Bapu and The Jewel Thief

By Hazel MacLeod Fowles and Peter Greave

In a rural Indian village, we meet Bapu a courageous and brave young boy, who is shown something so amazing, it makes him determined to follow his dream of rescuing his whole family from poverty.

 

After plotting an ambitious plan, he sets off in the dead of night to travel to the sacred but dangerous city of Benares, where he i

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hazel MacLeod Fowles
• Release date: May 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9781916596689

Book preview

Foreword

When my children were growing up and needing less of my time, I started to help Peter Greave with his writing, who having returned from a life in India, was living in the Essex countryside near my home.

With Peter’s rich knowledge of Indian culture and my love of writing, we started to write an enchanting children’s story together.  It is only recently, with Peter’s passing, that I have decided to complete the story.

I would like to say a huge thank you for the love and dedication of my friends and family, without whom this book would never have been published.  And I would especially like to thank Amanda Angel for her perseverance in getting the book published and Molly Pittaway who designed the wonderful cover illustration.

I hope that you will enjoy reading this heart-warming story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Hazel MacLeod Fowles

May 2023

cHAPTER ONE

Wake up, Bapu... Wake up. It’s long past time to get up.

Bapu squeezed his eyes tight shut. He didn’t want to get up. He wanted to stay just where he was. He snuggled further down into the cotton quilt where he lay on the floor, but his father standing over him, prodded him slightly with his toe. 

Come on Bapu he called. You know you can’t lie there all day like a little Raja or a Mawari millionaire. Yesterday it rained, the rickshaw is covered in mud. It won’t be an easy job for you to clean it today. 

Bapu yawned, stretched, scratched his head and slowly sat up. He got unwillingly to his feet and still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, stumbled out of the dark, thatched hut where he lived and into the sunlight. It was just six o’clock in the little Indian village of Savalal and the sun, still low on the horizon, glittered on the clumps of bamboo and the dull green waters of the village lake. 

Bapu squinted up into the cloudless sky. He was twelve years old, quick and intelligent, but not quite as tall or strong as he might be simply because his family was too poor to give him enough food to eat. He was often hungry, but he was so used to it that it didn’t worry him too much. Bapu’s ancestors had always lived in Savalal. Once upon a time they had been farmers but now the only land they had left was two acres of dry, lifeless soil in which nothing would grow.

Indeed, things had become so bad on the farm that one morning Bapu’s father had decided to give up trying to farm the land anymore and instead became a rickshaw coolie. 

That had been almost three years ago. Three long, hard years. 

Bapu closed his eyes remembering.. While sitting in the corner of their dark little hut, he had listened while his parents had discussed this new plan. A rickshaw could cost at least two hundred rupees and of course, Gopal, Bapu’s father, had nothing like this sum of money. Although Gopal had not liked the idea, the only way he could think of to solve the problem had been to visit the village moneylender. Bapu had gone with his father to the moneylender’s dingy office at the head of the village. From that very first meeting Bapu had disliked the fat, blubbery man with the bald head who sat cross-legged on the floor. He was surrounded by dusty books and papers, and close beside him on the floor was a much-used abacus which enabled him to do long, complicated sums with the greatest of ease. 

A first the fat man frowned when Gopal asked for a loan.

And when will you be able to repay it? he had asked. You know I am not in the business of lending money to people with no hope of paying it back. 

But I certainly will repay it, Gopal answered him hurriedly. The money lender had given him a long, hard look and then had drawn the abacus towards him. Even now, Bapu only had to close his eyes to remember the sound of the wooden beads clicking against each other as the blubbery man moved them swiftly back and forth with his fat, beringed fingers. Finally, he lifted his eyes from the abacus and his oily face had creased into a crafty smile. 

Well Gopal, He had said, rubbing his hands together, I will lend you sufficient money to buy your rickshaw,  but, I must warn you that if you have not repaid it all, with interest, in three years time, then I’m afraid I will have to take the rickshaw as payment. Do you agree that this is fair?

Gopal nodded his head and signed his name on the piece of paper the fat moneylender pushed towards him. 

Now Bapu’s father was a kindly, hardworking man, but life had treated him so harshly that recently, though he was only thirty years of age he looked old and tired. The heavy work of pulling the rickshaw laden with overweight, rich or lazy people, day after tiring day, had left him thin and bent and his thick, black hair was already streaked with grey. Bapu watched his father growing old and sick with a breaking heart. He hated the rickshaw. He hated seeing his father running like an animal between the shafts, but most of all he hated the merciless moneylender. Together they were like a giant sponge that soaked up all his father’s energy and money. Each week, by the time the moneylender had been paid there was very little money left for anything else. Bapu longed and longed to be able to do something to help, but at that moment the only way he could see to help his father was to clean the wretched rickshaw every morning. 

Having studied the sky and deciding that he was now awake, Bapu turned his gaze towards the rickshaw and his spirits sank. The wheels and axles were caked with dried mud and the cushions spattered with little pools of clammy rainwater. But it was no good staring at it. The sooner he got to work, the sooner it would be done. 

He picked up a bucket, ran to the lake for water and set to work with a will. First, he wiped the cushions carefully and then he threw buckets of water onto the muddiest places and after about half an hour of rubbing and scrubbing, the rickshaw was once again clean and sparkling. It is true that a great deal of the mud that had left the vehicle was now smeared over Bapu, but this did not worry him in the least. He ran into the hut, tickled his sleepy sister and came out carrying a bar of strong yellow soap and the brightly colored towel his mother handed him. 

Now don’t you be long, she said sharply. We need some milk just as soon as you get the mud washed off yourself. I don’t know how it is Bapu that you always get in such a state. You must wash the mud off the rickshaw straight onto yourself. She shook her head in puzzlement. 

It will soon come off, Bapu answered cheerfully. 

‘Why is it?’ he wondered, ‘that grownups always get so upset about a bit of dirt,’ but he grinned impishly at his mother then charged down the steps that lead to the lake, held his nose, closed his eyes and jumped into the still, green water sending a million sparkling drops up into the cool air. 

The lake was quite small, only about the size of a village ball pitch. He stood with the water lapping around his waist, soaped himself up energetically, tossed the soap back onto the