Bumba was terrified. Grandma always exaggerated things, made a mountain out of a molehill, spoke dramatically, and raised a lot of noise. But she had never said anything like, “I won’t be able to save your grandpa anymore.” Had grandpa fallen seriously ill? Or had there been an accident? Bumba was restless with worry. If grandpa didn’t survive, who would help him get onto the school bus in the morning, who would bring him back from it, who would take him to the park to play? His parents were always busy with work. His mother got him ready for school with sleepy eyes, and grandpa dropped him off at the bus outside their housing complex. His father was still fast asleep then. Bumba returned at two in the afternoon, and every day grandpa would be there to hold his hand and help him get down from the bus, never once being late.
After school, he spent time with grandma. He ate and then slept. At four, he woke up and studied. At five, he drank an energy drink from his coffee mug, gulped it down, and then went to the park with grandpa to play. Sometimes they went to a cybercafé to play video games.
Going to play video games was a secret. Only grandpa knew. Grandma didn’t. If she found out, she wouldn’t be able to keep it to herself. She would blurt out half the story, and others would pull the rest out of her. In this way, many of Bumba’s mischievous deeds had already been revealed to his parents, leading to new rules and restrictions. His mother, especially, would come home and demand a detailed account, measuring every hour, minute, and second of what Bumba had done after returning from school.
At 6:15 in the evening, his tutor came to teach him, so Bumba had to be back by six. Exactly at six, his mother would call and insist on speaking to him, instructing him over the phone to pay attention and understand everything the tutor taught. She also called once after he returned from school. She came home at 7:30, and his father never before eight.
On Saturdays and Sundays, his parents had holidays. Bumba wanted to take over his mother’s large mobile phone, but she allowed him only half an hour. Then he turned to his father’s desktop, but within twenty minutes his father would start urging him to stop, saying he had a lot of work. A little affection and that was it. At other times, the computer remained locked with a password. So Bumba could never fully enjoy playing video games. Only one person understood this sorrow—grandpa. And now something had happened to him. Bumba was deeply frightened.
*
That day, Bumba had no school, but his parents had to go to work. Grandpa had gone out for his morning walk and hadn’t returned yet, though actually it wasn’t even time for him to return. On days when Bumba had no school, grandpa chatted with his friends and came back late. On school days, he returned early. Bumba’s mother had woken up and pulled him out of bed, asking him to finish his drawing work. Bumba was sleepily coloring a woodpecker when grandma’s loud shouting made his drowsiness vanish, replaced by panic.
“I can’t handle your grandpa anymore,” she cried.
“What happened?”
“While out walking, he got carried away with his friends and ate sweet biscuits and had tea with sugar. What a disaster!”
Bumba’s mother came out of the bathroom and asked, “Who told you?”
“Basanti,” grandma replied.
Basanti, the household helper, had seen a group of elderly men chatting happily at a tea stall. The tea seller, Badal, was serving them thick biscuits and tea with sugar.
Bumba asked, “Why doesn’t grandpa drink tea with sugar?”
“Don’t you know? Your grandpa has diabetes. He’s not allowed to eat sweet things.”
“Is diabetes a very bad disease?”
“Yes, it is. When the sugar level in the blood rises, this disease occurs. One must follow strict eating habits and walk briskly for an hour every day. Otherwise, it affects the heart, kidneys, and eyes. Only you can save your grandpa.”
“Me? But he visits the doctor, takes medicine, and goes for morning walks…”
“Well, what else! Such is my fate,” grandma sighed. Then, taking Bumba aside, she whispered, “You will become your grandpa’s bodyguard. If he doesn’t walk properly, report to me. Watch if he secretly eats biscuits or drinks tea.”
“But grandpa wakes up before me and goes out walking. I get up and get ready for school.”
“You wake up at six. From tomorrow, wake up at 5:30. Can’t you wake up half an hour earlier for your grandpa? Otherwise, he won’t live long.”
“Tell dad,” Bumba suggested.
“Your father! That would make things worse!” she said, then added softly, “I’ll give you twenty rupees every day. You can buy chips or chocolate.”
Bumba thought about it. With that money, he could play video games. It costs twenty rupees an hour. He agreed.
**
Grandpa tried to explain to grandma, “I had tea without sugar and cream cracker biscuits. You’re worrying unnecessarily. Am I a child that I can’t control my temptations?” But it had no effect. The next morning at 5:30, Bumba went on the walk with him.
Instead of heading toward the main road, grandpa took a different path. Bumba had never been there before. There were so many kinds of trees and birds along the road. Grandpa told him their names—bakul, krishnachura, chatim, kadam, jarul, sonajhuri. The road was covered in bright yellow flowers. “Radhachura,” grandpa said. Not in cages or on television, but under the open sky, birds perched on branches and grass. As they approached, the birds flew away quickly. Grandpa pointed them out—sparrows, bulbuls, drongos, tailorbirds, magpie robins, and others.
Then a sweet call floated through the air—“kuhu.” Instantly, the surroundings felt magical.
“What bird is that?” grandpa asked.
Bumba searched the peepal tree, trying to locate it.
“It’s a cuckoo,” grandpa said.
Bumba had read about the cuckoo’s call in books, but this was the first time he heard it himself. His mind felt completely refreshed. As he finally spotted the bird, he shouted, “Grandpa, there it is—the cuckoo!”
Immediately, it flew away into a dense bakul tree.
One day, Bumba even ran after a squirrel, forcing grandpa to run after him. Though grumbling at grandma, grandpa had to keep up. If Bumba fell, he might get hurt, and everyone would blame him. Yet while running, grandpa seemed to regain his youth, feeling lively and energetic.
Suddenly, Bumba stopped. He watched a woodpecker tapping its way up the trunk of a mango tree. He stared at it intently.
Now no one needed to tell Bumba to draw. Whenever he found time, he sat with his notebook and colored pencils. On the blank pages came alive woodpeckers, kingfishers, mynas, cranes, butterflies…
