Burn! Burn! Burn!
PAVITHRA SRINIVASAN
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Nirmal thought it was silly to burn everything in sight. But the old man felt otherwise.
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"This is a bit stupid, don't you think?" Nirmal asked the old man who sat across the bonfire. Flames crackled merrily, and the shroud of smoke seemed to clothe the whole sky. The day was grey with smoke.
"Burning everything like this?" Nirmal dumped a bag full of old scraps. "I understand getting rid of rubbish — but you might as well dump it all in some rubbish ground. What's the point of Bhogi? The whole place stinks."
"Ah," the old man grunted.
They couldn't really be called friends — Nirmal knew that the old man lived somewhere in his area, but he wasn't a resident; neither was he a rag picker, but he appeared suddenly, on various occasions, to do odd jobs. Nirmal was fascinated with him. He was quiet — but his eyes sparkled, as though he knew plenty of secrets. He was smiling now. "Don't you think so?" Nirmal was determined to get an answer. His mother wouldn't be very pleased if she saw him talking to the old man though, so it would have to be fast.
"What are you afraid of?" said the old man at last.
No more fears
Nirmal was so surprised, he jumped. "Eh?"
"You study? School? Friends? Lessons?" His voice was rusty, as though he were using his croaking chords after a long while.
"Um - um - yes."
"Burn them all."
"What?" Nirmal shrieked as a burning twig caught his hand. "Burn what? Burn my books?"
"No. Burn your fear. Fear of studies. Books. People." He picked up a bundle of cloth scraps. "Burn."
Nirmal watched him for a long moment, and then took the bundle. He visualised his lessons. His fear of his teachers; fear of failing; low marks, snide glances. Exams were approaching; he didn't want a bad show. "Bad marks," he murmured and threw a scrap in the fire. "Teasing friends." Another scrap. "Mum and dad scolding." More scraps. The old man grinned through a haze of smoke.
Nirmal paused. "Speaking in the assembly." He had a bad case of stage fright.
A bundle of scraps fell into the fire, the fire rose higher than before. Red, gold — mesmerising.
"Gone," cackled the old man.
"Gone," murmured Nirmal. He felt as though he'd had a fresh, cleansing dip in cold water. He felt ... clean.
The fire died down. Nirmal peered through the flames. The old man had vanished.
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