The little imprint

I met Pappu in the early 8217;70s. We were building our house and the contractor would bring Pappu along every morning, perched...

I met Pappu in the early 8217;70s. We were building our house and the contractor would bring Pappu along every morning, perched on the pillion of his motorbike. After spending a while at the site he would leave, and Pappu would take over.

Barely 13, Pappu was mature well beyond his age. And because he was seen perambulating with the contractor, the workers would give him due deference. But Pappu did not just lord it around. Whenever the mason or others found their work held up for want of material, they yelled for him. He would also chip in when the women workers, some of them with babies, slipped up. He knew their shortcomings but was more than willing to make up for them. Sometimes when the mason or his cohorts threw sexual innuendos at the women, Pappu would intervene. He would relieve the women of their head-loads, dump the stuff before the masons, tell them to mind their tongues and get back to work. The rebukes worked like magic.

Over the months, my respect for him grew. I had assumed that he was the contractor8217;s son, but he was actually the son of the woman who swept the streets in the contractor8217;s neighbourhood. Later I learnt from Pappu himself that he had lost his father when he was two.

One day, Pappu didn8217;t show up. Evidently his mother was ill. I decided to visit them. We reached a squalid slum. Pappu spotted me, he ran up and took me home. For a seat, he offered me a charpoy. In the other corner lay his emaciated mother. Seeing her, I felt a wringing pain inside me. I remember Pappu whispering, 8220;Memsahib, will mother recover?8221; 8220;For sure!8221; I said, not believing it. Weeks passed. Pappu was still missing. I went back and noticed the broken charpoy was still there 8212; but overturned. The neighbours confirmed that the woman had died a month earlier. As for Pappu, no one knew where he was. I stood there silently, tears rolling down my eyes.

Soon our house was ready. I felt sad that the little house-builder who had put so much into it was not there to see it. In one corner of the house, on a brick wall where once an improvised ladder had stood, we put up a small insciption: 8216;Pappu, the House Builder8217;. It8217;s still there.