Waiting

Waiting for the bus, for school bus in childhood.
That was some waiting .
The school was some 6kms from home . Reluctance to trudge that distance either on foot or by slow moving rickshaws, would prompt me to land at the bus stop, some 20 minutes before time .
Those 20 minutes were mostly filled with counting the number of bricks exposed in the plaster-peeling wall of the government office building , across the road. But mostly , I was idling.
Except for exam time , when sanskrit shlokas, French Revolution, algebra,Indus Valley , organic chemistry, grammar ,calculus and hindi proverbs waged a chaotic war inside the cranial confines .
Once , in this dazed state of cramming , I heard an ominous rapid grating of metal on macadam, coming from somewhere behind me . My anagrams for various UN bodies was quickly shattered by the noise coming closer to me by the second, accompanied by galloping sounds made by certain hooves and warning , desperate shouts from human throats.

I turned to face snorting , scary and startled pair of oxen, wide eyed with fear , as they raced ahead of the farmer's whip. Between them they dragged the yoke on the ground to which they were still tethered.Too close to even side step, all I could do was to run , to avoid being mauled. Both the sides of the road were lined by muddy ditches, so jumping in there would be perilous-er. From frying pan into fire sort of an affair. So ran I did, with all my might.Followed by the oxen, followed by the farmer, cursing and whipping the air.

We must have made a pretty sight, for soon, people emerged from their doorways , and materialised on their terraces , as we progressed down the road. 

To make the spectacle complete, my school bus arrived and joined the procession from the nether end , i.e., behind the farmer , honked a couple of times , and slowed to a crawl. Classmates leaned from the bus windows to catch a glimpse of the "tamasha," hooting and whistling , grateful for this comic intermission to their science formulas.

Red-faced, panting , cursing all the world, praying to the Lord, I was about to give up, and had almost decided to jump into the ditch, when Lord , in His mysterious ways, whispered the same into the oxen's ears. So they slid into the ditch, yoke and all, and lay there, thrashing, mud-flying every which way, lowing loudly, and farmer , hands on hips , surveyed the scene with dismay, and cursed some more.

I quickly boarded the bus to tumultuous applause. 

As I sit writing this down 30 odd years later, I am thankful for the absence of smartphones then , else that would be the most hilarious clipping ever circulated.