Mischief in the Neighborhood
Rohit was nineteen but behaved like a restless schoolboy. His mischief never seemed to end. From cricket balls smashing flowerpots to ringing doorbells and running away, he was the talk of the neighborhood. His father, Shankar, often found himself apologizing to neighbors for his son’s antics.
The biggest trouble came when Rohit hit a powerful shot while playing cricket in his lane. The ball went flying and crashed straight through the windshield of the most respected man in the locality — Advocate Uncle, known for his fairness, wisdom, and calm nature.
This time, Uncle decided to complain directly. He walked into Shankar’s house and sternly said, “Your son needs to understand consequences. This isn’t mischief, this is carelessness.”
Shankar, already frustrated by endless complaints, lost his patience. In front of Uncle and several neighbors, he thrashed Rohit like never before. The blows hurt, but what pained Rohit more was the humiliation. Tears welled up in his eyes, not from pain, but from wounded pride.
Embarrassed, he ran out of the house, ignoring his mother’s cries, and sprinted all the way to the railway terminal.
A Train to Nowhere
Without thinking, Rohit boarded the first outstation train he saw. He had no money, no plan, only anger pushing him forward. As the train moved, reality struck. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, and the fear of being caught made his heart race.
It wasn’t long before the Ticket Examiner arrived. Rohit had no ticket. He stammered excuses, but the stern official dragged him off at the next station. Within hours, he was produced before the Railway Magistrate.
The verdict was quick: “Twelve days of simple imprisonment.”
Rohit’s ears rang. Jail? For a train ride? His knees trembled as policemen escorted him to the local prison.
Chaos Back Home
Back in the neighborhood, his family thought he’d return by nightfall. But when hours turned into a full day, panic spread. His mother wept uncontrollably, while Shankar sat silent, guilt written on his face.
Surprisingly, the neighbors who once cursed Rohit now joined the search. Even Advocate Uncle, with his broken windshield, was restless. He pulled political strings, called in favors, and tried to trace the missing boy. The lane that once buzzed with children’s laughter now stood eerily quiet.
A Child Among Criminals
Inside jail, Rohit’s world turned upside down. Hardened criminals eyed him like prey.
One burly inmate, a man serving a life sentence for murder, mocked him. “Kid, what crime brought you here? Stole a toffee?”
When Rohit admitted it was for traveling without a ticket, the man roared with laughter. Soon after, he ordered, “Massage my feet.”
Rohit refused. The criminal’s smile turned into a scowl. He slapped Rohit, trying to intimidate him. But something inside Rohit snapped. He fought back fiercely, surprising even himself. Punch after punch, he resisted until the man, bruised and shocked, stopped.
Instead of retaliating further, the criminal smirked and said, “You’ve got guts, kid. Don’t waste them.” From that day, no one dared trouble Rohit.
The warden, having witnessed the scuffle, assigned him the simple duty of distributing food. It wasn’t easy, but it kept him away from trouble.
The Longest Twelve Days
Those twelve days felt like twelve years. Rohit lost weight, his cheeks hollowed, and his laughter disappeared. At night, he lay awake listening to prisoners talk about murders, robberies, and betrayals.
He realized his mischief was nothing compared to the darkness of their crimes. Yet, he also understood how even small mistakes could derail a life.
On the twelfth day, the jailer called him in. “Son, your time’s up.”
Rohit hesitated, then said softly, “Sir, I don’t even have money to go home.”
The jailer, moved by his honesty, handed him the fare. “Remember this, boy. Life gives you second chances. Don’t waste them.”
Homecoming
The moment Rohit stepped out of jail, he breathed in the fresh air. Tears streamed down his face as he ran towards home.
When he entered his lane, people rushed to him. His friends hugged him, neighbors cheered, and even Advocate Uncle patted his back.
Then came his parents. His mother clung to him, sobbing, while his father embraced him tightly. Shankar whispered, “I’ll never raise my hand on you again. I thought I lost you.”
That night, the entire neighborhood gathered. Rohit narrated his ordeal — the ticket examiner, the trial, the jail, the criminals, and the kindness of the jailer. People listened in silence, many with moist eyes. Even those who once scolded him now admired his courage.
Mischief Returns
But Rohit was still Rohit. The next morning, cricket resumed in the lane. He gripped the bat, swung hard, and — crash! Another window shattered.
Everyone gasped, then burst into laughter. Advocate Uncle shook his head, muttering, “Some lessons take more than twelve days.”
The lane was alive again.
Moral of the Story
Life punishes mischief in unexpected ways, but it also forgives. Every mistake carries a lesson — if you are brave enough to learn it.
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