The Surprise

The crowing and cacophony of the village heralded the dawn of a new morning. Lala Pulakchand woke to these sounds everyday but this was no ordinary day. It was his 60th birthday. Didn't Ramesh tell him he would give his dad a surprise on his 60th birthday? With these thoughts he got up from his rickety bed, performed his ablutions and sat down for his morning prayers. His mind wandered back to a hazy past when his mother used to wake him up early on this day, made him take a bath so early, and made him sit down for prayers. How quickly has time travelled? He got married, had children and opened a small shop in the village which sold sweets. Meanwhile, his not so beautiful wife had left him for her heavenly aboard. His son had gone to the city for God knows what? He said his future will be ruined here. So many thoughts were crossing his mind that he was not able to concentrate on the prayers.
After finishing his prayers he lied down on his bed. It had become as old and frail as him. His eyes stared fixedly at a hole on the roof from where a tiny ray of light came directly on his face. He was thinking of fixing it for long time but old age and lack of help had made him postpone it again and again. It was summer and the rains wont be coming in soon. He can ask his son, no not his son, he is a respectable man now. He wont like to fix these tiny issues. Perhaps Ramlal's son can help him in lieu of some sweets.
It was almost time to open his shop to cater to the breakfast of farmers going to their fields and children going to school. He did not feel like getting up. He can take the luxury of sleeping a bit more. After all it was his birthday. Suddenly a huge thundercloud sounded which made old Pulakchand shudder. His heart beat faster. In his heydays, he always used to enjoy these rains. With friends he used to play in the muddy water not heeding to yell of his mother. He didn't know what had happened to him. He felt afraid often.
A small drop of water fell on his face. He enjoyed the cool drop as it was a hot summer day. "This wont go on for long", he told himself. Hadn't he passed each day of the 60 years here to know how weather changed. The small drops soon changed to a steady stream and wet the old man's shirt. Pulakchand got up and tried pushing his bed away from the place but his feeble arms could not as much as push an inch. He hobbled to the door in the hope of finding someone to help him. As soon as he opened the door, the cold wind came in with all its fury bringing along with it a dash of rainwater. It wet the Pulakchand's dhoti and made his teeth chatter. He quickly closed the door and went to the window. He peered through the sheet of water expecting Ramlal's son playing in his backyard but there was no one.
Resigning to his fate he began to walk back to his bed but found that it was dripping wet. He cursed his luck. At least he should have removed his bedsheet and pillow. He quickly changed his wet shirt and lied down on the floor. It was so chilly. Ramesh would be coming soon, he thought. He should have come by now. Maybe the rain is holding him back. Counting each passing minute, thinking of all the good and bad times he had had, Pulakchand waited for his son and his surprise to come.
The cacophony of the birds arrived once more. They were now going back to their homes after a hard day. "Baba, baba, open the door baba", a young man shouted outside the old run down house of the village sweet seller. "I am sorry baba. I know I am a little late but I have got a surprise for you. He was holding a little girl in his arms, his little girl, his darling daughter who he had bought for the first time for his father to see. He felt sorry that he had not told his father of the birth of his grand-daughter. He wanted to bring him a surprise after all.
Sensing something was amiss, he handed his daughter to his wife and gave a huge heave to the door. The door creaked but did not open. Ramesh went back a foot and pushed the door with all his might. With a great noise the door swung back. A piercing shriek rent the air. Sprawled on the floor lay old Pulakchand, the village sweet seller.