Raising Boundaries

The Town Hall’s bell chimed the tune of the 11th hour, taking Bao in surprise. He stopped running and stood on his haunches panting heavily. A thick cloud of breathe escaped from his half parted lips as if someone had put a burning cigar in his mouth. Beads of perspiration dripped from his moist hair. At intervals he chocked to let out air, he had held in his lungs all this while. His heart pounded against his rib cages so as to break free. The last sound he heard was the ticking of his wrist watch, before falling to the ground and lying their motionless.

Bao by birth was half Chinese, half Indian. His father was a Chinese and out of choice married a Gurkha girl. Bao’s ancestors had migrated from China and had taken refuge in Darjiling long before boundaries were drawn on maps, marking demarcation between India and China more prominent. Since, then Darjiling served as their first home.

Times had changed now. War broke out between these two neighbouring countries over a disputed Himalayan border. Taken by surprise and being unprepared, Indian army suffered a heavy loss, despite of all possible efforts. The country mourned the death of its dauntless soldiers, but that was not enough.

Bao was lying in his bed lifeless and numb as a dead body. He stared out of the window, but the moon and the stars were not visible today. The cold winds gushed in through the broken window-pane, but didn’t smell as sweet as before. He tried to sleep but it wouldn’t come so easily. His stomach churned out of hunger but he didn’t want to eat anything. ‘Tomorrow is the day’, escaped from Boa’s lips as tears rolled down his cheeks.

‘I am not going anywhere, this is my home. I am not going anywhere…’ Bao muttered as he ran past the post office.  The clock adorned over the main entrance, caught his attention. He wanted to stop over and have a brief look, which he often did, when the elders in the neighbourhood asked him to post letters for them. But, not this time. He had no time for anything.

Being back-stabbed and betrayed, the Indian government was now repatriating the Chinese living in its territories. Trucks, full of Chinese were sent across the border every day. Children were separated from their parents, and so were couples. It didn’t matter whether one was half -Chinese. Anyone, bearing a Chinese name had to leave.

Bao ran as fast as he could. He wished to turn into a ghost and mingle with the air, so that nobody could force him out of his hometown. He was born there and had every right to stay there. Above all, how could he just leave behind his little wooden cottage, that stood atop a cliff; the neighbourhood, which he had always considered to be his own. Friends, with whom he played all day in the woods or the butterflies and rhododendrons tress that, fascinated him.

Bao woke up, when somebody jostled him. The sunlight burned his eyes. He started but couldn’t move an inch. Innumerable like him, stood all round. He made his way to the rear edge of the truck. The path behind didn’t seem familiar. Grief quickly caught Bao’s senses and with a thud, he fell on the iron floor of the truck, gazing blankly on the tyre trails, that the truck left behind on the graveled path.