Pen By Kavya

Dad had recently bought us a new ladies’ bicycle with a small basket in the front. Before that, we had learned to pedal on an old Atlas cycle so tall that we had to push one leg under the crossbar just to reach the pedals. After countless scratches and small falls, we finally learned to ride properly. Seeing our effort, Dad surprised us with this new bicycle.

That afternoon, Pallavi and Nandini arrived at our house with their bicycles. The moment they stepped in, Mom asked,
“Did you girls inform your parents?”

They nodded quickly. “Yes, Aunty.”

Mom looked a little relieved, still nervous but trusting us. Dad had gone to the city to buy some supplies, so we waved goodbye to Mom and began our little adventure.

Divya sat on the back seat while I pedaled. As soon as we left the gate, she warned,
“Slow, Kavu! There’s a hump!”

She never called me Akka. Though my grandfather used to insist she should, she always preferred calling me Kavu. It made her feel closer to me and I secretly loved that.

Pallavi and Nandini, riding solo, soon sped ahead while we trailed behind, laughing and chatting. The mud road stretched between endless rows of arecanut trees, the air fresh and earthy.

Halfway through our ride, we reached a village large lake that supplied water to nearby farms. Diesel motors lined its edges, each connected by pipelines to different fields. Farmers followed a schedule, one day for each, ensuring everyone received their share of water.

We stopped for a while, watching tiny turtles in the lake. Lush green grass surrounded the water, and nearby we spotted chikoo, guava, and water apple trees. No one seemed to be around, so temptation took over.

With no bags to carry them, we tossed the fruits into our bicycle baskets and pedaled away before anyone could spot us.

The road turned uphill, and pedaling became harder. From the back seat, Divya cheered,
“Come on, Kavu! You ate three rotis and two guavas. Where has all your energy gone?”

I laughed so hard the bicycle wobbled. “Stop talking or I’ll drop you right here!” I warned playfully.

She laughed louder. “You won’t dare!”

That was when our real plan quietly returned to my mind. We were going to visit the sugarcane farm first, and then the dam nearby before heading home. We hadn’t told Mom about the dam at all. We had only said we would get some sugarcane and come back soon.

I looked at Divya and asked softly, “What if Mom finds out?”

Divya rolled her eyes. “How will she? Stop scaring me, Kavu. Just pedal.”

Her confidence didn’t calm me, but I kept riding.

“Yes!” I replied quickly before Divya could accidentally reveal our dam plan. I gave her a look that clearly meant not to say a word.

He handed us few long sugarcanes. We thanked him and promised to be careful.

We placed the sugarcanes into our baskets and continued toward the dam, a place only Divya and I had seen before during trips with our parents. Pallavi and Nandini had never been there, so they were full of excitement.

After admiring the view, Divya suggested, “Let’s go to our arecanut farm. There’s a big tree near the stream that flows toward the dam. We can sit there, eat our sugarcane, and wash our faces and hands afterward.”

We slipped through the fence and sat under the shade of a large tree beside the stream flowing toward the dam. We chewed on the sugarcane, laughing between bites, completely unaware of what was about to happen next.

When it was time to wash our hands, the others went first. Then came my turn.

As I bent down near the water, my slipper slid on the wet mud. In a second, I lost my balance and fell into the stream.

The cold current pulled me instantly. One hand clung desperately to a tree root while the rest of my body was submerged. My heart pounded wildly.

“Kavu!” Divya screamed.

The water rose to my neck, and I could feel the current dragging me. My feet were stuck in the soft sand below.

I was trembling, drenched, and speechless.

We sat there quietly for a few minutes, catching our breath and realizing how close it had been.

Then Divya whispered softly, “Don’t tell Amma.”

I smiled weakly.

That day, our little sugarcane adventure became a story we never forgot, a mix of laughter, fear, mischief, and sisterly love.