The
Wheel
by Vijaya Jayasuriya
By the time I became a teenager my father had lost all the glamour of
his wealth together with the vehicles he had. He had first had
motor-cycles, a very rare sight, mother says, in those good old days. He
then had owned a number of vehicles and he used to take me around
standing on the rear seat of a car looking through the window there.
When misfortune struck, father only had an old ramshackle push bike
to get about which we used behind his back to learn cycling. When he
found on his return home a loosened chain due to our harsh use of a
single pedal, he shouted at us saying: "Don't touch my bike
hereafter..." Yet we continued to flout this rule until we could ride
well and my elder brother brought home a new bike.
Before learning to ride a bike, I had found an old rusty rim of a
motor-bike wheel on the attic above father's bed room. This was the only
relic of father's vehicles and I used to roll it around the house
beating it with a piece of coconut stalk.
Sometimes mother would keep looking at me playing this sport with a
glum look on her face. She may have been visualizing the lost past with
prosperity in our home now reduced to this cast-away motor-bike wheel.
Only the post-master's brother Marcus, a building contractor and
another rich man Paulis a timber dealer with a large log yard had cars
by this time in our village. They were new affairs with tantalizing
sleek bodies and a humming music of their engines, and I used to keep
staring at them wide-eyed as they glided past along our fence.
"The cars father had were much better than them", mother said
standing on the doorstep watching me looking sadly at those vehicles.
"Where are they now, amma?", I ask in obrious sadness. "Father had to
sell his last car to help your uncle", so saying she backed off into the
kitchen as if being unable to face my questions any longer.
Uncle was one of my favourite relatives whom I adored, and so I fell
into deep thought unable to blame him either for being the cause of
losing our car.
Ariyapala, our old driver of father's vehicles those days came to our
home once in a blue moon to have a chat with us.
"Podi mahaththaya has a nice bicycle rim, eh?" he picked up the wheel
I was playing with and started to look at it turning it over several
times.
"That is his favourite toy, no" mother said with a slight smile on
her face." It is the only thing remaining from his father's last
motor-bike.."
"This can be sold for fifty rupees easily.." Ariyapala was saying. "I
can sell it for you and get you the money.."
I quickly looked at mother, now suddenly saddened from the prospect
of losing my treasured toy. Mother cast a sharp glance at me, came to me
and sent her arms around me in an embrace saying. "No, no Ariyapala, I
am not going to sell it.. it is his toy, no.."
"See how much your mother loves you.." said Ariyapala with a broad
smile on his face looking at me and left saying: 'I 'm off, hamine.."
One day a gleaming new car came and pulled up in front of our house.
I cast an avid glance at it and the next moment my eldest brother
shelton got off leaving me stunned in disbelief. I almost involuntarily
ran towards the car and touched its body with a feeling of amazement
mixed with delight.
As my brother was putting his arm around me I asked him "You bought
this?.." "Yes malli, aiya bought it and now you also can go in it.."
That was my sister-in-law. "Where is amma, malli..? asked my brother
moving toward our front door and even as I answered the couple
disappeared inside the house leaving the car in my full custody.
I opened the door and sat on the driving seat which sagged
comfortably under my weight. Then I placed my hands on the steering
wheel. There was a pleasant fragrance inside that heightened my ecstasy
and my next move was miming the driving act.
While turning the wheel onto both sides I made the movements of
changing year too, just touching the gear lever while producing with my
mouth a sound immitating the song of the engine... "m...m.."
My joy knew no bounds when I saw Bindu, my friend in the adjoining
land coming to pass the car on his way home. "Whose car is this?" he
asked poking his head through the window.
"My eldest brother's I replied in glee while still turning the wheel.
"Can you drive?"
"A little...I'm going to learn from my brother..."
My heart leaped up in pride when I saw Bindu's eye scouring the
inside of the car, his head too revolving accordingly.
"Must be expensive..." he says.
'Yes, twelve thousand..." I rejoined remembering the paper ads on
cars with a picture and its price given below it.
"Ammo...What big money.. Your brother must be rich.."
"Yes, he is an estate superintendent...'
That night the couple stayed with us as early following morning they
were to proceed to Kataragama the very first journey after buying the
car. We had also been invited to join, and the whole night my dreams
were on the trip. I myself was driving the car and was speeding past
villages, while Bindu's face showed up in each of these places!
We set out at dawn with the first rays of the sun and I was immensely
enjoying the trip. I sat in the rear seat with mother and my elder
brother while the couple occupied the front seats. As I could not
remember my journey's in my father's car as a little boy, this turned
out to be my first experience travelling in a car owned by someone in
the family.
We were passing the little town next to our village when suddenly
another car overtook ours and unexpectedly stopped in front of us
blocking the road. My brother had no alternative but to stop dead in the
middle of the road.
Even before we were able to imagine what was happening, two men got
off the car and came running towards us.
My brother got visibly flustered, yet tried to remain in the driving
seat when the more aggressive of the two men popped his head through the
window. He addressed my brother in a rather harsh voice and said
something of which I could only discern the word "payments" "Please get
off the car" was his final utterance.
I thought my brother would resist this unexpected threat, yet quite
contrary to my anticipation he meekly got off the car asking his wife
also to do so. We too followed them and found ourselves by the side of
the road where a number of people were eagerly looking at us, some even
amused at what happened.
The tough man got in the car took the wheel and raced away together
with the other car while my brother came to us with a guilty face and
told us to go home.
"I will take you next time. Now you go home..' and in what he told
his wife, I could hear the word 'seizers' as they walked away towards
the bus stand.
Back home I ran to get my motor-bike wheel which was lying peacefully
in a corner where I had kept it and started rolling it producing the
song of a car engine with my mouth: "m....m...." |