I was in a hurry and I had left my phone diary at home; I don’t believe in saving phone numbers on mobile. Often I hear people talking about the erased memory of their phones.

I tried to remember the number, perhaps, it was 658498 but I was not sure. I had to call Mr. Sonu Mittal, the steel king, and request time for an interview. I had to submit that interview to my magazine within a week. I was sure that I would be able to write an interesting article on the life of the business tycoon Sonu Mittal. In just twelve years time he had become multi billionaire and he had bought most of the big steel producing units in different countries. He had started as a student in Indonesia. I was curious to know more about him, though I had read a lot about him in magazines and newspapers. I was sure that I would be able to find certain things in face to face interview which he had never shared with anyone, especially the journalists like me.

After the death of my father, it was very difficult for my mother to pay for my college education, so I had started working in a newspaper office to earn some money to continue my education. The father had died so suddenly that my mother was unable to decide where to begin. The house was rented and it was very difficult to pay the rent without father’s salary, after his death. He had never made it big in his life; he did not want to grow, for he never complained about anything. He was a journalist too but he was not a news hunter. A very calm and complacent fellow he was. I inherited a few hundred books and a loan of fifty thousand rupees taken by my father from a distant relative.

After about one year of my father’s death, the distant relative, Mr. Chaman Lal, came to our house.

My mother and I thought that he had come there to share our grief but we were wrong. After a formal exchange of subdued greetings, he began, “I know it is not the right time but I have no other option…”

I was in the first year of B. A. Journalism and I had, by that time, learned a little about the signs which suggested something serious. His voice was quite patronizing and it threatened disaster, so without wasting any time I interfered, “Yes, uncle, what is it?”

“Actually, your late father had borrowed fifty thousand rupees from me at the time of your elder sister’s marriage. He had left the papers of your land in the village with me as a security. He had signed a paper that I could sell the land if I did not get the money and the interest on the money in three years. Now, almost five years have passed and I have not received a single penny,” he looked at me.
“How much is the total amount?” my mother butted in.

“With interest it is about one hundred and sixty eight thousand rupees. The land is not worth more than thirty thousand rupees. I can waive the interest but I need the amount given to him. I can’t wait now. I have brought the papers of your land here,” he pulled a folded paper from his pocket and kept it on the table between us.

Neither my mother nor I dared to pick the paper. I was earning around six thousand rupees per month but I had hope of getting promotion soon. I was in search of one good chance, the chance which could establish me as a known journalist.

“Uncle, I will pay you the amount after six months, and it is a promise,” I looked at him with expectation.

“All right, but please keep in mind that I am not a rich man. Your father was in need of money for the marriage of your elder sister and I gave it to him, breaking my fixed deposit in the bank. That money means a lot to me because I am going to retire from my job next month…Son, please don’t fail me,” he said, almost pleading.

I was obliged to him because I sensed that he was a gentleman. My earlier guess was wrong about him.

I had to take an appointment with Mr. Sonu Mittal. I searched my pockets but I did not find the diary. I began to dial the numbers with the help of my guess. Suddenly, I remembered that the last digit was 3 and not 8. I dialed with a great hope.

“Hello…” a voice answered.

“May I talk to Mr. Sonu…”

Before I could complete my request, the voice said, “This is Sonu…”

I was a little confused because the voice had a female ring in it, like a child’s but then I thought it was possible.

“Mr. Sonu, I am Dinu Gosai from Big Time Magazine. I want to meet you for an interview…”

“But I am so small…” the voice said.

“Sir, this is your humbleness. You are the steel king and you speak so politely with a simple journalist…”

“No, I am really small. I am only ten years old,” said the voice.

“Aren’t you Sonu Mittal?”

“No, I am Sonu Pradhan,” laughed the boy on the other side.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Uncle, no one calls me. I liked your voice…” said the boy.

“All right, sorry for the wrong number…”

The boy spoke hurriedly, “No, uncle, please don’t disconnect. Please call me again tomorrow. I am all alone here…”

“All right…” I disconnected the line.

I rushed back home to fetch my diary. I succeeded in contacting Mr. Sonu Mittal and he agreed to meet me. I was sure that it was going to be a successful interview.

The interview was held in his bungalow. I was amazed to see his luxurious lifestyle. He asked about me, my father and my mother. He shared a few things from his personal life with me. He allowed me to publish those facts about him.

The editor of my magazine was more than pleased and the story made it to the cover of the magazine. I got a sudden promotion and many other financial rewards. A three room apartment was assigned to me and a motorcycle was given to me. I was sure that I would be able to pay of the loan in three months. I was sure that my father would be proud of me.

One evening, when I was about to phone someone, my mind raced back to the call to that little boy.

I dialed the number.

“Hello,” a very heavy female voice answered.

“May I talk to Sonu, please?”

“Wrong number, there is no Sonu here,” the line got disconnected.

I tried the number the following night and this time a mature male voice was heard, “There is no Sonu here. Please don’t phone here.”

I was surprised because the boy had told me to write his number properly.

“Uncle, I want to be your friend. Please, write my number, 8789343. Please call me,” the boy had said before I had disconnected the line after my first wrong number call.

My mind of the journalist was not ready to accept it because something was wrong.

Next morning, I dialed the number and this time it was Sonu.

“Hello, uncle. Why didn’t you call me?”

“I called you twice but someone said you were not there.”

“Yes, uncle, they don’t let me speak to anyone,” said the boy very sadly.

“Why?”

“I don’t know uncle…”

“Do you go to school, Sonu?”

“I used to go to school but now I don’t. I have a few books in my room and I read them. They say that if I go out, people will carry me away…”

“Where do you live, Sonu?”

“We have a big bungalow near Grand Hotel. You won’t miss it. The colour is pink and there is a garden in front of our house.”

I decided to visit that place.

I had an assignment that I was working on so I could not visit Sonu for ten days. When the work was over, one morning, I called him.

“Hello, Sonu. How are you?”

“Fine Uncle, it is my birthday today but no one will come here…” the boy began to sob.

“No, Sonu, I will come there. Please don’t cry,” I tried to console him.

I began to picture the little boy in my mind. Living in a big bungalow, near Grand Hotel, was something very noteworthy because only very rich people had their bungalows in the vicinity of Grand Hotel. But on other thought, I began to conclude that the little boy was playing tricks on me and be-fooling me. Anyway, I decided to take a chance.

The very next morning, I was standing at the gate of the bungalow, near the Grand Hotel.

A fat lady was sitting in an easy chair in the garden. A servant opened the gate and showed me in. I was carrying a packet of sweets and chocolates for Sonu.

I greeted the lady very politely and she responded in the same manner.

“I have come to meet Sonu…”

The expression on her face changed so suddenly that I was almost off balance, “Who is Sonu? There is no Sonu here.”

“He has given me this address…”

“Get out before I have you thrown out of the house!” the lady shouted.

Meanwhile, a man came there. He was her husband. When he came to know about the purpose of my visit, he behaved in no different manner, “Please, go away. There is no Sonu in this house.”

I was about to turn when a child’s voice stopped me. He was standing at the balcony on the first floor of the house, “Uncle, I am Sonu. Please don’t go. I know you are my phone friend.”

The man held my arm and led me to the front gate.

I remember seeing that boy very clearly. He was not like the one I had pictured in my mind. He was very thin black complexioned boy. It was sure that he was not happy living in this house. Something was there and it troubled me during all those hours, the following day, in which I kept on dialing his number and no reply came.

On fourth day, I decided to take a chance. It was about 1:00 pm and the sun was shining brightly. I knew that the rich would be enjoying their siesta in their luxurious beds.

I dialed the number.

“Hello, uncle…”

“Hello, Sonu. Are you alone there?”

“No, my mother is sleeping and father is not here. I was waiting for your call.”

“Why didn’t they let me meet you, Sonu?”

“Uncle, I was an orphan and they had brought me from an orphanage because they had no children. I did not know about it until the day my mother gave birth to my brother. My younger brother is white and pink, a very pretty little boy. I am black and ugly. They began to keep me inside my room. I was stopped from going to school. They don’t love me anymore. They used to bring so many things for me when I was at school but after the arrival of my younger brother, they bring everything for him. Uncle, I have no friends to play with…” Sonu began to weep.

“No, Sonu, I am your friend, and I promise you one thing: you will be going to school very soon. You will get all the things you deserve.” I said resolutely and disconnected the phone.