The Little Rainmaker Read online

  Ma and Dad looked at each other and suddenly burst into loud laughter. Grampa joined in too until the trio had tears in their eyes from laughing so hard. Anoushqa looked at them, stunned, wondering if they had all gone mad. Ma enveloped her in her arms and asked, ‘When did you become so big? When did you do all this?’

  Dad ruffled her hair and said, ‘You could have asked us. We would have helped.’

  Grampa just said, ‘All this for me, my butterfly?’

  Anoushqa didn’t know what to say. After thinking things over a bit, Ma asked again, ‘Oh, so you got Dad to sign the sick leave application so you could go meet the scientist, right?’

  Anoushqa looked alarmed. ‘How do you know about the sick leave application?’ she asked.

  Ma smiled and replied, ‘Your teacher called and asked me whether you were actually sick.’

  ‘What?’ asked Anoushqa, visibly shocked. ‘But Ms Noronha didn’t say anything in class! Why didn’t you tell me that she’d called?’ she demanded.

  Ma softly countered, ‘Are we supposed to tell each other everything? REALLY?’ Anoushqa remembered Ma’s Sherlock Lie-o-Meter, and knew that she had been caught. ‘Trust Ma to be sarcastic every chance she gets,’ she thought.

  Anoushqa was embarrassed, and wondered if Ma also knew about the magician. Should she tell her now? Now that all her secrets were out, maybe Ma and Dad would help her arrange money for the magician. But what if they refused? Her backup plan would be ruined forever. And anyway, now that Noor Enayat was on her social media page, maybe the prime minister would grant her the requisite permission for rainmaking. Then there would be no need for magic. So even though her parents had accepted her efforts towards rainmaking, and were even visibly proud, Anoushqa decided not to tell them about Mr Rainwalla.

  That night, she was the hero. Ma gave her a peck on the cheek each time she passed by her. Dad looked at her with pride, almost like she herself was the scientist who had created rain. ‘You look so much better than that TV anchor, you know,’ he quipped. And Grampa kept calling her ‘little butterfly’ each time she fluttered in and out of his room.

  Life was good. Her efforts had paid off. Her idol Noor Enayat had spoken about her on prime-time news, and the chances of the prime minister saying yes were now 90–10.

  After a long time, she slept soundly that night. She dreamt of Pixie dancing in the rain. She dreamt of Maurice and Sam jumping with her in puddles of water. And she dreamt of collecting a huge prize from the prime minister. She opened a door in her dream and saw Noor standing there, asking her, ‘How do you feel?’

  Anoushqa didn’t know what to say. How do you describe happiness? A hot cup of cocoa on a cold winter morning? Hugging Pixie on a sad day, feeling the warmth of her soft coat? Listening to Grampa’s stories in the middle of the night? Or wearing your favourite red frock and dancing in it? This dream was all this and more. Everyone around her was clapping for her while she stood centre stage, smiling.

  Some dreams are good. But not all dreams come true.

  Chapter 10

  Anoushqa’s mom had never even dreamt that she would pick up the phone one day and hear a voice at the other end that said, ‘Good morning. I’m calling from the office of the prime minister of India.’

  Had she dreamt of something like that, she would have known what to say. But most women do not dream that the prime minister might call on their phones on a routine morning, when they are busy putting the finishing touches to a very important marketing presentation due at work. Or while packing lunch boxes. Or while giving Grampa his medicine so he wouldn’t forget. Or while remembering to keep water by his bedside, so he wouldn’t have to get up to take it on his own.

  It was on exactly such a busy morning that Anoushqa’s mom picked up the persistently ringing phone and heard the voice at the other end say, ‘Good morning. I am calling from the office of the prime minister of India.’

  For a moment, Ma was silent. Then, thinking that it was a prank call, she replied, ‘Yeah, right. And I’m the President of the United States of America.’ She slammed the phone down, and quickly saved her presentation on her cellphone. She was about to leave for the office when the phone rang again. ‘Don’t they have better things to do?’ she thought angrily, cursing ‘them’ as she picked up the phone.

  ‘Excuse me, is this Anoushqa Narang’s residence?’ she heard the same voice asking.

  Sceptical, she answered, ‘Yes, it is. And I’m her mother. May I know who’s calling?’

  The voice hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘Please believe me when I say this—I am calling from the prime minister’s office. This is regarding the social media page on rainmaking that your daughter has created.’

  Only then did it begin to sink in. ‘It has actually worked! Has the prime minister really taken notice of Anoushqa’s request, or am I dreaming?’ wondered Ma in a daze.

  The voice on the phone interrupted her thoughts. ‘Hello? Are you there?’ it asked.

  ‘Er, yes … I’m still here. Please tell me what this is about,’ said Ma.

  ‘Well … this call is to convey that while the prime minister appreciates your daughter’s efforts, his hands are unfortunately tied. Rainmaking technology is a subject of global importance, and permissions regarding it are dependent on global support.’

  Ma’s heart sank. ‘Does that mean you’re not granting permission?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m afraid that is indeed the case. However, the PM would like to assure your daughter that she is on the right path and that he will do everything he can to further her efforts,’ said the voice.

  Anoushqa’s mom sighed. ‘Anoushqa will be defeated when she hears this,’ she said sadly.

  The voice on the phone said, ‘We will convey the news to the media shortly, but the PM wished for Anoushqa to be the first to know. Have a good day.’ With that, the line went dead, and Ma’s busy morning was tinged with a sad hue. She decided to give the bad news to Anoushqa once she was back from school, and left for office with a heavy heart.

  But Anoushqa didn’t have to wait till the afternoon to get the news. Maurice’s face outside class after the lunch break told her everything. Anoushqa was numb for a minute. Then she asked, ‘So the PM himself said that to the reporters?’

  Maurice nodded, broken-hearted. She patted Anoushqa on the shoulder. ‘I just saw the news,’ Maurice said. ‘The prime minister’s office has even written an apology on our social media page.’ She sighed. ‘Now what, kiddo?’

  Anoushqa didn’t know what to say, so she just turned and left. Maurice wanted to stop her, but she knew Anoushqa was really upset and would prefer to be left alone.

  ‘But why would the prime minister turn down such a good cause? Doesn’t he want it to rain?’ asked Anoushqa angrily as she sat across from Gargi in her office.

  Gargi sighed and smiled. ‘It’s not that easy, Anoushqa. Things get complicated when you are the head of the country,’ she explained.

  ‘Shouldn’t it, in fact, be easier? How difficult is it to sign a piece of paper that can only bring good things for everyone?’ countered Anoushqa.

  ‘Well, to be honest, it’s not the prime minister who refused. It’s the United Water Front, the international organization that controls the water situation of the world,’ Gargi said with an air of finality.

  ‘Why would the UWF say no to OUR country? That’s not fair,’ said Anoushqa.

  Gargi smiled and explained, ‘You see, we are not the only country that possesses the formula for making rain. At the last count, there were over sixty countries that were ready to experiment with rainmaking.’

  Anoushqa argued, ‘Well, then, obviously we are all ready for rain?’

  ‘Yes, we are. But the problem is that if the UWF allows them to make rain, there may only be some countries that succeed,’ said Gargi.

  ‘Isn’t that a good thing?’ Anoushqa asked, confused. ‘Why are adults so complicated?’

  Gargi reasoned, ‘Actually, no, it isn’t.
For one thing, it would upset the balance between nations. Since water is such a prized commodity, the countries that succeed may sell their formula for a much bigger price to other countries.’

  ‘But at least we will have water. What could be worse than having no water?’ countered Anoushqa.

  ‘Excess water’ was Gargi’s surprising reply. ‘You won’t believe this, Anoushqa, but there was a time, more than a decade ago, when there were floods. Basically, floods are …’

  ‘I know what floods are!’ Anoushqa interrupted impatiently. ‘Grampa told me. But why will we have floods?’

  Gargi explained, ‘It’s predicted that the next world war, God forbid it happens, will be fought on climatological grounds.’

  ‘Climato … what?’ said Anoushqa, unable to even pronounce the word.

  ‘Climate warfare. Countries that possess a rainmaking formula can overpower their neighbouring countries by simply making it rain, wiping them out with floods, and seek to control them,’ elucidated Gargi.

  As she heard Gargi explain how countries went to war, Anoushqa felt like the air was being sucked out of her lungs. Gargi saw the shock on her face, and gently explained, ‘It’s possible. Or it could so happen that powerful countries will dominate the ones that have water under different pretexts. There could be many wars. The world economy may also come crashing down. It may be a chain reaction, you know, where one small thing leads to something really big.’

  ‘Like the flapping of the wings of a butterfly …’ Anoushqa whispered under her breath as she sat back with a thump, defeated. It was almost as if her world had come crashing down the minute she had thought of saving it. She could not believe for the life of her that there were people out there who had the means of saving the world and yet would choose to use them for destroying it. ‘Then what is the point, really, of inventing anything?’ Anoushqa asked aloud, of no one in particular.

  Gargi gave her a wistful smile and said, ‘If we think like that, we will never be able to move forward.’

  ‘It seems to me that we are all moving forward with our backs turned to each other,’ Anoushqa said as she got up to go home. Her eyes were welling up with tears. They fell, one by one, to the ground, getting trampled underfoot with each step of defeat that she took back home.

  Once home, Anoushqa tried to divert her mind. She took out pieces of coloured paper, and made paper boats for her craft project at school. Big blue ones and small yellow ones … some with glitter on them and others with her name inscribed. While she was totally engrossed in this task, Grampa stood at the edge of her room and watched her. Anoushqa was bent over a boat and was busy colouring it when she spotted a shadow outside her room. She looked up to see Grampa smiling at her.

  Anoushqa attempted a half-smile and went back to her boats. Grampa walked in, saying, ‘You know, when we were kids, we used to do this with a bigger smile.’

  Anoushqa replied without looking up, ‘I’ve no reason to smile, Grampa … Not today.’

  ‘Why? Because the prime minister said you can’t make rain?’ countered Grampa.

  Anoushqa was silent as Grampa continued. ‘And who gave the prime minister the authority to tell a ten-year-old girl that she can’t do something she really wants to?’

  Anoushqa looked up and said, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I thought you really wanted to make rain. Was that scientist the only resort?’ asked Grampa. Anoushqa thought of Mr Rainwalla but said evasively, ‘Er … there may be more but I’m not sure how effective they are.’

  ‘And how do you know that the scientific rainmaking would have been effective?’

  Anoushqa shrugged. ‘Well, it’s science, you know. It’s logical. It’s rational.’

  Grampa smiled, sitting down with great effort on the edge of her bed, and asked, ‘Tell me, do you miss Pixie?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ replied Anoushqa.

  ‘But medical science says that the dog is dead. She’s gone. Absent. You will never see her again. Stop missing her. Isn’t that rational? Logical even?’ reasoned Grampa.

  ‘But how can I not miss Pixie?’ asked Anoushqa, disturbed by the very thought.

  ‘Exactly. You loved her, right? You felt for her. You still do. Even after a year of her passing away. Believe me, you will feel the same ache in your heart whenever you think about her, even if twenty more years have passed by then,’ said Grampa.

  Anoushqa stopped colouring her boats and looked up at Grampa because, as always, he made sense. ‘So are you saying it’s okay to be irrational? To be illogical?’ she asked.

  Grampa smiled and said, ‘Yes. Rule number 342: when you chase your dreams, you have to defy logic. You have to think beyond the rational. It’s only when you find magic that you know your dreams will soon become a reality.’ Grampa’s eyes twinkled, almost as if he knew her secret.

  Anoushqa wondered, ‘Does he know about the magician? He has to. Why else would he use the word “magic”?’

  Grampa got up. ‘Don’t let the prime minister or anyone else tell you that you can’t achieve your dream. You must do what you have to do,’ he said. He glanced cursorily at the boat she was making, and added as he walked out, ‘And what is the point of a boat that never sails? Sail away, my butterfly …’

  With that, he left her to her boats and Anoushqa said to herself, ‘Grampa is right. I need some magic.’

  Chapter 11

  ‘But what about the money?’ Anoushqa’s mind was in a whirl in class the next day. She could not for the life of her concentrate on T-Rex, who was getting ready with her science experiment.

  She was drumming her fingers impatiently, when suddenly T-Rex shouted, ‘Whoever wants to play music, please leave the room. This is a science class.’ Anoushqa stopped, alarmed, and made an effort to listen to T-Rex. ‘Now listen up carefully, class. Over the last few days, we’ve all studied about condensation. Can anyone tell me what it is?’

  Hafsah raised her hand and sprang up. ‘Ma’am, it’s the change of water vapour into water form,’ she answered confidently.

  T-Rex nodded. ‘Good, Hafsah! I’m glad someone is paying attention in this class!’ Hafsah beamed at the praise, while Anoushqa looked upset at this obvious barb aimed at her. ‘This time I won’t be able to top the class. Hafsah has been studying really hard,’ she thought miserably. But her mind immediately wandered back to the magician. ‘I do have Rs 2000 in my piggy bank,’ she thought. Then she slapped her forehead and said to herself through clenched teeth, ‘Will you let me concentrate? I want to top the class!’

  Ratul heard her and asked sarcastically, ‘Really? But I thought you wanted to make rain.’

  Anoushqa realized then that she had spoken out loud and looked irritated. ‘Shut up, Ratul!’ she hissed.

  T-Rex’s voice boomed again. ‘Now, look, everyone. Here we have a jug of hot water, a vase, some ice and a bowl. Now, we have very limited water, especially requested for this experiment. I won’t repeat, so please watch carefully. All right? Now I’ll put the hot water in the vase and cover it with the bowl. Can someone tell me what will happen next?’

  Aadi jumped up this time. ‘Ma’am, the inside of the vase will become hazy,’ he answered.

  ‘That’s right,’ T-Rex replied, pleased. ‘That’s what we call mist. Now I’ll put the ice in this bowl on top of the vase.’ Anoushqa and the entire class watched her in silence.

  The experiments were quite gripping. T-Rex had a way of making her classes interesting. No wonder science was the favourite subject of all the students in her class. Well, almost all. Anoushqa loved English as well, and Sam’s favourite was maths. Notwithstanding, science was never to be missed.

  As soon as T-Rex placed the ice inside the bowl, Vaani remarked, ‘Ma’am, the ice is cold and the water inside is hot.’

  T-Rex smiled. ‘So what will happen?’ she asked. There was no response, so she asked again, ‘What did we learn about hot air?’

  Ratul suddenly screamed, ‘IT RISES UP!’

 
T-Rex was taken aback and exclaimed, ‘Apparently so does your voice, Ratul! Hot air does rise. YOU, on the other hand, can sit down.’

  The class laughed at Ratul, while Anoushqa cursed herself. ‘Great! Even Ratul is on top of his game now. There will be no rain and no marks for Anoushqa this year. Where was I during this ‘hot air–condensation’ lecture?’ she thought miserably.

  T-Rex pointed to the vase. ‘Look carefully. The hot air rises and meets the cold air from the ice that has changed the temperature of the vase.’

  Hafsah smiled. ‘I see little droplets of water,’ she said.

  ‘Oooooohhh!’ went the class, excited.

  Aadi jumped up. ‘Ma’am! Look at that droplet falling inside the vase!’ he exclaimed.

  T-Rex loved it when her students took interest in her experiments. She smiled. ‘Yes, that’s what rain looks like when it falls from the sky. When the clouds can’t hold any more water, it begins to fall on the ground,’ she explained.

  The whole class, including Anoushqa, was mesmerized. She thought, ‘Maybe this is the closest I’ll ever come to seeing real rain. Maybe I’ll never ever see real rain. Maybe Grampa will never see rain again.’

  The thought made her sad. Tears welled up in her eyes, mirroring the tiny droplets falling down one by one in the vase.

  Anoushqa remarked, ‘Ma’am, the clouds must be really sad to let go of all that rain, isn’t it?’

  T-Rex was taken aback by her comment and replied, ‘Maybe … but this is not a poetry class, Anoushqa. In science, we call it saturation, not sadness.’

  Anoushqa realized yet again that she had shared something that was meant to stay in her head. She decided to remain quiet for the rest of the experiment.

  ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’

  This question is often asked of ten-year-old children. Some wish to be doctors, some designers, some artists, some game developers and some are undecided.