“What is a Pope ba?” I asked my dad.

“Not what, but who”, ma replied.

It was strange that both my ma and ba knew who the Pope was. Little did I know that by the end of that day, I would also know who he was.

Whoever he was, he was supposed to come to our place in half hour or so. Probably ma was preparing something for him to eat, and that is why she was in such a hurry. Di was helping her too.

Okay, I was proved wrong.

The Pope was not coming to our house… rather his car would go over the main road in front of our building. ‘Pope’ was Pope John Paul II. And I would be considered fortunate if I got to meet (see) him! My 8-year-old brain ceased to fathom how could fortune depend on a glimpse of some unknown guy who called himself a Pope and not a Mr. or a Dr. Nevertheless, I gobbled down my breakfast- as it is ma said we were getting late, and that the Pope would go.

The next thing I remember is that all four of us were hurrying down to get to the main road. Ba held my hand, ma and di were coming along. Once we were outside the main gate of the campus, ba hastened his steps and told ma to hurry too… “Cha cha cha cha…. Shiggir cha…. Pope choley jabe!”, he told di. I had to run in order to keep up with his steps.

Once we reached the field in front of our house, my steps slowed down. The specialty about this field was that it was the graveyard for hundreds of old rickshaws that were unlicensed, and were ceased by the police. Through the heap meandered a ‘pa-ey haanta poth’ and that was the shortcut if you wanted to avoid walking round the field. Ba suddenly came close to me and said- “Babu hath ta dhor dhor….”

I looked up, my eyes sparkling with an unknown expectation… and I held his hand tight.

Ba half turned, looked over his shoulders and shouted to di- “Ma k niye jhotpot esho baburam, Pope chole na jaay…”

He clutched my wrist and hastened his pace, and before long, he was running.

For a brief period of time, I ran along his side. And then,… I flew.

Yes, I was flying. As Ba ran, I was flying by his side. Beneath my feet I saw the undulated mud patches…. the broken pieces of iron rivets…. a tattered tyre… all lay beside our path….

I managed to look at Ba, he was running hard….he had to get me there on time – he had promised me that he would show me who the Pope was! The gravity of his purpose was clearly written on his face. I do not know whether I had actually understood the meaning then, neither do I know the exact time when I learned to decipher the unsaid language of love that Ba spoke in.

I remember flying high, my feet touching the ground for a second, and again bumping back into the air…. I remember hearing ma’s voice at a distance – “Shunchho, orom douriyo na, meye ta porey jabey. Lege jabey…” But then, that day he didn’t listen to anyone but his heart.

There’s another thing that I remember. Pope John Paul II. A white robe, an angel like figure, a divine smile, and a pair of eyes filled with compassion…. it was as though I had seen God.

If Ba hadn’t had run that day, I’d have never been able to see the Pope. I remember still the feverish rate at which my young heart had jumped that day… the feeling of security in those golden hands…. the surety of being able to see the Pope- coz my Ba was with me.

He cant walk alone these days…. not even with his stick. I remember, there was a time when he could run…..