The Very Best of Ruskin Bond, the Writer on the Hill: Selected Fiction and Non-Fiction by Ruskin Bond Page A

acknowledgement of defeat. From the way he felt just then, he knew he would be beaten in another fight. But he could not acquiesce in his own defeat. He must defy his enemy to the last, or outwit him, for only then could he gain his respect. If he surrendered now, he would be beaten for all time; but to fight and be beaten today left him free to fight and be beaten again. As long as he fought, he had a right to the pool in the forest.
    He was half hoping that the Punjabi boy would have forgotten the challenge, but these hopes were dashed when he saw his opponent sitting, stripped to the waist, on a rock on the other side of the pool. The Punjabi boy was rubbing oil on his body, massaging it into his broad thighs. He saw Ranji beneath the sal trees, and called a challenge across the waters of the pool.
    ‘Come over on this side and fight!’ he shouted.
    But Ranji was not going to submit to any conditions laid down by his opponent.
    ‘Come
this
side and fight!’ he shouted back with equal vigour.
    ‘Swim across and fight me here!’ called the other. ‘Or perhaps you cannot swim the length of this pool?’
    But Ranji could have swum the length of the pool a dozen times without tiring, and here he would show the Punjabi boy his superiority. So, slipping out of his vest and shorts, he dived straight into the water, cutting through it like a knife, and surfaced with hardly a splash. The Punjabi boy’s mouth hung open in amazement.
    ‘You can dive!’ he exclaimed.
    ‘It is easy,’ said Ranji, treading water, waiting for a further challenge. ‘Can’t you dive?’
    ‘No,’ said the other. ‘I jump straight in. But if you will tell me how, I will make a dive.’
    ‘It is easy,’ said Ranji. ‘Stand on the rock, stretch your arms out and allow your head to displace your feet.’
    The Punjabi boy stood up, stiff and straight, stretched out his arms, and threw himself into the water. He landed flat on his belly, with a crash that sent the birds screaming out of the trees.
    Ranji dissolved into laughter.
    ‘Are you trying to empty the pool?’ he asked, as the Punjabi boy came to the surface, spouting water like a small whale.
    ‘Wasn’t it good?’ asked the boy, evidently proud of his feat.
    ‘Not very good,’ said Ranji. ‘You should have more practice. See, I will do it again.’
    And pulling himself up on a rock, he executed another perfect dive. The other boy waited for him to come up, but, swimming under water, Ranji circled him and came upon him from behind.
    ‘How did you do that?’ asked the astonished youth.
    ‘Can’t you swim under water?’ asked Ranji.
    ‘No, but I will try it.’
    The Punjabi boy made a tremendous effort to plunge to the bottom of the pool and indeed he thought he had gone right down, though his bottom, like a duck’s, remained above the surface.
    Ranji, however, did not discourage him.
    ‘It was not bad,’ he said. ‘But you need a lot of practice.’
    ‘Will you teach me?’ asked his enemy.
    ‘If you like, I will teach you.’
    ‘You must teach me. If you do not teach me, I will beat you. Will you come here every day and teach me?’
    ‘If you like,’ said Ranji. They had pulled themselves out of the water, and were sitting side by side on a smooth grey rock.
    ‘My name is Suraj,’ said the Punjabi boy. ‘What is yours?’
    ‘It is Ranji.’
    ‘I am strong, am I not?’ asked Suraj, bending his arm so that a ball of muscle stood up stretching the white of his flesh.
    ‘You are strong,’ said Ranji. ‘You are a real pehelwan.’
    ‘One day I will be the world’s champion wrestler,’ said Suraj, slapping his thighs, which shook with the impact of his hand. He looked critically at Ranji’s hard, thin body. ‘You are quite strong yourself,’ he conceded. ‘But you are too bony. I know, you people do not eat enough. You must come and have your food with me. I drink one seer of milk every day. We have got our own cow! Be my friend, and I will make you a