HOME | DD

Description
Yes, it was a wheel. Debris in the form of long strands of grass, discarded pieces of cloth and half a plastic water bottle were stuck onto it, but it was definitely a wheel, and suddenly Arun saw a way. He was going to ride that race. No one could tell him otherwise, he was going to be part of this.

He ran home to tell his friend Miri who looked at him questioningly when he laid out his plan.
"And you want me to come and help you pull out what you think might be a whole betjak, fix it up and race it?" he asked incredulously?

That was exactly what he wanted.
It took them the whole afternoon, pulling, digging pushing and turning, but when night set in a silhouette of an old and broken betjak could be clearly seen against the darkening blue sky.

People had gathered nearby. Some had left again shaking their heads, and some had stayed to see what the plan was. It was too dark to see the glow on Arun's face, but he was filled with a pride that only those with a vision possess: His Race, his betjak, his dream.

There were some jeers from people about the old broken betjak, but Arun refused to hear them. One man tried to buy the chunk of metal from him as he saw a future for the instrument but to Miri's great dismay, Arun declined.

It didn't take Arun long to replace the missing wheel, and the slight bend in it didn't matter. They all had the same size and the betjak almost moved smoothly. It was big. Bigger than he had anticipated, and so he found some wooden blocks to stick on the pedals so that he could reach. One block was slightly thicker then the other; it didn't bother him. He rode it everywhere, and soon most people knew whom this boy was and what it was he wanted to do.

The reactions were still the same: Older people shook their heads and moved on, the youngest ones stood in awe and the rest laughed or jeered. Arun however held his head up high and rode on, pushing himself to the max.

He found some yellow paint and took to painting the whole thing yellow. He recieved some orange and red pieces of cloth from a lady at the market who had some left over scraps and who found herself rejoicing in the boys enthusiasm and determination.
He bound them to the back so they would dance in the wind.
Speeding off standing on high on his pedals he yelled "I am like the sun!" and she smiled.

On the day of the race, the man at the track looked at him and laughed.
"You wanted to ride in the race" he asked skeptically.
Arun eagerly nodded his head.
"Well that will be 5.000 Rupia then"
His world seemed to shatter: "what for?"
"Entrance money" the man replied smugly.
It only took Arun an instance to recover and come up with an idea:
"What if I started later", he asked, "no one has to blow a whistle for me."
The man at the entrance box shook his head at this nonsensical boy.
Who would want to start the race later then the rest? "You can't win if you start later," he said, but Arun persevered:
"Would it be free if I started after everyone has started off?"
In a way the man felt sorry for the boy with the yellow betjak which looked like it might not even make it to the start… would there really be any harm in letting him start late? He yielded.
"Sure it would be free" he said, "but make sure everyone has left before you start".

Arun hurried to get his betjak. It wasn't like he didn't have a chance still he thought. He had trained hard and his calves had hardened from his trips to the market and down the dirt road along the river basin. He was ready; very ready and very excited.

There was a clutter of betjaks at the start, all different colours. Some new and fancy ones, some very old but made to look as if they were going to ride the stars all the way down from heaven. The start sign hooted but as the gas ran out to make it sound more like an emptying balloon , it wasn't as powerful a blast off as one would expect. Nevertheless, the betjak drivers exploded away leaving those near the start sign staring into a big cloud of dust.

Arun had placed his betjak right next to the entrance. You could barely see him there for the multitude of tents unless you knew someone was there, someone eagerly waiting for his chance to ride.

After Arun impatiently watched all the contestants pass the starting line and dissolve in the dust, it was his turn to join the race. His muscles tense with excitement, he stepped down on his peddles as hard as he could. He was young and he felt he was catching up. His concentration was such that he didn't hear the noise and laughter behind him. He paddled most of the way without losing sight of the other contestants, his betjak cracking and squeaking.

Nevertheless, he could see the other betjaks were superior to his and the different height of the blocks was wearing him out. One of the rusty sides of his betjak came crashing off and it heeled over to the opposite side precariously, but it still moved, and he kept on.
Arun had lost sight of the other contestants now and even though he knew his race was over and he had no chance to win, he was riding this race because it was his dream, and he kept going.

When Arun and his betjak arrived down by the river and the end of the race was nigh, the boys that had been jeering at him earlier stepped out on the road.
"you move like an old donkey!" They called at him
"No I fly like a bird he shouted back."
And like before, his excitement could not be diminished.

Then a can of oil hit the wooden carriage and lit up all the red and orange streamers. The flames quickly caught and ate at the yellow paint crumbling it to a flaky black making the metal warm under his hands. Arun slowed, then halted slightly before the finish. His betjak gave a last loud eerie squeak and slumped like an old man who could go no farther. Arun watched it burn.
"Ablaze like the sun alright!" a voice in the background pronounced which brought him back to reality.
But even the sun sets in the river he thought.
He gave the left over steel frame and wheels a mighty shove back into the river, which ate it with a slight hissing sound.

Earth to earth, dust to dust, and betjaks back into the river, Arun decided.
There would be another race next year,
and there would be other old betjaks in the river.

Description
Yes, it was a wheel. Debris in the form of long strands of grass, discarded pieces of cloth and half a plastic water bottle were stuck onto it, but it was definitely a wheel, and suddenly Arun saw a way. He was going to ride that race. No one could tell him otherwise, he was going to be part of this.

He ran home to tell his friend Miri who looked at him questioningly when he laid out his plan.
"And you want me to come and help you pull out what you think might be a whole betjak, fix it up and race it?" he asked incredulously?

That was exactly what he wanted.
It took them the whole afternoon, pulling, digging pushing and turning, but when night set in a silhouette of an old and broken betjak could be clearly seen against the darkening blue sky.

People had gathered nearby. Some had left again shaking their heads, and some had stayed to see what the plan was. It was too dark to see the glow on Arun's face, but he was filled with a pride that only those with a vision possess: His Race, his betjak, his dream.

There were some jeers from people about the old broken betjak, but Arun refused to hear them. One man tried to buy the chunk of metal from him as he saw a future for the instrument but to Miri's great dismay, Arun declined.

It didn't take Arun long to replace the missing wheel, and the slight bend in it didn't matter. They all had the same size and the betjak almost moved smoothly. It was big. Bigger than he had anticipated, and so he found some wooden blocks to stick on the pedals so that he could reach. One block was slightly thicker then the other; it didn't bother him. He rode it everywhere, and soon most people knew whom this boy was and what it was he wanted to do.

The reactions were still the same: Older people shook their heads and moved on, the youngest ones stood in awe and the rest laughed or jeered. Arun however held his head up high and rode on, pushing himself to the max.

He found some yellow paint and took to painting the whole thing yellow. He recieved some orange and red pieces of cloth from a lady at the market who had some left over scraps and who found herself rejoicing in the boys enthusiasm and determination.
He bound them to the back so they would dance in the wind.
Speeding off standing on high on his pedals he yelled "I am like the sun!" and she smiled.

On the day of the race, the man at the track looked at him and laughed.
"You wanted to ride in the race" he asked skeptically.
Arun eagerly nodded his head.
"Well that will be 5.000 Rupia then"
His world seemed to shatter: "what for?"
"Entrance money" the man replied smugly.
It only took Arun an instance to recover and come up with an idea:
"What if I started later", he asked, "no one has to blow a whistle for me."
The man at the entrance box shook his head at this nonsensical boy.
Who would want to start the race later then the rest? "You can't win if you start later," he said, but Arun persevered:
"Would it be free if I started after everyone has started off?"
In a way the man felt sorry for the boy with the yellow betjak which looked like it might not even make it to the start… would there really be any harm in letting him start late? He yielded.
"Sure it would be free" he said, "but make sure everyone has left before you start".

Arun hurried to get his betjak. It wasn't like he didn't have a chance still he thought. He had trained hard and his calves had hardened from his trips to the market and down the dirt road along the river basin. He was ready; very ready and very excited.

There was a clutter of betjaks at the start, all different colours. Some new and fancy ones, some very old but made to look as if they were going to ride the stars all the way down from heaven. The start sign hooted but as the gas ran out to make it sound more like an emptying balloon , it wasn't as powerful a blast off as one would expect. Nevertheless, the betjak drivers exploded away leaving those near the start sign staring into a big cloud of dust.

Arun had placed his betjak right next to the entrance. You could barely see him there for the multitude of tents unless you knew someone was there, someone eagerly waiting for his chance to ride.

After Arun impatiently watched all the contestants pass the starting line and dissolve in the dust, it was his turn to join the race. His muscles tense with excitement, he stepped down on his peddles as hard as he could. He was young and he felt he was catching up. His concentration was such that he didn't hear the noise and laughter behind him. He paddled most of the way without losing sight of the other contestants, his betjak cracking and squeaking.

Nevertheless, he could see the other betjaks were superior to his and the different height of the blocks was wearing him out. One of the rusty sides of his betjak came crashing off and it heeled over to the opposite side precariously, but it still moved, and he kept on.
Arun had lost sight of the other contestants now and even though he knew his race was over and he had no chance to win, he was riding this race because it was his dream, and he kept going.

When Arun and his betjak arrived down by the river and the end of the race was nigh, the boys that had been jeering at him earlier stepped out on the road.
"you move like an old donkey!" They called at him
"No I fly like a bird he shouted back."
And like before, his excitement could not be diminished.

Then a can of oil hit the wooden carriage and lit up all the red and orange streamers. The flames quickly caught and ate at the yellow paint crumbling it to a flaky black making the metal warm under his hands. Arun slowed, then halted slightly before the finish. His betjak gave a last loud eerie squeak and slumped like an old man who could go no farther. Arun watched it burn.
"Ablaze like the sun alright!" a voice in the background pronounced which brought him back to reality.
But even the sun sets in the river he thought.
He gave the left over steel frame and wheels a mighty shove back into the river, which ate it with a slight hissing sound.

Earth to earth, dust to dust, and betjaks back into the river, Arun decided.
There would be another race next year,
and there would be other old betjaks in the river.