The Kitemaker - Ruskin Bond

By HD - 10:03


THERE WAS BUT ONE tree in the street known as Gali Ram Nathan ancient banyan that had grown through the cracks of an abandoned mosque—and little Ali's kite had caught in its branches. The boy, barefoot and clad only in a torn shirt, ran along the cobbled stones of the narrow street to where his grandfather sat nodding dreamily in the sunshine of their back courtyard.

'Grandfather shouted the boy. 'My kite has gone!

The old man woke from his daydream with a start and, raising his head, displayed a beard that would have been white had it not been dyed red with mehendi leaves.
'Did the twine break?' he asked. to know that kite twine is not what it used to be.
'No, Grandfather, the kite is stuck in the banyan tree.
The old man chuckled. 'You have yet to learn how to fly a kite properly, my child. And I am too old to teach you, that's the pity of it. But you shall have another.
He had just finished making a new kite from bamboo paper and thin silk, and it lay in the sun, firming up. It was a pale pink kite, with a small green tail. The old man handed it to Ali, and the boy raised himself on his toes and kissed his grandfather's hollowed-out cheek.
T will not lose this one he said. 'This kite will fly like a bird. And he turned on his heels and skipped out of the courtyard.

The old man remained dreaming in the sun. His kite shop was gone, the premises long since sold to a junk dealer; but he still made kites, for his own amusement and for the benefit of his grandson, Ali. Not many people bought kites these days. Adults disdained them, and children preferred to spend their money at the cinema. Moreover, there were not many open spaces left for the flying of kites. The city had swallowed up the open grassland that had stretched from the old fort's walls to the river bank.
But the old man remembered a time when grown men flew kites, and great battles were fought, the kites swerving and swooping in the sky, tangling with each other until the string of one was severed. Then the defeated but liberated kite would float away into the blue unknown. There was a good deal of betting, and money frequently changed hands.
Kite-flying was then the sport of kings, and the old man remembered how the Nawab himself would come down to the riverside with his retinue to participate in this noble pastime. There was time, then, to spend an idle hour with a gay, dancing strip of paper. Now everyone hurried, in a heat of hope, and delicate things like kites and daydreams were trampled underfoot.
He, Mehmood the kitemaker, had in the prime of his life been well known throughout the city. Some of his more elaborate kites once sold for as much as three or four rupees each.
At the request of the Nawab he had once made a very special kind of kite, unlike any that had been seen in the district. It consisted of a series of small, very light paper disks trailing on a thin bamboo frame. To the end of each disk he fixed a sprig of grass, forming a balance on both sides. The surface of the foremost disk was slightly convex, and a fantastic face was painted on it, having two eyes made of small mirrors. The disks, decreasing in size from head to tail, assumed an undulatory form and gave the kite the appearance of a crawling serpent. It required great skill to raise this cumbersome device from the ground, and only Mehmood could manage it.
Everyone had heard of the 'Dragon Kite' that Mehmood had built, and word went round that it possessed supernatural powers. A large crowd assembled in the open to watch its first public launching in the presence of the Nawab.
At the first attempt it refused to leave the ground. The disks made a plaintive, protesting sound, and the sun was trapped in the little mirrors, making of the kite a living, complaining creature. Then the wind came from the right direction, and the Dragon Kite soared into the sky, wriggling its way higher and higher, the sun still glinting in its devil-eyes. And when it went very high, it pulled fiercely on the twine, and Mehmood's young sons had to help him with the reel. Still the kite pulled, determined to be free, to break loose, to live a life of its own. And eventually it did so. The twine snapped, the kite leaped away toward the sun, sailing on heavenward until it was lost to view. It was never found again, and Mehmood wondered afterwards if he made too vivid, too living a thing of the great kite. He did not make another like it. Instead he presented to the Nawab a musical kite, one that made a sound like a violin when it rose in the air.
Those were more leisurely, more spacious days. But the Nawab had died years ago, and his descendants were almost as poor as Mehmood himself. Kitemakers, like poets, once had their patrons; but no one knew Mehmood, simply because there were too many people in the Gali, and they could not be bothered with their neighbours.
When Mehmood was younger and had fallen sick, everyone in the neighbourhood had come to ask after his health; but now, when his days were drawing to a close, no one visited him. Most of his old friends were dead and his sons had grown up: one was working in a local garage and the other, who was in Pakistan at the time of the Partition, had not been able to rejoin his relatives.
The children who had bought kites from him ten years ago were now grown men, struggling for a living; they did not have time for the old man and his memories. They had grown up in a swiftly changing and competitive world, and they looked at the old kitemaker and the banyan tree with the same indifference.
Both were taken for granted—permanent fixtures that were of no concern to the raucous, sweating mass of humanity that surrounded them. No longer did people gather under the banyan tree to discuss their problems and their plans; only in the summer months did a few seek shelter from the fierce sun.
But there was the boy, his grandson. It was good that Mehmood's son worked dose by, for it gladdened the old man's heart to watch the small boy at play in the winter sunshine, growing under his eyes like a young and well-nourished sapling putting forth new leaves each day. There is a great affinity between trees and men. We grow at much the same pace, if we are not hurt or starved or cut down. In our youth we are resplendent creatures, and in our declining years we stoop a little, we remember, we stretch our brittle limbs in the sun, and then, with a sigh, we shed our last leaves.
Mehmood was like the banyan, his hands gnarled and twisted like the roots of the ancient tree. Ali was like the young mimosa planted at the end of the courtyard. In two years both he and the tree would acquire the strength and confidence of their early youth.
The voices in the street grew fainter, and Mehmood wondered if he was going to fall asleep and dream, as he so often did, of a kite so beautiful and powerful that it would resemble the great white bird of the Hindus—Garuda, God Vishnu's famous steed. He would like to make a wonderful new kite for little Ali. He had nothing else to leave the boy.
He heard Ali's voice in the distance, but did not realize that the boy was calling him. The voice seemed to come from very far away.
Ali was at the courtyard door, asking if his mother had as yet returned from the bazaar. When Mehmood did not answer, the boy came forward repeating his question. The sunlight was slanting across the old man's head, and a small white butterfly rested on his flowing beard. Mehmood was silent; and when Ali put his small brown hand on the old man's shoulder, he met with no response. The boy heard a faint sound, like the rubbing of marbles in his pocket.
Suddenly afraid, Ali turned and moved to the door, and then ran down the street shouting for his mother. The butterfly left the old man's beard and flew to the mimosa tree, and a sudden gust of wind caught the torn kite and lifted it in the air, carrying it far above the struggling city into the blind blue sky. 

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42 Comments

  1. Touching story! Its a classic just like your other stories Mr bond.

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  2. The writer blends both descriptive and narrative mode in this story which in metalanguage terms called'PRESCRIPTIVE'.Also it includes conversational mode in it.Altogether the story is touching and the contrast between NOW(Present)and THEN(PAST)makes out the sense conveyed in the story.

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  3. can anyone post "The Meeting Pool" by Ruskin Bond? I read it in my teens and still remember it. It's unavailable everywhere even online. It would be of great help if you can provide me with the text.

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    1. Hi you can read it at http://themeetingpool.blogspot.com

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  4. here s the summary for the meeting pool...............The story 'The meeting pool' is an intersting story of three friends who take a pledge to return to their favourite pool after ten years . The best part of their childhood revolves round a pool , which was discovered by Rusty (the narrator of the story) and thus came to be known as Rusty's pool . As soon as Rusty discovered the pool near the ravine, he was excited to convey the news to his teo friends . The secret pool became their meeting point . They indulged in activities like fishing , swimming , wrestling and buffalo rides .
    The pool not only symbolized the bond of friendship between them but also became a part of their consciousness . They decide to return on fifth of April 1964 at midday , i.e. ten years later to the pool again . Rusty keeps up his word and comes to the pool .
    Rusty was the only one who went to the pool on the scheduled day . He was disappointed that his friends did not keep up their promise . However , there is no bitterness or rancour as he understands that with the passage of time , their needs and priorities might he hears the splashing of water . To his amazement , he discovers another pool and another group of friends splashing about in it . He imagines himself and his friends in their place . The story thus conveys the message that life goes on , come what may.

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    Replies
    1. You can read it at http://themeetingpool.blogspot.com

      Delete
  5. here s the summary ..............The story 'The meeting pool' is an intersting story of three friends who take a pledge to return to their favourite pool after ten years . The best part of their childhood revolves round a pool , which was discovered by Rusty (the narrator of the story) and thus came to be known as Rusty's pool . As soon as Rusty discovered the pool near the ravine, he was excited to convey the news to his teo friends . The secret pool became their meeting point . They indulged in activities like fishing , swimming , wrestling and buffalo rides .
    The pool not only symbolized the bond of friendship between them but also became a part of their consciousness . They decide to return on fifth of April 1964 at midday , i.e. ten years later to the pool again . Rusty keeps up his word and comes to the pool .
    Rusty was the only one who went to the pool on the scheduled day . He was disappointed that his friends did not keep up their promise . However , there is no bitterness or rancour as he understands that with the passage of time , their needs and priorities might he hears the splashing of water . To his amazement , he discovers another pool and another group of friends splashing about in it . He imagines himself and his friends in their place . The story thus conveys the message that life goes on , come what may.

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  6. Very true what can we do we became addicted to the new technology. We can hope the the old games does not become extinct.

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  7. Can someone summarize the plot of this story?

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  8. There are stories that never ever get old :)

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  9. There are stories that never ever get old :)

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  10. The Kitemaker is the story of Mehmood, who was a famous kitemaker when he was young. In his old age, he reminisces his good old days when he was admired by all in the city. We see that he shares a very warm relationship with his grandchild.

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  11. Ruskin Bonds Stories are hear touching

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  12. Ruskin Bonds Stories are hear touching

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  13. this story made my english project easy
    Thank you

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  14. pls can any post the summary of the kite maker

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    1. The Kite Maker is a short story by British-Indian author Ruskin Bond. In it, an old man in rural India muses on how the world has changed while his grandson flies a kite nearby. Bond uses nature imagery as symbols, with an old, gnarled banyan tree standing in for the old man, while a young, spry mimosa tree represents the vitality of the grandson.

      Ali, a young Indian boy, plays with a kite as his grandfather, Mehmood, rests under an old banyan tree, the only tree on the street. Ali’s kite gets caught in the tree’s branches, and he asks his grandfather for help. Mehmood is too old to retrieve the kite or teach Ali to fly it properly, but he makes him another kite. Ali promises not to loose this one, and goes off to fly it.

      Mehmood sits under the banyan tree and thinks of his former profession as a master kitemaker. In the old days, he remembers, grown men happily flew kites. There was more open space then, and less hustle and bustle in the town. Men would compete against each other and bet on the outcome. Even the nawab, the local village chieftain, would come to watch. When he was a kitemaker, Mehmood had been known and revered for his skill. Once, he had built a spectacular kite for the nawab, one that looked like a dragon in the air. That kite was too difficult for even Mehmood to fly, so he made the nawab a prettier, easier one.

      Mehmood muses on just how much has changed since then. The nawab is dead, and his descendants are ordinary people, just like Mehmood. He no longer has a patron, and none of his neighbors know him. The pace of life has changed, and those living in his village are busy and harried. One of Mehmood’s sons works in a local garage, and the other is stuck in Pakistan. When India and Pakistan were made into two separate countries, he was on the wrong side of the border and cannot come home.

      Mehmood is grateful that his other son lives nearby, as it gives him an opportunity to see Ali, his only grandson, grow up. He enjoys watching Ali play. Ali, he thinks, is like the mimosa sapling at the edge of the courtyard. They are young, and will grow up tall and strong. Mehmood is like the banyan tree he sits beneath. Both are old, stooped, their bones and branches twisted.

      Mehmood feels himself growing tired and wonders if he’ll dream of the kite he wants to make, one that looks like a giant white bird. He should have something to leave Ali, he thinks. He hears Ali calling to him, but the boy’s voice sounds faint and far away. Ali returns to the banyan tree and sees his grandfather, whose eyes are closed. There is a little white butterfly resting on his beard. Ali tries to wake Mehmood, but can’t. Frightened, he runs away, calling for help from his mother. The butterfly flies from Mehmood’s beard to the mimosa tree, and Ali’s kite suddenly takes flight and disappears into the sky.

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  15. Good story. I love Ruskin bond stories.

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  17. Very nice and exciting story

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  18. Hey could anyone suggest me stories that could be made as short movie. I would prefer if its conversation. Plese

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  19. Hey could anyone suggest me stories that could be made as short movie. I would prefer if its conversation. Plese

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  20. The Kite maker is yet an another common man with expertise often forgotten like a severed kite from the society. When a person's standard swoops down a little even his own shadow would stamp on him. It is similar here. Still his grandson soothes him with love. It makes our heart heavy with a trace of gloom.

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  21. I don't know why I become imotional when reading this story now and that time when it was the part of my syllabus in studying days...

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  22. Ruskin Bond is one of the finest writers our country is blessed to have.His stories can be read by anyone and at any time. They are highly captivating.

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  23. Those who are looking for "The meeting pool" story can read it here http://themeetingpool.blogspot.com

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  24. Beautifully narrated typical Ruskin bond story.He could easily describe how the old man stand for lost legacy..

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