He looked up again. A brilliant blue sky peered down in return. Not a single cloud. It promised to be another sunny day. He propped up his scrawny bent back against the old Peepul tree. His longtime friend. The rough, gnarled bark supported the knobby spine, sometime he could feel its warmth comforting him, like a warm hug from none other than a dear friend. He spread out his possessions: a hammer, an awl, a knife, a shoe stand, a cutter, spare leather, and twine.
He was ready; not that there were many customers, for how many in that village could claim they possessed footwear? Yet the few that did, chose to come to him regularly rather than replace their ancient possessions, just like all their worldly treasures. There were those too who had another pair carefully wrapped in love at the bottom of their cupboard along with their fine clothes waiting to jump out at weddings, or pujas or a trip to some far-flung relative’s.
The breeze started then. Gently, teasing the green, glistening leaves, coaxing them to burst into a surreptitious melody. How he loved that! At a distance he could see someone… coming right towards him. But, wasn’t he a little short, and a little slow?
As the figure approached, he could hear a suppressed sob, a blowing of nostrils. A bedraggled urchin, sniffling and snuffling stood in front of him.
One hand reached to his face to wipe the tears, which had been flowing freely so long. ‘Dadaji, only you can help me…,’ sobbed he. “Accha? How? I could mend your chappal or shoe, but…” he stuttered, staring at the dust laden, little bare feet.
“My Dadi said so!” It was perplexing. What could a poor, old cobbler do?
“Ok son, tell me what happened?”
My mother used to walk to the fields everyday… to water the crops. She would say … if I don’t give them a drink, we won’t have anything to eat. Yesterday, she didn’t get back from the fields till sunset. Dadi, and I went to look for her. It was getting dark. Everyone had come home long back. Dadi and I kept calling out to her. But we could only hear the jugnu. Then we found her. Lying in the ground. She would not lift her hand or open her eyes. I started crying. Dadi was crying too. We tried to lift her, so many times we tried… but we just couldn’t. We came back home. Everyone came running on hearing Dadi… she was crying very loudly… only when my father went to Heaven, did she cry like that. It made me cry louder too! Ramu chacha and Kallu chacha went running and came back with her. They were crying too, and so were all the others around us.
Dadi said Ma has gone to Heaven too.
I have been asking her, “Dadi I want to go to Heaven too! How can I?”
She hugged me tight and kept crying. Since I really troubled her asking again and again… she said I need special wings to get there… it’s not ready yet.
But Bhola just told me… you can make and repair anything. You are the Jaadugar. So, I have come to you… I didn’t even tell Dadi.”
Tears threatened to flow down the leathered, bony face of the old cobbler, who found himself caught in a storm. And as a glimmer of hope started radiating across the young tear-stained face, the old man’s eyes brimmed over. He was indeed well known for his abilities to keep soles together, but not souls!
The old eyes searched the blues overhead, slowly turning grey. The Divine canvas slowly unfurled at the approaching dark clouds! He looked at the innocence in front and shook his head, not trusting himself to speak!
