short story

One thing most of us always keep going back to is our childhood. Anything and everything we did as a kid, is something to cherish. Be it getting punished in school, getting lost in a crowd, going to a picnic, fighting with your best buddy, or the no-brainer games that now seem priceless.

When someone asks, “What is your favourite childhood memory?” It can be a tricky question. It will be unfair to choose one, it is simply impossible to pick one. I have shared many such memories over the years through my writing, be it poems, or blogs. Often directly and at times in the pretext of imagination.

There are a couple of instances which are etched in my memory. Interestingly both are nothing but a way of storytelling. Coincidently, both can be easily adapted as a thriller/horror short story. Let me share one and keep the second for some other day.

I don’t recall if it was directly shared by my maternal uncle (Mama Ji) or my mom. But here it goes, my uncle lives in a village in Bihar, and when I say village, it is a village in the true sense, there are hardly any shops, just a few houses with known neighborhoods. There’s a river, a tributary of river Ganga that acts as a boundary which means the only way to reach there is by crossing the river via boat. So, every day people cross the river and go to the nearby town to study, work, or shop and come back before the sun sets. Because, there are hardly any lights, especially on the riverbank you might find reptiles and animals lurking around.

One fine day, my uncle, who was a young student then, got late. It was pitch dark. Those were the smart days without smartphones, which can act as a calculator, cameras, watches, phones, and whatnot. My uncle knew the boatman must be done for the day and anchored the boat. Yet, he took a chance and shouted a few times, hoping that the boatman was around and he might get lucky. He was about to return to stay with his friends in the town when suddenly he heard water being splashed and a boat slowly approaching him.

Soon he was on the boat, the boatman sitting on the other end rowing slowly. My uncle realized he had never seen this boatman. So, he asked if he was new. The boatman replied that he was a relative of the regular boatman and since he was not well, he was filling in. My uncle is a happy-go-lucky person, with a super positive vibe, one rarely sees him without a smile. He didn’t question further and sat calmly. Midway, the boatman asked my uncle if he was carrying a match stick to light a Bidi (a distant relative of cigarette), He denied it as he was a non-smoker. But he did have chewable tobacco, popularly known as “Khaini” in this region. He offered it to the boatman and the boat slowly moved towards the other side of the river, towards the home.

Finally, the boat arrived at the bank, and my uncle thanked the boatman, stepped out, and started walking. Suddenly, he felt odd. It struck him that the boatman lived alone and didn’t have any relatives in the village. Also, he had seen him as healthy as ever in the morning while going to town. So, who is this person who came as a savior at this odd hour? He turned around and there was no one, just the boat. There was no way anyone could run away or hide in such an open place. My uncle trembled and started walking quickly towards home, without looking back.

He must have sprinted after a point and soon he was home. My maternal grandmother (Nani Ji) looked at him and knew something was seriously wrong. Rest as they say is a typical love-filled scolding from a mother to a son for not listening to her. She had warned him many times not to return late and better stay back if he was late. She thanked God for sending a good soul who acted as a saviour and was not there to harm her child.

If you have lived in or known villages, River banks are also a place for cremating the dead hence the place is dreaded by default, especially at night. Next time I meet my uncle I will confirm if it actually happened or if it was just a story to scare and entertain us, the kids. Whatever may be the case, this short and intriguing tale has stayed with me. So, it has to be one of my favourite childhood memories if not “The Favourite”.

Do you have a similar story? Please share, stories must be told and shared, that’s how they travel and stay alive.