Mr. Murthy

Sharad stood defiantly in the corner of the classroom with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes spewing venom, and his bloodied lip muttering silent curses at his teacher, Mr. Murthy, who had punished him for snatching the snack-box and subsequently getting into a full-blown hand-and-fist war with a classmate during lunch.

As the 10 year old walked nervously into the make-shift counseling -cum-teacher’s room in the small village school, Mr. Murthy sized up the insecure boy who now looked less fierce in his yellow-tinted shirt, hastily patched together at the seam on one side, and worn shabbily over faded under-sized shorts.

Mr. Murthy felt like the wheels of his own life had been reversed as his kind but perceptive questions revealed the unfair, love-shorn childhood of Sharad who having lost his parents to disease was living a difficult life with his uncle’s family; a story uncannily similar to his.

If not for his benevolent foster parents who re-instilled in him the hope and purpose to lead a respectful, honest and principled life, Mr. Murthy could well imagine himself leading a wastrel’s or worse a criminal’s life and for that he was immensely grateful to them.

Years later, Mr. Murthy saw the same gleam of gratitude in the youth's eyes as Sharad sought his Appa’s blessings to start a new life, in his crisp white naval uniform.  

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Five sentence fiction written in response to the prompt: Wheels at LillieMcferrinWrites. 

Also, linking it to World Gratitude Day 2014 at Write Tribe.