The Little Rainmaker Read online

  T-Rex was standing right in front. She grinned and said, ‘Come in, Anoushqa.’

  As she entered, all the students and teachers stood up and clapped. Anoushqa just stood there, wondering if the applause was for her. Ms Noronha took her arm and brought her to the front of the class. ‘Congratulations! You’ve done the school proud, my child,’ she said.

  Anoushqa still didn’t understand.

  ‘Haven’t you heard?’ T-Rex asked. ‘The prime minister has announced a special Child Heroes Award to commemorate your brilliant effort at rainmaking. A medal from the Government of India and a sum of Rs 10,00,000 will be awarded to you to pursue any discipline you choose at university. You’re a star, Anoushqa! You’re a child hero!’

  Sam shouted, ‘No! She is the rainmaker!’

  Aadi joined in. ‘Anoushqa the rainmaker!’

  Everyone laughed and clapped for Anoushqa. The magic of rain was such that even Ratul conceded defeat. ‘You’d better visit my HD Mall now. The Grandfather Memorial still stands. We will take a picture there … you and I,’ he told her. Anoushqa nodded and smiled. She glowed at the attention.

  Maurice met Anoushqa during lunch break. ‘Did you check your social media page?’ she asked her. ‘Gargi has written something for you. Look!’

  Dear Anoushqa,

  You have taught us that dreams do come true. Your will to make it rain made the experiment a success. Wishing you the very best in life and more.

  Gargi

  Anoushqa smiled as Maurice patted her back and left.

  That afternoon, she found an envelope right outside her front door. There was no name on it, but she found Rs 13,000 and a note inside. The note said ‘I didn’t do it, but magic happened.’ Anoushqa wondered then if it was really just her effort that had made it rain. How could something as small as a wish for Grampa bring rain to the entire world? If only Grampa were here! He would definitely know the answer.

  Inside, Ma and Dad were taking an afternoon nap. Out of habit, she went to Grampa’s room.

  Her heart sank for the first time since the previous night. She looked around the room. It was stark white. Everything was in its usual place, but the room looked bare. Like something was missing. But of course something was missing! Her dear Grampa was no longer in it! No more stories. No more midnight conversations. No more hugs. Just an empty spot on that fourposter bed. Grampa was truly gone.

  Just then, Anoushqa’s eyes fell on a wrapped package kept next to his bed. She picked it up and tore off the wrapping hurriedly. It was a diary titled ‘999 Rules for Life’. Anoushqa smiled. It was the diary Grampa had been writing. She opened it and read the first page.

  Rule Number 1: Believe in yourself.

  And magic will follow.

  Anoushqa’s eyes welled up, and just before the tears fell, a beautiful little butterfly wandered inside the room, as if looking for something. The window to Grampa’s room had been left open, and it had flown in from the garden outside. Anoushqa remembered what Grampa had said: ‘As long as you keep seeing butterflies, know that the ecosystem is still working fine.’

  And it was then that it hit her. She was the butterfly that had flapped its wings.

  She had gone out looking for a scientist who could make rain … created the social media page that had forced the prime minister to get the requisite permissions for rainmaking … she had found a magician who wanted to make rain because of her. The rainmaking experiment at the HD Mall … the support of millions all over the world … She had catalysed the whole thing.

  All those who prayed for rain, for her and Grampa … friends at school who helped gather money for the magician … the thoughts of each and every person around her … All of it had been set in motion just because of that one thought she had a couple of months ago: ‘I want to make rain for Grampa.’

  Maybe the universe had heard her voice and all those million voices, and decided to make it rain. She was the one who had set things in motion, just like that little butterfly who flapped its wings to cause a hurricane in some other part of the world. The thought lifted Anoushqa’s spirits, and she felt happy. Grampa was right, as always. There was nothing more powerful than the flapping of the wings of a little butterfly.

  That evening, she sat down and completed her letter-writing assignment for school.

  Q. Write a letter to your loved one, telling them what you would like to be when you grow up.

  A. Dear Grampa,

  Have you reached heaven yet? How is it? Do you get to eat mangoes right off the trees? Do you get to jump in puddles of water after the rain? I tried doing that today. It wasn’t as much fun as you had described. For one, it soaked my socks, and they stayed wet and uncomfortable throughout the day. My feet look shrivelled up now … like your wrinkled hands.

  But I saw little colourful rainbows in those puddles. The rainbow in the sky is gone. I couldn’t even take a picture. But that is one sight I will remember forever.

  Have you met Pixie yet? I’m sure she will bark excitedly and rush up to you the moment she sees you. She loved you more than she loved me. Now, don’t say no. I know it. The way she looked at you sometimes, with that faraway look in her eyes—especially when you stroked the fur on the back of her neck. I miss both of you.

  I’ve also decided what I wish to be when I grow up. Apart from being a grown-up, I wish to be a THINKER. Is there any job in the world like that? I’ve decided to think only good things from now on. The other day, I saw some homeless children on the news. Right from this moment, I will THINK of getting a home for them. I don’t know how to get them a home yet, but I’m sure I will know in some time.

  I also saw some terrorist groups bombing a city somewhere abroad. I will also THINK about them. About how to change their minds. And then I saw this girl who wants to participate in the Olympics but does not have the funds to get there. She is a very good sportsman sportsperson. I will THINK hard about how to get those funds for her.

  I never realized before that there is so much thinking to do. When I grow up, maybe I will hire people to THINK along with me. If we all THINK together, maybe we can find solutions to all of the world’s problems.

  I will call it the THINK TANK. What do you think? I mean, of the name …

  But I have the biggest problem on my hands right now. I have decided to tell Ma and Dad that your fourposter bed belongs to me now. I will never throw it away, ever. I promise. Don’t worry about it. I will take care of it.

  Love to you and Pixie,

  Your little butterfly

  Just then the doorbell rang, and Anoushqa left her desk to open the door. She couldn’t believe her eyes. There she stood, like a vision, her long hair open and her lips glistening with her signature rubyred lipstick. Her pearly white teeth shone as she smiled and asked, ‘Hi, Anoushqa, I’m here to interview you. How do you feel?’

  Anoushqa stood there dumbfounded. It was Noor Enayat herself at her doorstep! She welcomed her in as a by-now familiar thought flashed through her head: some dreams do come true …

  Acknowledgements

  When a child comes into your life, your soul expands. So do all your experiences and your view of things. Had it not been for the day my nine-month-old son looked out of the window and saw rain for the first time, this book would never have been conceived. So thank you, Shivaan, for guiding me on this journey. I can’t wait for you to grow up and read this.

  And had it not been for all the work opportunities that I rejected during that time to take a break and look after my son, this book would never have seen the light of day. So here’s a heartfelt thank you to the universe for the so-called missed opportunities that made this dream come true.

  A big thank you to Ahlawat Gunjan, who is not just the designer of the beautiful book cover but a friend for life. He swooped in at a time when I had given up on this book and urged me to send it to the publishers at Penguin Random House India. With you, I really lucked out in the friends department.

  Thanks to the entire t
eam at Penguin Random House India, especially Sohini Mitra, the commissioning editor, for believing in the book just as much as I did, for hand-holding me through the process of publishing and helping me navigate its sharp turns that were made smoother by her being at the helm.

  Thanks to Danica Da Silva Pereira, for making the book come alive through her lively illustrations and helping me visualize a world that I had only formed in words.

  Thanks to Kankana Basu, the copy editor, for taking a microscopic look at the warts and moles of the baby I produced and loving it despite them all, as well as for smoothening any rough edges.

  Thanks to the welcoming staff at Starbucks, Vatika Business Park, Gurugram, for reserving my corner spot every morning and for my cup of coffee—things a writer could go to war over.

  Thanks to my husband, Pankaj, for being my sounding board for all ideas during the conception of this book, as well as for all the years before that and for never judging us for our idiocy.

  A big thanks to my parents, who have passed on their storytelling and writing genes, for letting me make my own mistakes. And to my brother, Hitesh, not only for guiding me on the writer’s journey but for being a writer that I look up to.

  I have always loved how a book, just like life, offers place for gratitude. It’s like my entire journey leading up to this moment is flashing by like a movie from those old-time cinema reels, showing the highs and the lows, and telling me that each of those moments was worth living. Only gratitude can do that to you.

  So, thank you.