Tuesday, July 10, 2012

My Dad, my Hero

Today, 14 years later, I still remember that incident; in fact, with enormous gratitude and a sense of homage for my Dad. And what has happened that day had irrevocably bound together me with my Dad. 

It happened when I was 14-year old, on a weekend afternoon. Winter? Spring? I don’t remember precisely. My Dad wanted to fell a tree next to our field for firewood. And he wanted me to tag along with him. My Mom had readied fried rice and an omelet each for us. After the lunch, as my Dad hung his long saw over his shoulder, I received the axe in one hand and the tea kettle other.

My Dad scaled the tree, making round, and briskly measuring its size. It’s about 30 feet tall. He, then, asked me to hang at one end of the saw as he started pulling it from other end.

The afternoon sun was heavy on our backs. And we kept moving the saw backwards and forwards as it seeped deeper and deeper into the tree trunk. We sweated profusely. My body exhausted, my back ached.

Suddenly, a loud hectoring sound of the tree rumbled like lightning over us, deafening. In a flick of second, the tree fell down, right on us. All hell was breaking loose, I felt. My body turned cold with fear, my heart chilled to ice, my mind blank. And I stood there, baffled, caught between turmoil and confusion. At that point, I thought we (both father and son) were mauled to death.

Oh, I was stunningly safe! Only a tiny branch of the tree hit me, slightly scratching my right hand. I wondered about such a miracle. But, eh, my Dad was nowhere to be seen around. That moment, I thought I had lost my Dad to the hurtling tree. The tears formed in the corners of my eyes, flowing down my cheeks. I cried, literally.

But to my surprise, oh thank god, my Dad spectacularly rose from beneath the felled tree. He had been hurt real bad. I could see his limbs bruised, bleeding. But without least bother for his own pain, he darted towards me as if it happened so natural for him.

He held me, instantaneously, to ensure his son was ok. I read “Are you ok, son?” expression on his face. As he checked my hands, legs, and head, he burst into tears and put his arms out for a hug. He hugged me, all apologies. And he heaved a sigh of relief.

That afternoon, we made our way home without firewood. But, certainly, I took home an understanding about my Dad, his selfless care, unconditional love and affection and protection for me, his son. And that very, very rare tears in his otherwise masculine eyes has strengthened our father-son bond, emotionally.

2 comments:

  1. Such a touching story... I read it and it was made out as if you were much younger, as I could never envision my father doing this for me when I was 14. Very touching. I hope he is alright, along with you now.

    -Carlos Hernandez

    ReplyDelete
  2. This is extraordinary!
    You have a loving and caring father.
    Take care of him Rikku Sir.
    Thanks for updating for such a throughout provoking life story.

    ReplyDelete