GOD ALONE KNOWS.

We played a lot of Cricket in our childhood days, Our society had a big ground which used to serve the purpose of a cricket stadium for us naughty children. The pitch was prepared with the finest soil from the garden and a roller used to press it to a beauty. No children or dogs were allowed to trample on our holy pitch. We got the Cricket kit after small, yet generous donations from our parents. We used to play bet matches of one rupee per player with the neighbouring buildings, After victory, we would buy small ice cream cones to celebrate. Losses meant having to do, with plain lime juice at a near by vendor. The bats would be polished with oil to keep them shining and the balls dipped in a detergent to clean the dirt.
We would still have fun.
Our building had spoil-sport people, Mr Bedekar was one of them, he was our anathema! He stayed on the ground floor and was totally against Cricket as he was scared about the safety of his window panes. He was a typical guy with a short armed vest and a striped pyjama being his uniform.He used to seize the balls heading his home's direction and had collected a vast amount of balls. We never dared, to even look at them and would, with a heavy heart,buy new balls. He was a frustrated and a much despised person amongst us children. One day I threw a ball, which accidentally hit his buttock, the response was quick and his palm went smack onto my face. A palmist could predict his future by looking at my cheek! We decided to rebel and I secretly broke his pane with a stone, later in the night. He never came to know the culprit. I had taken my revenge.
Mr Bedekar went to the extreme and after connivance with the committee, built a big fountain in the middle of our pitch. He had the last laugh. Our cricket hungry, little hearts were broken by a heartless man. Fortunately, the coming exams distracted us from this sad event. Our vacations were spent on the nearby creek playing sunny cricket. It was hot, yet we played from morning till noon. We slowly grew up and stopped playing Cricket altogether.
Meanwhile, Mr Bedekar started reaping his own seeds of hatred, his sons usurped all his money and the flat also, was sold by them and he was shifted to a makeshift room in a far away place. He could not bear this trauma and slowly started losing his marbles. He used to arrive at our building sometimes, in a haggard state, only to be driven away by our watchmen. One day I saw him with torn clothes and a big jute bag on his back, like a rag picker.
We as children had always despised him and cursed him all the time as we used to spontaneously react to such unpleasant situations, but now as a grown up, I could not bear to see his plight. Tears welled up in my eyes. I gave him a tenner note for tea and biscuits, I could see a faint recognition glimmer in his sorry eyes but the shame of the earlier slap aborted the smile and he just walked away.
A few weeks later, he retired hurt to the heavenly pavilion. No one came to claim his emaciated body. We felt bad about the whole situation and some what guilty too.
Whether our hatred and ill feelings, as children towards him had resulted in his sad demise?
We could not answer this uncomfortable question.
Do you have an answer?
God alone knows.