A young vagabond

              O you beggar! I beg you, take my money…”

On one of my rambles through Jammu city, I stumbled upon a child beggar who appeared to be engaged in a spirited conversation with his comrades. Through his assertive expressions, striking posture and witty dialogues, he apparently had dazed his audience.
The more he pumped the air with his fists, the more his spectators roared and applauded and the moment he would demand a ‘yes’, his listeners would swiftly lean forward to register consent.
There was a mystic sparkle in his eyes that spoke volumes of his vibrant nature. Occasionally, he would season his diktats with puns and jibes and in that way enlivened the camaraderie among his peers. While his dusky complexion lend him an air of somberness, his cheeks were cuddly enough to disarm even a diehard hypocrite. That bubbly persona was far removed from the commonplace, often cited beggars.
At this occasion I was compelled to pronounce, “What a portrayal of a feisty officer is he!”
Bearing in mind all these proceedings, it shouldn’t come as a surprise if I grew inclined to his conversation and slipped near that tiny gathering. I viewed my action as a quest meant to unearth his theme of discussion lest his spirits fizzle out…
From my perch on the stairs they could have easily sighted me but I was taken aback when neither he nor his gang furnished any attempt to beg for money. In awe of such a rare incident I speculated, “Has his only channel of livelihood skipped out of his mind?” Whatsoever it had been, it surely worked in my favor.
All through the operation I was alive to the constant gaze of the passers by. What rumors might they be conjuring? Are my parents spying me at the moment? What if the boss of these beggars mistakes me as a detective out to trounce them? These queries preyed on my mind and left me all hot and bothered.
Although I got worried at first but the zeal of my mission in progress somewhat dwarfed my uneasiness. So notwithstanding that I struggled like anything to figure out the essence of their dialogue. And ultimately I got the most sought after gist.
Their tête-à-tête revolved around a heartening question that I presume to be the first of its kind…it was, “Are the slogging child laborers better off than us…we happy-go-lucky beggars?” This question caught me off guard.
Who could have thought let alone believe this child to be the maker of this issue. If he had been endowed with a few more resources he could have turned out to be the next reformer of this world.
They were almost on the verge of laying out a conclusion but that boy, on seeing me standing near by, tore himself away from his equals, trotted off in my direction and finally flung out his begging bowl. I stepped away as if trying to extricate myself from his persistent begging while he chanted or should I say repeated, in verbatim, the lines that must have been taught to him by his elders.
But as I was taken in by his astute thoughts and distinct vision I, at last, began to fumble in my bag for a penny or two. And swiftly stretched my hand towards him but, to my utter shock, he had turned his back on me and was pacing towards his friends. I, drenched with humiliation, withdrew my hand before anybody could observe it. Then suddenly I heard a crackle of laughter. My chums were poking fun at me by reciting, “O you beggar! I beg you, take my money…” with outstretched hands swinging in sync with my acute discomfiture.