Bluto To The Rescue

The sun was at its radiant best, heat waves scorching everything around. I didn’t mind it though; 12 years in Manipal had given me enough courage and skill to withstand the mid-afternoon sun or even thunderous showers, for that matter. Furthermore, tall trees towered around me, all welcoming me to their side and shade was plentiful. The tiles were burning, but my corner was on the cement platform above the kitchen. My books, ranging from "A text book of Social Science", to Tintin comics were all sprayed around me. I formed the centre of the mess, my head on one branch of the tree that came into the platform, my ears plugged into a Walkman, a schoolbook in hand. It was my "Room on the roof", a corner that belonged exclusively to me.

It was just then that I heard this noise. If Kumbarkarna's tummy had ever growled, then that is how it might have sounded. It was a sound that I knew well but wasn’t actually expecting; it was the sound of footsteps on the tiles. Shit! My worst fears were confirmed. The roof, in fact, didn’t belong exclusively to me; it was also inhabited by some insects, a couple of worms, mongooses in the night (I have never spotted one), and MONKEYS.

It just sat there, a few metres away, staring solemnly at me, scratching its head. Black-faced and furry, with a tail that reminds one of a burnt Lanka, it waited. My immediate impulse was to run, to jump of the roof and make it to the house. But, my legs didn’t move and I didn’t want to leave my books, least of all my Walkman behind. I tried pretending that it didn’t exist and returned back to my books.

Pretending to be oblivious of something only makes you more aware of it and that is exactly what happened. The first thing I noticed, for instance, as I stared at my Social textbook was that the picture on the cover had 3 monkeys, all with long and bushy tails. The first name I saw was a certain Mr.Hanumanth Baliga, one of the members of the writing committee of the text book. And really, it is near impossible to read when someone stares so unabashedly at you from a distance of 5 metres.

With all the slyness that I could conjure, I turned my gaze, ever so carefully, in the direction of the monkey. I looked and immediately turned away, my eyes tightly shut, and stifled a scream. Indeed, for a second, a picture of a 5-foot monkey-magnet in my place flashed before my eyes, for there was no longer one, but three monkeys! They all sat in the same position and one of them even had a baby clinging to its stomach. I didn’t dare look again.

I carefully picked up my books, again superbly conscious of every move I was making, like a thief trying to steal from a super-mall with cameras all around him. I planned my get away quite simply. There was a guava tree that I could hop on and then with some deft footwork I would make my way onto the compound wall and jump beyond the bushes and run like crazy. It seemed liked the Indian batting line-up on paper, extremely promising but terribly unpredictable.

And while I was completely immersed in this line of thought, I felt a gentle tug at the wire that made its way into my ears. This time I knew what it was before even looking. The baby monkey, as mischievous as ever, seemed to be fascinated by my Walkman and had calmly strolled across to have a look at it.
"HANUMAN" I fittingly screamed, and I heard noises beyond the tiles from the asbestos. More monkeys.
"ARREY BOLSHANKARS, HELP ME. AYYO, HELP"

And somehow, since Hanuman himself couldn’t come in his usual form (that would have made me faint), he sent a substitute. 15 feet below, running at the speed of knots in a whirlwind of dust encircling it, ran Bluto; his head raised in my direction, tail wagging frantically and barking in a frenzy. My prayers had been answered; my Hanuman had arrived. He climbed the roof in the very manner that I had planned to get off and landed right in front of me.

What happened next on the roof, I still don’t know. I gathered all my books, hopped, jumped and ran. In less than a quarter of a minute, I was home, panting hard, but terribly relieved. And all I had to show for my adventure was a shirt that had torn somewhere during my frantic run.

That evening, as I made my way past my neighbour's house, I saw Bluto. It had a brand new shining collar.
"Bluto has lost his collar again" said my neighbour, an amicable old man, well into his 70s.
"Actually, Uncle, I think I know where it is, but I don’t think I will be going there in a very very long time" I said, and with a wink at Bluto, I ran past the house singing praises of the Lord Hanuman.