SHAURYA Pal
Class - VIII
North Point English Academy
Malda, West Bengal
This time on an American tour Destination Washington, D.C.
I know someone who lives nearby— My dad’s aunt, sweet as mango pie. She’s eighty now, my dad’s auntie, But vanished nearly eight-nine years ago.
Where did she go, why did she leave? A thousand questions my mind does weave.
Vanished with her, too, was Habu, The auto driver from our avenue. Without delay, stepped in to act— Inspector Bishnu, sharp and exact.
Five or six months passed by, Habu returned with his auto nearby. He said, “Look! I’ve come back With grandma’s photo—Americ’-style plaque.”
No one spoke, just wide-eyed awe, Everyone stared, silent and raw. Had Habu turned completely insane, Or was this proof of her journey’s domain?
Habu cried, his voice in despair, “Tell me, what’s my fault—was I unfair? Grandma said, ‘Let’s pick some mangoes, Quick! Take me to the orchard rows.’” I thought, in this winter chill, Would mangoes grow on branches still? But Grandma insisted, her wish so strong To America I took her along!