Moon at Half Past Noon

Chapter 5: The Broken Promise

Matthu climbed into the autorickshaw beside the old man. The vinyl seat felt warm against his sweaty legs. The engine coughed to life. Borivali West’s midday chaos engulfed them. Swanky SUVs and gleaming, sedans roared past. Their polished chrome flashed in the June sun. High-rises towered. Glass and steel monoliths flanked sprawling malls. Neon signs and eateries spilled laughter and grease into the air. The old man’s bony hand rested near his, so near yet so far.

Matthu stared out as the auto weaved through evening snarls. His chest tightened. His thoughts sputtered like the traffic around him, but silent. He wondered how the shack’s frail tin stood against this opulent roar for so long. He thought of the old woman’s wheezing cough. He thought of the old man’s stoop. Twenty rupees were stretched thin. Meanwhile, here, people gorged on precious chaat and designer vada pav. They licked greasy fingers under shaded awnings. The affluence repulsed him. His stomach turned for no reason he could understand. He pictured the shack’s tarp ruin, its cracked pot. Less was stretched into it’s minutest until it became more. Their bare poverty, stretched to the limit until it erupted as kindness. Leaving that world felt like shedding a raw, heavy skin. It sent cold shivers—the sheer audacity of living. He felt unmoored, a stranger amid Borivali’s blare and glare. The auto rattled to a stop, Matthu sleep walked into the Hare Krishna’s shadow. The old man’s hand hung stretched. His mouth open, as if frozen clean in a start calamity.

Matthu stood in front of his apartment door. He stood there for the smallest second as a zombie trying to remember what it was to be human. The door flung open and Tarini loomed large. Matthu read a sadness in her eyes. Then it slowly happened—a frown followed by a sigh of deep relief. “I’ve been losing my mind. I called all your friends. Ravi’s parents didn’t answer. I thought you were gone…cops are looking for you everywhere…” Her hand rose, poised for a slap. However, Matthu’s eyes met hers. Repentance and regret swirled in his hollow gaze. He looked through her, and she froze. Her hand dropped. Something changed. He stepped forward. He hugged her tight. His sob was muffled against her shoulder. Matthu hugged her, grabbing her tight. She could feel her shaking. She was gesticulating and shouting something. He did not register much of what was said. Aniruddh bumped into Tarini and realised she had Matthu in her arms. Before he could say anything, Tarini slumped to her knees and looked into his eyes. His eyes were a pool of tears.

They took Matthu inside. A round wall clock above ticked to 6:20 PM. Its black hands stood stark against a faded face. Tarini stood frantic, but shes calmed herself down. She handed the car keys to Aniruddh, her hands trembling. Her sari was askew. Aniruddh loomed behind, neatly dressed, his face tight with concern. Tarini spoke lovingly, “Where’ve you been, you little monster?” Her voice cracked, raw with panic. Matthu froze as guilt stabbed his chest. “Matthu, enough, you are giving me a scare.” No answer came, “Are you okay? Why do your clothes look so disheveled? I could barely recognize you,” Aniruddh grumbled. Traini looked at Aniruddh, and said “can you take him to his room and make sure he bathes and changes? I must call DCP Patil and let him know Matthu is back.” Aniruddh took Matthu into his room.

When he entered the living room, Mango bounded over, and his paws thumped the rug with eager force. The pup leaped onto Matthu, and his tail wagged like a metronome set loose. Matthu knelt, and his knees creaked under the strain. He ruffled Mango’s fur, and his fingers sank into the warm softness. A faint smile flickered. Mango’s wet nose pressed against his palm. It was a fleeting tether in a world slipping from his grasp. Tarini bustled in from the kitchen, and her sari swished with tense steps. She placed a tray of Matthu’s favorite dishes on the low living room table. Bhajiyas steamed with an onion-spice scent curling upward. Samosas gleamed crisp beside a bowl of chutney. Her hands held steady. She said, “Eat, you’re a mess.” Aniruddh sprawled on the sofa, and the cushions groaned under his bulk. He muttered something Matthu couldn’t catch, and his tone rumbled low, swallowed by the fog in Matthu’s mind. Matthu reached for a bhajiya, and its heat pricked his fingers. He lifted it toward his lips, and the crunch hovered close.

He froze mid-bite, and his hand quivered. The bhajiya slipped free. It tumbled to the rug with a soft thud. The sound rang in his ears like a distant cry. His stomach lurched, and a sudden echo of the shack swelled within. The old woman’s frail hand offered bhajiyas with a quiet grace, and her sunken eyes carried a kindness that pierced. He jolted upright, and his chest heaved. He ran to the window, and his bare feet struck the tiles with urgent beats. He pressed his face against the metal railing, and the cold bars pressed back. He strained to see below, and breath fogged the glass. The guard heckled Abdul—the rickshaw driver—and his thick arms swung in sharp, angry arcs. The old man stood beside him, and his stoop curved under the onslaught.

The old man’s shaky hands lifted in a plea. His patched shirt fluttered like a worn banner in the afternoon breeze. Abdul’s mouth moved fast with complaints, and the old man’s lips parted in a silent, desperate reply. Matthu couldn’t hear, and their voices blurred into a dull hum. A tangle of emotions coiled tight. Guilt, dread, and shame twisted together. His body ached with a deep, gnawing throb. His heart pounded until his ribs strained. A broken promise crushed his chest. He had vowed help would come. Breath caught in his throat. Guilt consumed him, and he leaned harder into the railing. His face flattened against the metal, yearning for one last glimpse of the old man’s fragile form below.

Aniruddh’s voice broke through faintly, muffled by the roar in Matthu’s ears, and he asked, “What’s wrong, Matthu? What are you looking at?” Matthu spun around, and sound buzzed in his skull. His father’s bulk loomed in the doorway, and Tarini stood frozen—her eyes flared—and her voice came soft, “Where’s he going?” Matthu choked out, “Puppa, 200 rupees, now!” Aniruddh frowned, rose slowly, and his flip-flops scuffed the floor. He asked, “What for?” Matthu’s pulse drowned their words, and his hands shook. He rasped, “Just give it!” Aniruddh fished a note from his pocket, tossed it with a grunt, and Matthu snatched it mid-air. The 200 rupees crumpled in his fist, he bolted, and his slippers struck the floor in a frantic rhythm. Panic surged through him, and he thought I broke it, I failed them. He lunged for the elevator and jabbed the button. An error alarm screeched shrill, and the doors stayed shut. He pivoted fast, darted for the stairs, and his breath burned as Aniruddh chased after him. Aniruddh shouted, “Matthu, stop!” and his heavy steps thudded behind, echoing off the walls. Tarini’s voice trailed, sharp and distant, “What’s happening?” Matthu heard nothing—stairs blurred into a gray streak—his heart hammered, and his lungs screamed. He thought I’m too late. He stumbled, caught the rail, and righted himself. He pushed on, driven by a wrenching ache clawing his gut.

He burst out to the apartment gates—sweat soaked his shirt—and his breath broke in gasps. He scanned the chaos—autorickshaws swarmed—and horns blared, but no Abdul, no old man stood there—they were gone. The guard lounged—whistling—a broom propped beside him—and the gate stood empty, afternoon haze swallowing them whole. Matthu’s knees gave out, he sank to the pavement, and Aniruddh grabbed his arm—meaty grip tight—yanking him up. Aniruddh asked, “Matthu, what’s this?” Matthu’s voice cracked, “Puppa, I broke a promise,” and tears fell. Sobs tore free. His chest caved under the weight. He thought of her trembling frame. Her frail hand offered kindness. His steady hand held trust. Their nothing stretched thin—because he’d forgotten—and wretchedness gutted him. His breath caught, and he whispered, “I’m sorry,” to the empty air—soundless, lost. Aniruddh’s grip softened. His brow furrowed. Tarini’s steps echoed. Her gasp was faint. But Matthu heard and felt nothing but the loss. The promise was broken, forever gone. There was no reset, just reality. The weight crushed him there, alone on the sun-warmed pavement.

I’m sorry…