No. 34 Mandi – lost and found

Part 1

In 1963, the family arrived in Mandi, which is another town in Himachal, when the little girl’s father, Ram Murti Sharma became the principal of the Government Degree College in Mandi.

Uprooted from their comfort zone in Bilaspur, the family shifted from the principal’s kothi in Bilaspur to the principal’s bungalow in Mandi. And the kids started the routine once again, of settling down in a new town, getting used to the new place, and the new school, meeting new people, and making new friends etc. etc. etc.

Mandi was the place, where, more than a decade ago, young Murti and Usha had come with their first born, their older son, and this was the birthplace of their youngest child, their daughter, the little girl. Mandi, and basically Himachal where they had arrived after leaving Punjab, was always going to be home for the family.

Situated in a beautiful valley, created by the majestic river Bias, and a seasonal rivulet, Sukaiti Khad, Mandi is surrounded by high mountains. While they had been in Mandi the previous time, Murti, the girl’s father had been the young professor of English, and her mother, Usha had been looking after her small children, with help from Murti, and his youngest brother, Brahm, who had come to finish his graduation at the Mandi Degree college.

At that stage, Usha would not have even imagined that she would ever go back to study at a college, and actually sit for exams.

And now, she had passed her Bachelor of Education (B.Ed.), and just as she and Murti had planned for her to become a teacher, she had joined the Himachal education sector as a government schoolteacher; and in Mandi, she was going to teach music at the local girls’ high school.

The little girl had started her year 4 in the primary school, and her brother, the younger of her two brothers, had joined the boys high school, in year six. Their older brother was at the college now in his pre university class, and after that, he was going to do pre-medical, before he could go to the medical college.

The Paddal area, where they lived in Mandi, was a bit far from the Mandi town, towards the Kullu Manali Highway, at the banks of the majestic River, Bias. Their schools, however, were all in the heart of the town, a couple of kilometres from the college, across the Sukaiti bridge, which the kids needed to cross every day to go the school.

Mandi is both an ancient, and a modern town, a town of temples and narrow streets bursting with activity, with people milling around in and out all times of the day. Many doorways open in these streets from the close knitted households, with generations of family members living under one roof.

In the heart of the town, there were shops, selling everything on this earth, where the little girl would love to visit one day, but from where, she just passed through each day to go to school, looking at the beautiful dress materials, shiny kitchen ware, jewellery, shoes, stationary, toys.

In one corner of the bazar, Chohtta bazar, there used to be the one eyed chooran walla, selling his famous chooran, the sweet and sour coarse powder, his special concoction of different spices, and some chemicals. There was always a little crowd around him, with people buying a small amount of chooran, on a piece of an old newspaper, and for a paisa more, he would put a drop of a fiery liquid, which would create a small cloud of strong smelling smoke! Children would lick the piece of paper clean to get to the last atom of their chooran!

There was a cinema, with a few tea stalls and Pan Walla shops, selling beetle nut leaves and cigarettes, around it, and a soda fountain shop, which used to sell kulfi ice cream and the most delicious frothy drink in a bante walli soda bottle, with a marble instead of a cork stuck in its mouth, the drink, the kids would be treated to on special occasions!

The music emanating from the radios in every pan walla’s shop, the calls of the street vendors, and beggars littered everywhere, added to the cacophony of the bus -y- ness of the inner-city which was quite a congested area.

Paddal in comparison was a much quieter place, as other than the college building, and a few houses for the college staff, there were just a few kothies for officers, mostly single-story houses, with picket fences, and manicured green lawns all situated around or close to Mandi’s iconic Paddal ground.

Along-side the banks of the river Bias, where the principal’s bungalow was, it was an exclusive area, as that is where Mandi’s famous club house was. There was also the circuit house, which was a beautiful colonial style bungalow situated on top of a small hill, where the most high-flying official dignitaries would come to stay while on a tour.

The river Bias was just behind their house, from where each morning, thick fog would travel to cover the whole area in an opaque pall, which would only recede as the sun rose up in the sky. The fog and the river’s sound would create mornings and evenings which were both misty and mysterious, as they could only hear the sound of the river, but they couldn’t see it from their house.

From the back of the club, which was a huge open area, dotted with green shimmering rolling hills and mounds sloping down to the riverbank, they could run down towards the river. Almost every week, a few times, in the evenings, in the summer months, and afternoons in winter, their parents, or their mother would go to the club, to catch up with other officers, and friends, and while the grownups sat and chatted over cups of tea and plates of dainty cheese and tomato sandwiches, and hot pakodas, the kids would play games, running down the hills, the boys chasing the imaginary robbers, and the ‘baddies’, and the girls singing songs, hoisting their colourful chunnies, long scarves, behind them running down gracefully, like gazelles.

In the summer evenings, they would all just lie down on their backs on the green sloped lawns of the club, looking at the starry sky.

Mandi had the starriest sky in the world, pitch dark, almost black, smooth as satin with endless sparkling stars, so close, almost blinking at them, like diamonds in the sky, though the girl had never seen a diamond as yet. But she knew what beauty was, and Mandi was beautiful, and just so picturesque!

The college was just across from the Paddal ground, where many local festivals and sport events took place and on which hundreds of students milled around during the day, and in the evenings, locals, mainly young boys and girls, came out to enjoy the open atmosphere, and the cool breeze, coming from the river Bias.

Mandi, at that stage had one of the most advanced female populations in Himachal, as the girls in their culture and society always had the freedom in selecting whom they wanted to marry, and with the college providing them an opportunity to get higher education, they usually had a choice to do something other than marrying, and be someone. The smartly dressed older and younger females going around doing their daily chores, including going to the college to study, or visiting their close-knit family houses, were a distinct feature of the Mandi town.

There were also a few lady lecturers at the college, and they used to visit their house, as the girl’s mother had befriended them. These smart, young beautiful women, chattering in English, talking in an interesting way, were so different from those aunties, who were mainly house- wives, wives of professors, and mothers of many of her friends.

And out of all, it was the English professor, Krishna Vaidya, the most smartly dressed woman in the town, who became the little girl’s hero! She used to come to their house more often, as Biji and she had become really close friends. The little girl formed a bond with Krishna Auntie, mainly, because she used to talk to the girl, asking her questions, and actually listening to her answers.

Interestingly, Krishna Auntie had a black velvet coat that she always wore on top of her beautiful silk sarees, and which the girl always admired. And one day, when Krishna got married to one of Usha’s cousins, who had arrived from England for a holiday, and had visited them in Mandi, she gave that coat to the little girl.

A few of young men from Usha’s or Murti’s family, their cousins and brothers, used to visit them in Himachal, it was much more exciting to spend their holidays in Himachal, rather than in Chandigarh, or Panjab, as Usha’s younger brothers Jitender and Virender Soni, who would both join Air Force, would say.

Well, this cousin of Usha, who came for a week to Mandi, met Krishna and swept her off her feet, and Krishna, who was so adamant that she wouldn’t get married, got married and left Mandi for ever in a hurry, and then before leaving to go to her husband’s house in another city, she gifted her black coat to the little girl. Though it was still too big for her, but the girl cherished it and kept it in her section of the cupboard, waiting to wear it one day!

Her mother that day, when she was crying for Krishna Auntie, had actually told her a story of another black coat that someone had gifted to her when she was a young girl, a continuation of dreams and ambitions, which with god’s grace and her own hard work, she had fulfilled!

Now it was the turn of the little girl and she knew what she wanted to do, as she had already decided at that tender age, that she would also teach at a college one day, and would also become an English lecturer, just like Krishna Auntie, and her own father, confident, engaging and interesting.

Her interest in literature, and her ambition of being an English professor, might have been a result of her fascination with language and words used by people like her own father and people like Krishna who spoke so well.

Especially, her father, who was a great speaker, and an excellent teacher, spoke in the most interesting manner, embellishing his speech by anecdotes, jokes, and poetry. And most probably, that is what made the little girl fall in love with the art of story- telling, yes, one day, she wanted to write stories too.

She wanted to know more about the craft of words, knitting stories, giving information in an interesting manner, and this need also encouraged her to read, and to read a lot, something that she had started very early in life, a habit to stay with her for ever.

Actually, in their family, everyone read a lot, and they always had a few magazines, and books newspapers scattered around. Their father read the newspaper, and English magazines, like Readers Digest and Time, were part of the stack on his table, with thick literary books, and their mother loved to read story books, novels, and magazines, like women’s weekly types, and the kids would also read children’s magazines, as they would get pocket money to buy a couple of magazines every month, and then they would read books from the college library.

The Mandi college had a good library, and every week, the kids walked to the college library to borrow books to read, and to return the books they had read, and they would go the college building from their home through the Paddal ground which those days, seemed, an endless sea of brown and green, like an old patchwork tapestry, woven with splashes of brown dirt and patches of green grass. It took them a long time to cover the few hundred meters distance, as they skipped from one patch to the next, while racing round and round on their way to the library.

The Paddal area, where the college was, was basically in between the two water ways, Bias river and Sukaiti, the most temperamental seasonal rivulet. Both rivers, after flowing parallel to each other for a while, meet at a point, encircling the Paddal area, turning it into a peninsular.

Now, there were two ways to go to their respective schools, across the Sukaiti khad. One was the pucca the permanent bridge, which was a bit longer route, or the short cut, by crossing Sukaiti at a point where it was mostly shallow, by wadding through its ankle-deep water or over the make-shift temporary bridge on it.

But in the rainy season, when the seasonal rivulets turn wild and wide in Himachal, this would become a very dangerous crossing. With all the extra water arriving from the mountains, the flow of the water in Sukaiti would get much stronger as it moved fast towards the Bias river, deep and calmer, waiting patiently for its beloved sister, the impatient, restless Sukaiti Khad, to merge with it.

The little girl, and her brother’s schools were adjacent to each other, but their Biji’s school was a bit further down, more towards the south part of the town. It was the high school, and in two years- time, it would be her school too, and she would go to school with her Biji and the girl couldn’t wait!

Every morning, the girl would walk with her brother, but just at the corner of the street, where the school building was, the brother would leave her to walk the rest by herself. She knew that he loved her, but he was just very shy and didn’t want his school friends to see him walking with his sister and holding her hand. 

At the end of her year four, the girl had to sit for a scholarship exam, which was to be held at the boys school. That morning, Biji had specifically asked her brother to take her to the examination hall with him. But once at the corner of his school building, just before the school gate, he pointed at where she needed to go and walked away, and she stood there for the whole morning, and missed the exam!

Years later, someone would tell her, that he had seen her standing there in the corner between the two schools, looking lost and so lovely, in her white frock, with a white ribbon in her dark hair, and that he had fallen in love with her that day. But she had not seen him, or anyone else that day, as she had just been looking at the building of the school, hoping that someone would be coming for her, to take her to the examination hall.

In the afternoons again after school, the girl would walk alone home. Her brother would linger on his way home playing with marbles, and old walnuts, kanchte and Khod, games so popular among boys, to win or lose these worthless objects!

She missed Bilaspur days, and her friends, as she had still not made friends with the children who lived close to her house. So she walked home alone, chatting to her imaginary friends.

One afternoon, during their first rainy season in Mandi, she followed other Paddal students home. These kids had decided to go home via the make-shift bridge. This route was not safe during the rainy season, as the depth and flow of the water at that point where they had to cross the Khad, was uncertain, and the rocks on which the planks of the bridge rested, would be shaking and moving a bit due to the torrential water flowing under the bridge.

The little girl, following other children, and walking slowly, arrived at the bridge, but by then, most of the children had already crossed the bridge.

Trying to catch up with those who were still visible on the other side of the rivulet, she quickly stepped on the bridge, and started walking towards them. With her hands clenched in little fists, and her body swaying with the planks of wood, which were quite unstable, she kept walking slowly, putting one foot at the front of the other, and was almost half-way in. And then she stopped, and from one side of the bridge, she looked down.

Mesmerized by the flow of the water, she stood there leaning over the bridge, looking down, in the water. She was fascinated by the speed of water carrying the dark green whirlpools of stones, rocks, twigs, going round and round, flowing fast, all going somewhere with a purpose, beckoning her to follow them, where ever, they were going, and before she could even realise what was happening, she had fallen into the water. The flow of the water took her towards the two rivers’ merging point, where the Sukaiti and Bias met, and plunged her into the deepest part of the water, head down.

For a split second, she felt the change in the temperature from the shallow and warm Sukaiti Khad’s water, to the deep and calm icy water of the Bias river, when suddenly, someone pulled at her school bag, which was wrapped around her shoulder, and dragged her out of the river.

Part 2

The little girl was thus saved, as a dhobi, who had been washing clothes on the other side of the Bias river had seen her falling in the water, and had jumped into the water straight away.

Swimming fast he had reached just in time to drag her away from the deep water. Once out, scared and drenched, with water oozing out of every atom of her body, trembling and dreading what her mother would say, when she found out about her ‘drowning’, the girl had run home quickly.

The other children had already run fast to tell the people in their colony, so by the time, she arrived, with the wet bag still hanging on to her, or she to it, there were many people around her house, and what happened after her father and mother came home, that she cannot remember.

But due to this incident, she ended up making quite a few friends, who after that day, always accompanied her to school and back. Though they were now forbidden to take the ‘short cut’!

Soon the incident would be forgotten, and her school bag would be dried with her ruined copies and books replaced, it would become just a faint memory of what had happened that day, but the scary shaan shaan – sound of the water, and the icy feel of the deep blue, were to always stay with her- as a message of the deep blue, never to be forgotten.

She would always be attracted towards water, but would also be scared of it, with the realisation of the fragility of human existence, in front of the power and the majestic beauty of nature.

Water, she knew could be soothing and loving, but then it can be wild and wicked, one just needs to balance, and have a strong mind to withstand its fury.

As, a couple of times, during their stay in Mandi, she did have a different experience of water.

When they used to travel to Chandigarh to visit their grandparents, they had to cross another rivulet, Ghambher Khad, going berserk during  the rainy season. Actually, the route to Punjab from Himachal those days was an adventure in itself, as it was always uncertain in the rainy season,  if it would take them, a day or three days to reach Chandigarh.

Especially, if they had to go through a transhipment, exchanging buses across the Ghambher Khad, as the bridge over it would have swept away, due to the tons of the torrential water churning in it.

The luggage and the passengers, mainly women and children would be carried across by burly swimmers, on a mashaq, a large pouch made of buffalo skin, filled with air so it floated, while men would swim across, and then they would all get into the bus waiting on the other side of the water.

While crossing on the mashaqs, the kids would be scared as they got splashed by the water, but with her eyes shut, she would hold on tightly to the neck of the person taking her across on his back, while he would be using his arms to swim across strongly.

Once, they had established themselves in Mandi, their parents had started being the most gracious of the guests and the best hosts. Papaji, known as Principal Sharma, had good relations with his colleagues, those who were teaching or working in his college, and also other administrative officers posted in Mandi, similarly, Biji, known as Mrs. Sharma was quite social and was good at making friendships at different levels, professors’ wives, who lived in the neighbourhood, the lady lecturers, who visited her, and some of the officers’ wives, with whom she had formed social relations. They were usually out to dinners, and many times, there were dinners and parties at their bungalow too.

One particular party that the little girl remembers was the party that had to be cancelled. It was a Kitty party, women’s afternoon tea party, when her mother had invited all the officers’ wives, and many of her other friends from the college staff.

The girl was all excited as she was going to meet many of her favourite aunties, and some of her friends who were also coming with their mothers, when suddenly a shocking news had come. Pandit Nehru, the first Prime Minister of India, had died of a heart attack. The party was cancelled naturally.

Everyone had tears in their eyes, especially the children who had all loved their Chacha Nehru, and she was sobbing the most, as he had been her most favourite person, though, other than a fleeting chance meeting when he had thrown a bunch of roses out of his car window towards her in Solan, she had never met him. His death was to be treated as a personal loss for the whole family.

Part 3

The parents believed in ideals and had great respect for those who had made sacrifices for the independence of India. And it was going to be the little girl’s and her brothers’ legacy too, as their hearts were always filled with love and respect for the nation’s leaders and those who continued to contribute to build its future.

This sentiment was also reinforced by the story books the kids  read; and the films they saw. Those days in Himachal, open air public screening of patriotic, motivating and character-building films and nation building documentaries by the department of public relations was quite common. There were still no T.V.s, and the only way to inform, and inspire people was through radio, or the newspaper, and these free screenings were used as a way of educating the public through visual media.

Most house holds had a radio those days, and listening to news, that parents did, and filmi songs, that youngsters did, was very much a part of their growing up. Even today, remembering the patriotic songs, written especially during the 1962 war between India and China, that used to be played on radio, can thrill and give goose bumps to those who grew up during those days!

Close to their house, there was a small open area, where once in a couple of months, old and patriotic films were shown. All the kids from the neighbourhood would go together, taking a rug to sit on, and a shawl to rug up, and their parents would sit on the chairs at the back, and enjoy these films in their very own open air and free cinema.

The films they saw there, have remained engraved in their memories, Jagriti, the awakening, with a blind student teaching his classmate, a lesson of hard work and humility through tragedy; then Do aankhe barha haath, two eyes and twelve hands, the dedication of a jailor, transforming six hard core socially outcast criminals; Hum panchi ek daal ke,  students from a school caught in a mishap, learning the lesson of unity.

And then there were the patriotic films based on the brave freedom fighters like Bhagat Singh, or soldiers in the previous wars, who had lost their lives fighting for their country.

These were just a handful of films, which kept being screened every couple of months, but the kids enjoyed them, sobbing and crying, or laughing every time, at the same scenes, that they had seen many times.

Especially, the little girl and her friends, when going to see one of these films with heart wrenching scenes, would be reminding each other “don’t forget the handkerchief, muie, for the scene when the boy has the accident, we will have to cry!” 

Growing up in Mandi, the kids were just enjoying being Himachalies, residents of Himachal. The little girl and her brothers were picking up the Mandi dialect, and had started to use some of the particular Mandiali words, like ‘muie’, which actually means, ‘you ready to die person’, but is used as an endearment like ‘dear’.

Their parents though were busy in their own work, they were always there, encouraging the kids to participate, in their explorations, finding new things, getting new experiences. And, the whole family was participating in the local cultural activities, such as the Dhams, the communal eating, attending the Mandi’s famous Shiv Ratri fair, an annual event, or the Keertan and Bhandara at the goddess, Tarna Devi’s temple, and the midnight ceremonies at the Bhoothnath temple.

Then there were cultural programs at their school, where the little girl would participate in Pahari dances, and sing songs, and the college functions, thus participating fully in the culture and community of Mandi. They also enjoyed the Mandiali cuisine, rice daal, and the sweet and sour, spicy food to what they had already been initiated in Bilaspur, during their regular eating at Malhotra family’s house.

In Mandi culture, every occasion, like weddings, birthdays, and other cultural ceremonies, were celebrated with a Dham the communal eating, with rows and rows of people sitting on the floor, eating taking turns, even after funerals people were invited to partake of the communal food, and the Dham food was even sent home to those people, who couldn’t come to eat.  The kids loved the variety of this food, and with at least one Dham per week in the town, they would get to enjoy a feast almost every week.

And then, sometimes they would get a chance to travel through the state on a jeep, to the places around Mandi, for example the little girl can never forget her trip to the famous Riwalsir Lake for the Baisakhi mela, the memorable fair, where her father had jumped into the lake to surface after 20 minutes on the other side, just to accept a challenge, giving the little girl almost a heart attack!

Then another trip to Joginder Nagar, it was all exciting, but it was also quite scary, as they took a dangerous ride on a tram, sitting in a trolley through Barot valley, which moved on a steel rope making a strange sound as if someone were coughing and crying, ohn kh ohn kh ohn kh!

She has also never forgotten their trip to Kullu and Manali, which was a few hours’ drive from Mandi, and which has stayed in her memory, for other reasons. They had gone there on a jeep and had stayed there for a few days. It was one of the most beautiful picturesque areas, she has ever seen, in the Parbati river valley surrounded by snow clad mountains, and crisscrossed by the post card perfect bridges, with the majestic river flowing alongside the roads, and on both sides of the roads, there were miles of beautiful stone fruit trees, laden with pink, white and peach flowers, colourful, and delicate, light, like paper flowers, and if you shook a branch of the tree, the flowers like confetti would shower on you, and you would feel like, as if you were in a romantic film scene, singing a song.

And yes, that is where she actually saw a film shoot too. The heroine of the film, who was a famous actress, was carrying a beautiful white pomerium dog, playing with it in between the shots, and the dog was being pampered by everyone in the team, and that is where she had decided, no, not to become a heroine, but to keep insisting on getting a dog, may be not such a posh one, but a dog that she had always wanted.

And from there, they had gone on a trek, and had visited Manikaran, close to Kullu Manali, and where they had stayed in an ancient temple inn, created out of a cave, and where after being tired from their climbing and walking on the rough and rocky terrain for the whole day, they had taken soothing warm baths in the hot springs. And after the hot baths, feeling both refreshed and sleepy, she remembers eating the most delicious halwa, the hot and sweet semolina dish, and sidhus, a Pahari savoury dish, like big stuffed dumplings, that had also been cooked in the hot water of those springs.

The travels widened their mind and increased their bank of ideas and information. They also benefited from being in their parent’s and other grown up’s company, listening to them, talk and share information in the evenings. The kids would also get a chance to perform, sing or tell a joke or a story.

And it was during one of such trips when she and her brother had both received diaries to record their experiences, to write about the places they visited and the things they did each day, what her brother has continued to do, writing a page in his diary every night, but writing a diary remained something that she couldn’t continue!

She was not into writing then, but she always loved to read. At that stage, her reading was still limited to the library books, and the children magazines, however, due to her father’s talks about the writers he had read, or was reading, quoting English writers, Sufi saints, Urdu poets, ideas were already pushing in, instigating her imagination. So, she was always dreaming up stories, though the stories she ‘wrote’, and the dialogue that she continued to have with her imaginary characters, were mainly happening within her, in her imagination.

Their older brother, who had started to read books, beyond the children’s book section, would tell them stories from the books that he read; mainly fiction, and detective stories, that fascinated her.

He was a great storyteller too, and every evening the kids couldn’t wait to sit with him, in his room, and listen to the next episode of Vijay Jasoos! They couldn’t wait to listen to the latest of the fascinating triumphs of an Indian fictional detective, with a captivating, charming character, made even more so, by their own inhouse narrator dramatizing the dialogue, bringing variation in his voice and injecting funny and contextual stuff from his side.

He was planning to be a doctor, and the little girl knew that he would be a great doctor, as he would always charm and entertain his patients, that they would forget their pain and misery in his presence, just as she did!

The younger brother was still not sure what career he would chose, but he knew that he didn’t want to be a doctor, or a professor, but may be an engineer of some sort, but then their trip to the surrounding orchards, inspired him to become a trained, educated agriculturist. Their father’s friend, Dr Jogi who was the director of horticulture in Himachal, was the inspiration behind this decision, as it was with him that the family had visited places like Chakkar dairy, and then Gutkar, the horticultural sites quite close to Mandi, where a joint horticultural program between Himachal and Germany had been underway.

In early 1960s, an Indo-German horticulture agreement had taken place, under which a few animal husbandry projects, dairies and orchards were being developed with support from Germany. The German horticulturists who would bring their machinery and advanced agriculture techniques would come and stay in these places to educate and support the local farmers. They would work with the local farmers, to produce more milk, and to grow more and better fruit and vegetables. The Germans in comparison to Indians, were considered more focused and hardworking as they were able to work harder and longer than the Himachali farmers whom they were helping. The local farmers were more lay back, and content with what they could do using ancient techniques and tools, and they presumably lacked vision, ambition, and motivation.

There was a story that Dr Jogi had told their father about a lazy Himachali farmer, who didn’t want to work very hard even for himself. A German was working alongside this Himachali farmer, to teach him and help him, and how after a few hours of hard work, in which the German didn’t stop even for lunch, but this Himachali farmer folding his hands begged the German “Saab chutti kab dega?” “Sir, when will you give me leave to go home for lunch?”

And their father would never tire of telling this story for years to come!

“Ullu Bata, the fool, it was his farm and he is asking the German for chutti, leave to go home for lunch!”

He would use such stories, and anecdotes to inspire the kids to achieve their potential, and not be lazy, or shirk hard work.

Well, the younger brother now wanted to own a farm in Himachal, growing his own fruit and vegetable and tending animals for milk.  One of the places where he wanted to stay and work after his study, was Gutkar, a small farming town, quite close to Mandi where the kids used to go for day trips.

And this was also the place where the little girl fell in love, with a lamb, a small cotton ball, with large shiny eyes, stumbling around in the green pastures, and she had spent the whole afternoon, cuddling it, and feeding it soft grass. Then, in the afternoon, she wouldn’t leave without it, as she wanted to keep it forever with her. She wanted to take it to Mandi with her but was then tricked by the farmer, the owner of the farm, who said that she could adopt the lamb, and name it, so when she came next time, she could find it. They would take care of it, keeping it just like that for her, a small cotton ball with shiny eyes!

But next time when they went back after a couple of months, she couldn’t find her pet lamb, it was lost in the herd, all grown up. They gave her another little lamb to play with, but after a couple of such times, she wouldn’t be tricked any more, and that day, she cried and cried for the loss of her friend, realising that things change with time, animals and children grow up, people move away, places and priorities change, and that time flies and people forget, they move on.

And soon, they were also going to move, to yet another town in Himachal, as their time in Mandi was up. They would be going to Nahan, where her father was going to be the principal of the Degree college, and the Evening college, and the Arts college, wearing all these different hats, and doing a fantastic job.

Moving away from Mandi was going to be hard, but not so, as she had also grown up in the two- and a-bit years’ time, she had spent in Mandi, she was at the high school now!