The Boy Who Will Save The World

(Pre-reading disclaimer: I tried my best to have this accurate concerning the time period and country this is written in. If you notice any mistakes in writing concerning these two factors I apologize and please do let me know! Secondly, as you read please keep in mind this story is written as a fable/story-telling piece. Happy reading!)

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INDIA 1960

He pulled the faded navy sleeves back up to his elbows, only for them to fall back down again. The string, where the gold studded buttons used to live, was marred and tangled. Beneath the dusty black hat that sat on his mop of velvety black hair, bright coffee colored eyes observed the bustling streets about him. His mouth twisted to the left and whistled a happy tune.

Heads turned to stare at the little boy in an oversized suit and a gentleman’s hat as he wandered down the gritty roads.

A myriad of apples and oranges rolled past him… and an elderly lady chasing after them.

“My fruits!” She wailed.

Grubby hands then presented to her the runaway fruit.

“Why, thank you little boy! What is your name?”

A large grin lit up the little boy’s face.

“I am the boy who will save the world!” He would say.

He spent his days in the market place, walking about and singing a jig.

The other boys at his school would treat him with scorn, “Silly, silly Bakhshi! You will never save the world.”

The little girls would scowl at his suit. “You look like a clown, foolish Bakhshi!”

Yet every sunrise he would proudly don his suit, and he would help people in the market place. He sang lullabies for the neighbor’s baby who had trouble sleeping, he helped the women carry their groceries, he sat and played chess with the old men.

At every beck and call the little voice rose above the crowd, “At your service!”

When visitors would pass him, they always had the same reaction,

“Who is that little boy?”

“He is the boy that will save the world!”

“Bakhshi!”, his teacher cried one day, “Never wear that horrid cloth to school again!”

“But my teacher, I don’t think you understand. This-“

“I never want to see you in it again!”

Bakhshi carefully washed his faded possession, and hung it in his room. He loved his suit for reasons none else knew. But every time he would try to speak, they would always interject.

“Stop whistling that tune boy.”

“Take off that silly hat, it’s disrespectful to not look your elders in the eyes when speaking to them.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Go home, little boy.”

So home Bakhshi went. With a single bag in hand, he walked out the door.

“Say boy! Where are ye off to?” An old man cried.

“I am off to a new place. I am not wanted here.”

“But what of your family? Don’t they a-want ya?”

“I have no family, I am a mere orphan, kind Sir.”

In the bag lay the big, blue suit. The suit that belonged to his dead father, his last memoir of him.

“You see, dear old man, I am criticized and slandered, made fun of and told I’m silly. But no one cared to ask the motive behind my actions. I wear my suit that belonged to father, he had malaria and now he is in heaven. I whistle the tune my mother sang me to sleep to, before she found my father and never came back. I help people because people are sad, and I know what sadness is. Helping people brings to recognition that there is still good left in this world. I said I will save the world, and helping people saved my world. Now I am off to a new place, where I can save someone’s world. It doesn’t have to be the whole world, just one.”

Picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, Bakhshi tipped his floppy hat. The hat that belonged to his brother, who died in war.

Turning around, Bakhshi walked. He wore plain clothes, his mouth unmoving; singing no song. He looked like any average boy. That was what people wanted him to be anyways.

Moral: Do not criticize people for being different. The very reasons they are different may be what saves their world. Instead of setting fire to another’s world, pay attention to the flames that are covering yours.

One Month Later...

A little hand held out a shiny red apple.

“What is this?” Were the words of a gruff young man in an expensive tailored suit, his sharp eyes full of disgust.

“An apple.”

“Well yes. Why are you handing me this?”

“Because you look sad.”

The man’s eyes softened. They found the red fruit in his hand, and followed the little boy standing in front of him. He wore an ocean-of-a-suit and a shaggy black hat.

Kneeling beside him, his eyes misty, he asked, “Little boy, what is your name?”

“I am the boy that will save the world.” Came the reply, with a wise smile.