Are you travelling alone?” asked the TC. “Yes,” replied Sumit looking frantically for the all-important slip of paper. Oh here it was in the other pocket! He handed it over with a smile of relief. The TC nodded and gave it back to him. Sumit settled down in his corner, his thoughts racing back to the summer holidays once again…

He had spent an exciting week with his father at Nainital — boating and going for long walks. It had often seemed to Sumit that his father was on the verge of telling him something important. But he never did. On their way back his father suddenly looked up from the wheel and said, “Sumit, would you like to spend the rest of your holidays with your mother?”

“My mother!” he had cried, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said,” he replied somewhat casually. “She lives nearby. Teaches in a school.”

He had felt all churned up inside. As though he was being choked. “You never told me before that I had a mother!” he had cried accusingly. “I…I… don’t think I want to meet her! I wouldn’t know what to say!”

“I’m not worried about that!” said his father. “You always have enough to say! However, you needn’t stay unless you want to. We’ll just drop in for an hour, say hello to her and push off!”

“But Papa, she’s your wife…you can’t…”

“She is no longer my wife. We were divorced long ago. But she is your mother. I thought you should meet her now that you’re a teenager. Thirteen-going-on-fourteen, aren’t you?”

“But Papa…why…why…?”

“Shhh,” said his father. “We’re almost there. That’s the gate, I think. Hop out and open it.”

Almost mechanically Sumit had jumped out of the car and opened the gate and jumped in after he had shut it behind him. And they came to a halt in front of a tiny bungalow. Someone stood on the balcony. Waiting for them? Yes, it was his mother. It seemed as though the photograph in his room had suddenly come alive — with a few added touches of grey.

“Here we are, Sushmita,” said his father stepping down. “This is Sumit. Recognise him?”

Sumit stood still, his fists clenched tightly. He WOULDN’T rush towards her, crying out “Ma” as the long lost boy inevitably did in Hindi films and TV serials! But would she cry all over him and go soppy? His eyes met hers. Her voice was perfectly calm and natural as she said, “Why, Sumit, what a big boy you’ve grown to be!” No tears! No fuss! No long speeches, thank goodness!

“You are giving us tea, I hope?” said Papa. “I’m dying of thirst.”

“The kettle’s boiling,” said his mother, smiling. “Come in. Sumit, this is Raja, my dog.”

Raja was all over him — barking, licking and wagging his tail! Sumit was delighted. It was Raja who broke the ice.

“You’ll stay here for a while, I hope,” said his mother laughing. “Even if it’s for Raja’s sake.”

“Yes, I will, Mama,” said Sumit the long unused address springing to his lips instinctively.

(Illustrations by Suman Choudhury)

To be continued

Swapna Dutta’s short story, The Journey first appeared in the children’s magazine Target edited by Rosalind Wilson. It was later published in the short story collection, The Carpenter’s Apprentice, by Katha, a Delhi-based non-profit organisation and publishing house.