Children's Omnibus Read online

  The Ruskin Bond

  CHILDREN'S OMNIBUS

  The Ruskin Bond

  CHILDREN'S OMNIBUS

  First published in 1995 by

  Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd.

  7/16, Ansari Road, Daryaganj

  New Delhi 110002

  Sales centres:

  Allahabad Bengaluru Chennai

  Hyderabad Jaipur Kathmandu

  Kolkata Mumbai

  Copyright © Ruskin Bond 1995

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This digital edition published in 2012

  e-ISBN:

  Ruskin Bond asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved.

  This e-book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form or cover other than that in which it is published. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, mechanical, print reproduction, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. Any unauthorized distribution of this e-book may be considered a direct infringement of copyright and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Dedicated

  to the hundreds of readers, young and old,

  who have written me such kind letters

  over the years...

  May you prosper and remain happy!

  CONTENTS

  Foreword

  Cricket for the Crocodile

  The Blue Umbrella

  Ghost Trouble

  Angry River

  Dust on the Mountain

  Grandfather's Private Zoo

  The Road to the Bazaar

  FOREWORD

  Ruskin Bond began writing when he was still in his teens, and he made his way without 'introduction' from the great and the famous. With his gift for going straight to the heart of the reader, he had no need of an intermediary apart from his publisher.

  During the last twenty years, Ruskin Bond has probably spent more time writing for children than for adults. Those who have grown up on his stories read them again as adults, and find that they are as fresh and enjoyable as ever. They then give his books to their own children. Ruskin Bond has long since broken the age barrier.

  In this omnibus collection, Rupa presents some of his longer and most memorable stories — the epic "Angry River", the lyrical "Blue Umbrella", the exciting and realistic "Dust on the Mountain". Sita battles the forces of nature. Binya has to overcome greed and stupidity. Bisnu is confronted by man's tendency to exploit and destroy his own natural heritage.

  These are powerful stories — classics of their kind.

  But there is also a lighter side to Bond, and he is at his humorous best in his Grandfather stories, especially those in which a large variety of pets take on the humans in the household and generally get the better of them. There is also a crocodile who disrupts a cricket match, and a mischievous ghost who adopts a family and plays havoc with their lives. And the charming children whose exploits are recorded in "The Road to the Bazaar" round off a collection that brings the young reader the best from 'the man with the golden pen'.

  KK

  Cricket for the Crocodile

  ONE

  anji was up at dawn.

  It was Sunday, a school holiday. Although he was supposed to be preparing for his exams, only a fortnight away, he couldn't resist one or two more games before getting down to history and algebra and other unexciting things.

  "I'm going to be a Test cricketer when I grow up," he told his mother. "Of what use will maths be to me?"

  "You never know," said his mother, who happened to be more of a cricket fan than his father." You might need maths to work out your batting average. And as for history, wouldn't you like to be a part of history? Famous cricketers make history!"

  "Making history is all right," said Ranji. "As long as I don't have to remember the date on which I make it!"

  Ranji met his friends and teammates in the park. The grass was still wet with dew, the sun only just rising behind the distant hills. The park was full of flower-beds, and swings and slides for smaller children. The boys would have to play on the river bank against their rivals, the village boys. Ranji did not have a full team that morning, but he was looking for a "friendly" match. The really important game would be held the following Sunday.

  The village team was quite good because the boys lived near each other and practised a lot together, whereas Ranji's team was drawn from all parts of the town. There was the baker's boy, Nathu; the tailor's son, Sunder; the postmaster's son, Prem; and the bank manager's son, Anil. These were some of the better players. Sometimes their fathers also turned up for a game. The fathers weren't very good, but you couldn't tell them that. After all, they helped to provide bats and balls and pocket-money.

  A regular spectator at these matches was Nakoo the crocodile, who lived in the river. Nakoo means Nosey, but the village boys were very respectful and called him Nakoo-ji, Nakoo, sir. He had a long snout, rows of ugly-looking teeth (some of them badly in need of fillings), and a powerful scaly tail.

  He was nearly fifteen feet long, but you did not see much of him; he swam low in the water and glided smoothly through the tall grasses near the river. Sometimes he came out on the river bank to bask in the sun. He did not care for people, especially cricketers. He disliked the noise they made, frightening away the water-birds and other creatures required for an interesting menu, and it was also alarming to have cricket balls plopping around in the shallows where he liked to rest.

  Once Nakoo crept quite close to the bank manager, who was resting against one of the trees near the river bank. The bank manager was a portly gentleman, and Nakoo seemed to think he would make a good meal. Just then a party of villagers had come along, beating drums for a marriage party Nakoo retired to the muddy waters of the river. He was a little tired of swallowing frogs, eels and herons. That juicy bank manager would make a nice change — he'd grab him one day!

  The village boys were a little bigger than Ranji and his friends, but they did not bring their fathers along. The game made very little sense to the older villagers. And when balls came flying across fields to land in milk pails or cooking pots, they were as annoyed as the crocodile.

  Today, the men were busy in the fields, and Nakoo the crocodile was wallowing in the mud behind a screen of reeds and water-lilies. How beautiful and innocent those lilies looked! Only sharp eyes would have noticed Nakoo's long snout thrusting above the broad flat leaves of the lilies. His eyes were slits. He was watching.

  Ranji struck the ball hard and high. Splash! It fell into the river about thirty feet from where Nakoo lay. Village boys and town boys dashed into the shallow water to look for the ball. Too many of them! Crowds made Nakoo nervous. He slid away, crossed the river to the opposite bank, and sulked.

  As it was a warm day, nobody seemed to want to get out of the water. Several boys threw off their clothes, deciding that it was a better day for swimming than for cricket. Nakoo's mouth watered as he watched those bare limbs splashing about.

  "We're supposed to be practising," said Ranji, who took his cricket seriously. "We won't win next week."

  "Oh, we'll win easily," said Anil joining him on the river bank. "My father says he's going to play."

  "The last time he played, we lost," said Ranji. "He made two runs and forgot to field."

  "He was ou
t of form," said Anil, ever loyal to his father, the bank manager.

  Sheroo, the captain of the village team, joined them. "My cousin from Delhi is going to play for us. He made a hundred in one of the matches there."

  "He won't make a hundred on this wicket," said Ranji. "It's slow at one end and fast at the other."

  "Can I bring my father? " asked Nathu, the baker's son.

  "Can he play?"

  "Not too well, but he'll bring along a basket of biscuits, buns and pakoras."

  "Then he can play," said Ranji, always quick to make up his mind. No wonder he was the team's captain! "If there are too many of us, we'll make him twelfth man."

  The ball could not be found, and as they did not want to risk their spare ball, the practice session was declared over.

  "My grandfather's promised me a new ball," said little Mani, from the village team, who bowled tricky leg-breaks which bounced off to the side.

  "Does he want to play, too?" asked Ranji.

  "No, of course not. He's nearly eighty."

  "That's settled then," said Ranji. "We'll all meet here at nine o'clock next Sunday. Fifty overs a side."

  They broke up, Sheroo and his team wandering back to the village, while Ranji and his friends got onto their bicycles (two or three to a bicycle, since not everyone had one), and cycled back to town.

  Nakoo, left in peace at last, returned to his favourite side of the river and crawled some way up the river bank, as if to inspect the wicket. It had been worn smooth by the players, and looked like a good place to relax. Nakoo moved across it. He felt pleasantly drowsy in the warm sun, so he closed his eyes for a little nap. It was good to be out of the water for a while.

  The following Sunday morning, a cycle bell tinkled at the gate. It was Nathu, waiting for Ranji to join him. Ranji hurried out of the house, carrying his bat and a thermos of lime juice thoughtfully provided by his mother.

  "Have you got the stumps?" he asked.

  "Sunder has them."

  "And the ball?"

  'Yes. And Anil's father is bringing one too, provided he opens the batting!"

  Nathu rode, while Ranji sat on the cross bar with bat and thermos. Anil was waiting for them outside his house.

  "My father's gone ahead on his scooter. He's picking up Nathu's father. I'll follow with Prem and Sunder."

  Most of the boys got to the river bank before the bank manager and the baker. They left their bicycles under a shady banyan tree and ran down the gentle slope to the river. And then, one by one, they stopped, astonished by what they saw.

  They gaped in awe at their cricket pitch.

  Across it, basking in the soft warm sunshine, was Nakoo the crocodile.

  "Where did it come from?" asked Ranji.

  "Usually he stays in the river," said Sheroo, who had joined them. "But all this week he's been coming out to lie on our wicket. I don't think he wants us to play."

  "We'll have to get him off," said Ranji.

  'You'd better keep out of reach of his tail and jaws!"

  "We'll wait until he goes away," said Prem.

  But Nakoo showed no signs of wanting to leave. He rather liked the smooth flat stretch of ground which he had discovered. And here were all the boys again, doing their best to disturb him.

  After some time the boys began throwing pebbles at Nakoo. These had no effect, simply bouncing off the crocodile's tough hide. They tried mud balls and an orange. Nakoo twitched his tail and opened one eye, but refused to move on.

  Then Prem took a ball, and bowled a fast one at the crocodile. It bounced just short of Nakoo and caught him on the snout. Startled and stung, he wriggled off the pitch and moved rapidly down the river bank and into the water. There was a mighty splash as he dived for cover.

  "Well bowled, Prem!" said Ranji. "That was a good ball."

  "Nakoo-ji will be in a bad mood after that," warned Sheroo. "Don't get too close to the river."

  The bank manager and the baker were the last to arrive. The scooter had given them some trouble. No one mentioned the crocodile, just in case the adults decided to call the match off.

  After inspecting the wicket, which Nakoo had left in fair condition, Sheroo and Ranji tossed a coin. Ranji called "Heads!" but it came up tails. Sheroo chose to bat first.

  The tall Delhi player came out to open the innings with little Mani.

  Mani was a steady bat, who could stay at the wicket for a long time; but in a one-day match, quick scoring was needed. This the Delhi player provided. He struck a four, then took a single off the last ball of the over.

  In the third over, Mani tried to hit out and was bowled for a duck. So the village team's score was 13 for 1.

  "Well done," said Ranji to fast bowler Prem. "But we'll have to get that tall fellow out soon. He seems quite good."

  The tall fellow showed no sign of getting out. He hit two more boundaries and then swung one hard and high towards the river.

  Nakoo, who had been sulking in the shallows, saw the ball coming towards him. He opened his jaws wide, and with a satisfying "clunk!" the ball lodged between his back teeth.

  Nakoo got his teeth deep into the cricket ball and chewed. Revenge was sweet. And the ball tasted good, too. The combination of leather and cork was just right. Nakoo decided that he would snap up any other balls that came his way.

  "Harmless old reptile," said the bank manager. He produced a new ball and insisted that he bowl with it.

  It proved to be the most expensive over of the match. The bank manager's bowling was quite harmless and the Delhi player kept hitting the ball into the fields for fours and sixes. The score soon mounted to 40 for 1. The bank manager modestly took himself off.

  By the time the tenth over had been bowled, the score had mounted to 70. Then Ranji, bowling slow spins, lost his grip on the ball and sent the batsman a full toss. Having played the good balls perfectly, the Delhi player couldn't resist taking a mighty swipe at the bad ball. He mistimed his shot and was astonished to see the ball fall into the hands of a fielder near the boundary. 70 for 2. The game was far from being lost for Ranji's team.

  A couple of wickets fell cheaply, and then Sheroo came in and started playing rather well. His drives were straight and clean. The ball cut down the buttercups and hummed over the grass. A big hit landed in a poultry yard. Feathers flew and so did curses. Nakoo raised his head to see what all the noise was about. No further cricket balls came his way, and he gazed balefully at a heron who was staying just out of his reach.

  The score mounted steadily. The fielding grew slack, as it often does when batsmen gain the upper hand. A catch was dropped. And Nathu's father, keeping wicket, missed a stumping chance.

  "No more grown-ups in our team," grumbled Nathu.

  The baker made amends by taking a good catch behind the wicket. The score was 115 for 5, with about half the overs remaining.

  Sheroo kept his end up, but the remaining batsmen struggled for runs and the end came with about 5 overs still to go. A modest total of 145.

  "Should be easy," said Ranji.

  "No problem," said Prem.

  "Lunch first," said the bank manager, and they took a half-hour break.

  The village boys went to their homes for rest and refreshment, while Ranji and his team spread themselves out under the banyan tree.

  Nathu's father had brought patties and pakoras; the bank manager brought a basket of oranges and bananas; Prem had brought a jack-fruit curry; Ranji had brought a halwa made from carrots, milk and sugar; Sunder had brought a large container full of savoury rice cooked with peas and fried onions; and the others had brought various curries, pickles and sauces. Everything was shared, and with the picnic in full swing no one noticed that Nakoo the crocodile had left the water. Using some tall reeds as cover, he had crept half-way up the river bank. Those delicious food smells had reached him too, and he was unwilling to be left out of the picnic. Perhaps the boys would leave something for him. If not...

  "Time to start," announced the ba
nk manager, getting up. "I'll open the batting. We need a good start if we are going to win!

  The bank manager strode out to the wicket in the company of young Nathu. Sheroo opened the bowling for the village team.

  The bank manager took a run off the first ball. He puffed himself up and waved his bat in the air as though the match had already been won. Nathu played out the rest of the over without taking any chances.

  The tall Delhi player took up the bowling from the other end. The bank manager tapped his bat impatiently, then raised it above his shoulders, ready to hit out. The bowler took a long fast run up to the bowling crease. He gave a little leap, his arm swung over, and the ball came at the bank manager in a swift, curving flight.

  The bank manager still had his bat raised when the ball flew past him and uprooted his middle stump.

  A shout of joy went up from the fielders. The bank manager was on his way back to the shade of the banyan tree.

  "A fly got in my eye," he muttered. "I wasn't ready. Flies everywhere!" And he swatted angrily at flies that no one else could see.

  The villagers, hearing that someone as important as a bank manager was in their midst, decided that it would be wrong for him to sit on the ground like everyone else. So they brought him a cot from the village. It was one of those light wooden beds, taped with strands of thin rope. The bank manager lowered himself into it rather gingerly. It creaked but took his weight.

  The score was 1 for 1.

  Anil took his father's place at the wicket and scored ten runs in two overs. The bank manager pretended not to notice but he was really quite pleased. "Takes after me," he said, and made himself comfortable on the cot.