s voice choked with fear.

Still the policeman kept inspecting him, frowning, eyes squeezed, biting his lips.

“Your name?” thundered the policeman.

“Soumen Majumdar, also Piklu, also Bitlu, also Bablu, also Palash. My grandpa calls me Bhombol, my granny calls me Laalkumar, my didi calls me Tiktiki, my maa calls me Sonamona, and my uncle in Nagpur calls…” Piklu’s voice choked again as the policeman looked at him, this time with rounded eyes. “…me Rajkumar,” Piklu managed to finish.

“Everybody calls you Piklu?” the policeman asked.

“Only Piklu…and Soumen Majumdar,” Piklu corrected.

“Hmmm… Piklu.”

“Yes… that’s right.”

“What exactly were you doing here?”

“Nothing. I will not come here again. I promise. Don’t take me to jail,” Piklu pleaded.

“Hmmm… Piklu Mukherjee…?”

“Only Piklu…and Soumen Majumdar,” Piklu corrected. 

“Hmmm… Piklu.”

“Yes.”

“What exactly were you doing here?”

“Nothing. I will not come again. I promise.”

“Would you ever come here again?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I told you, na…”

“Hmmm.”

“Sorry… I am a good boy.”

“In which class are you?”

“Holy Child Primary School, near the station.”

“Hmmm… which school?”

“Nursery.”

“How old are you?”

“Three… no, four, I don’t know. But my didi is twelve.”

“Hmmm…”

“What do you study in school?”

“ABCD, poems…”

“Like?”

“Like ‘Twinkle Twinkle’, ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’, ‘Jack and Jill’.”

“Tell ‘Jack and Jill’.”

“Can I go then?”

“Hmmm…”

The sound was particularly concerning. Piklu jumped and started: “Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his… broke his… broke his… and Jill came tumbling after.” There was a moment of silence; Piklu was afraid about his fate as though he had failed an exam.

“You don’t know any Hindi poem?”

“No…”

“Bengali?”

“Yaaa… ‘aata gache tota pakhi, dalim gache mou, hire dadar marmare than, thakur dadar bou.’”

“Wah, wah, very good, very nice…”

Piklu was proud of his intelligence. It was not taught in his school; his grandmother had taught him.

“I know one more.”

“Is it? Carry on then.”

“ABC, kapore hegechi, kapor gelo dhopar bari, aabar hegechi.”

Piklu burst into laughter, his tiny left hand pressing his mouth. He knew this was a dirty poem.

The Hindi-speaking policeman took a moment to understand this Bengali masterpiece. Then he also burst into loud laughter, looking up at the sky.

Both laughed for some time. Piklu was happy the policeman didn’t mind his dirty joke. It was very funny.

“Do you know ‘Lakri ki kathi… kathi pe ghoda’?”

“What’s that?”

“Ok… do you know ‘Nani Teri Morni Ko’?”

“No…”

Piklu was confused. It was the first time he was hearing these poems, and yet he understood Hindi.

“You don’t know these poems, then you don’t know anything… shall I sing it for you?” the policeman asked.

Piklu was not sure, but the policeman didn’t wait for his response. He looked around to ensure nobody was watching them — particularly anybody of the law-breaker kind. He cleared his throat and started with all his finesse: “Nani tere morni ko, mor le gayi; baaki jo bacha tha, kala chor le gayi…”

He finished the whole song. He was happy to get Piklu's full attention. 

“How was it?” the policeman inquired, raising his bushy eyebrows. 

“Good. So may I go?”

The policeman stared at him again. “What were you doing here?”

“I will not come here again. Please don’t tell my mother.” After the song and merriment he was sure he would not be taken into custody, whatever the crime.

“Hmmm…”

“And I will not steal pickles from nanny’s bottle… and I will not beat my friend.”

“Hmmm… understood, but why did you come here?”

Piklu thought for a moment, then he disclosed the truth. “Just to see the fish in the pond. See those fishes — you can see a star shine on their heads.”

“Hmmm… do you want me to catch you one?”

Piklu shouted as if he had discovered his didi’s hidden chocolate, “Why… yes… sure… please do! I will keep it in a bottle.”

“Okay, I am catching one. Just grab it and run to your house. It will need water to survive. Don’t get delayed on the way. And yes, don’t come to this pond again. Do you know what is there in this pond?”

“Bhoot.”

“No. Worse than that. Sharks and whales; they will gulp you like you gulp tablets.”

“Oh…”

“And there is a baby-catcher. They live in ponds.”

“I am not a baby,” Piklu protested. “I am taller than all the boys in my class. Papan is the shortest in our class. He is a baby.”

“Hahahaha, right you are. Still, you should not come here. And if I see you again, I will take you and put you into jail.”

Now that was terrifying.

For the next half hour Piklu instructed the policeman which fish to catch, but the policeman failed repeatedly before succeeding.

Piklu held the fish in his little palms, jointly shaped like a bowl. Water was fast draining from his hands.

Piklu could hear the policeman shouting, “Run, run… run fast… hahahaha… run fast, son… hahaha…”

The sound of the policeman faded into the air, yet the words echoed in Piklu’s ears: “The next time you come near a pond… I will gulp you like a tablet… I am the bhoot of a pond… hahahaha… bhooooooot… hahahaha… bhooooooot…”