Read The Kitemaker: Stories for Free Online Page B

are!’ exclaimed his assailant. ‘Will you be off now?’
    For answer, Ranji swung his arm up and pushed a hard, bony fist into the other’s face.
    And then they were at each other’s throats, swaying on the rock, tumbling on to the sand, rolling over and over, their legs and arms locked in a desperate, violent struggle. Gasping and cursing, clawing and slapping, they rolled right into the shallows of the pool.
    Even in the water the fight continued as, spluttering and covered with mud, they groped for each other’s head and throat. But after five minutes of frenzied, unscientific struggle, neither boy had emerged victorious. Their bodies heaving with exhaustion, they stood back from each other, making tremendous efforts to speak.
    ‘Now—now do you realize—I am a Punjabi?’ gasped the stranger.
    ‘Do you know I am a Rajput?’ said Ranji with difficulty.
    They gave a moment’s consideration to each other’s answers, and in that moment of silence there was only their heavy breathing and the rapid beating of their hearts.
    ‘Then you will not leave the pool?’ said the Punjabi boy.
    ‘I will not leave it,’ said Ranji.
    ‘Then we shall have to continue the fight,’ said the other.
    ‘All right,’ said Ranji.
    But neither boy moved, neither took the initiative.
    The Punjabi boy had an inspiration.
    ‘We will continue the fight tomorrow,’ he said. ‘If you dare to come here again tomorrow, we will continue this fight, and I will not show you mercy as I have done today.’
    ‘I will come tomorrow,’ said Ranji. ‘I will be ready for you.’
    They turned from each other then and, going to their respective rocks, put on their clothes, and left the forest by different routes.
    When Ranji got home, he found it difficult to explain the cuts and bruises that showed on his face, legs and arms. It was difficult to conceal the fact that he had been in an unusually violent fight, and his mother insisted on his staying at home for the rest of the day. That evening, though, he slipped out of the house and went to the bazaar, where he found comfort and solace in a bottle of vividly coloured lemonade and a banana leaf full of hot, sweet jalebis. He had just finished the lemonade when he saw his adversary coming down the road. His first impulse was to turn away and look elsewhere, his second to throw the lemonade bottle at his enemy. But he did neither of these things. Instead, he stood his ground and scowled at his passing adversary. And the Punjabi boy said nothing either, but scowled back with equal ferocity.
    The next day was as hot as the previous one. Ranji felt weak and lazy and not at all eager for a fight. His body was stiff and sore after the previous day’s encounter. But he could not refuse the challenge. Not to turn up at the pool would be an acknowledgement of defeat. From the way he felt just then, he knew he would be beaten in another fight. But he could not acquiesce in his own defeat. He must defy his enemy to the last, or outwit him, for only then could he gain his respect. If he surrendered now, he would be beaten for all time; but to fight and be beaten today left him free to fight and be beaten again. As long as he fought, he had a right to the pool in the forest.
    He was half hoping that the Punjabi boy would have forgotten the challenge, but these hopes were dashed when he saw his opponent sitting, stripped to the waist, on a rock on the other side of the pool. The Punjabi boy was rubbing oil on his body, massaging it into his broad thighs. He saw Ranji beneath the sal trees, and called a challenge across the waters of the pool.
    ‘Come over on this side and fight!’ he shouted.
    But Ranji was not going to submit to any conditions laid down by his opponent.
    ‘Come
this
side and fight!’ he shouted back with equal vigour.
    ‘Swim across and fight me here!’ called the other. ‘Or perhaps you cannot swim the length of this pool?’
    But Ranji could have swum the length of the pool a