THE sand was hot under my bare feet as I walked along the foreshore, in ragged baggies and vest, combing the beach for little treasures that may have washed up with the tide. It earned me a little more money, aside from the vegetable garden I planted with my mother. The odd maid jobs she did in the neighbourhood were not enough for a family of four, since my father had died crossing the road in a drunken stupor.

Talk about a life of wretchedness and misery, where there were more wrongs than rights and help, real help hadn’t found us yet.

Living in a hut near the beach since the landlord kicked us out for delayed rental dues, our lives had spiralled from bad to worse. I cared about school but not anymore; no one liked the poor boy and the teachers never seemed to believe me when I defended myself with fists against the cruel taunting. My mother wanted me to stay and study to be somebody of worth, that my father wasn’t, and though in my heart I wanted that for myself too, I couldn’t stay.

I was sorry for her unhappiness and her tears, but I vowed to myself I’ll make it big one day. I’ll be rich one day and my poor mother wouldn’t have to work so hard. No more would there be pains of hunger or sleeping under a leaking roof – somehow I would find a way, but what? A tough question I was unsure of the answer to.

The beach had become my playground when I was not sitting under the shade of the coconut palms, browsing through cricket magazines. It was a game I loved and followed with deep passion, but not even in the neighbourhood club could I get in, for I had no money for the gear or to pay the fees. So with my coconut branch bat and young coconuts for balls, I formed my team called ‘The Beach Boys.’

We played rough cricket, hardened from the sun and long hours of swimming and running, and our young bodies were strong and tough. It was easy to fall into games with visitors and our aggressive style of cricket won matches and earned for us food, drinks and a little money on some good days but that was all, and surely not enough.

“A time will come for you,” that little voice in my head always said, “For time is endless.”
On moonlit nights I always sat on the riverbank, watching the golden light shimmering across the water and allowing my mind some peace, from the harshness of life for those short moments. The magic of the moonlight stayed with me as I walked home, and in that brief moment of heavenliness I wondered if there are angels on earth and if there’s one for me, as my mother said.

But when I reached home as I laid on my bed on the earthen floor, listening to my mother’s soft moans of pain, the thought drifted away like wind blowing across the sand. I sat up and looked at her, a tired woman with broken spirits, her life not blessed with a good dream, more or less a nightmare. She was once a beautiful woman but the heartaches, the suffering and hard work, had painted lines of worry and sadness on her face.
“One day hopefully, mother,” I said to myself before falling asleep, “Life will be good and your children will once again look upon your beautiful face.”

Time went by and I continued to work in the garden, and play cricket on the beach with my friends, struggling still to save enough money to buy my cricket gear and to get into a club. Then one day there came a new twist in my life, when two strange men whose outlook spoke only one word – money, but whose personalities seemed somewhat shady, made me an offer of big bucks for every ball I hit over the boundary.

The game we played on the beach everyday was power- hitting and it was for me a great way of making money, so I didn’t hesitate, not wanting to lose that first opportunity in my life. All six balls bowled to me were put over the boundary line with ease and I smiled thankfully as I received the money with hands, young but hardened and rough from hard work.

They looked at me with great interest and that made me feel a little uneasy.
“You’re quite a poor boy, aren’t you?”
I nodded, a little hesitantly.
“You have very strong arms and great potential for a power hitter. How would you like to become rich?”

I looked at them carefully before answering, “It is my dream.”
I listened with interest as they laid out a plan to enrol me in a top club in the city and finance my training to become a great cricketer, but under certain circumstances. They would have total control over my career, on what tournaments I would play and how to play.

I knew enough about the game to know that these men were from betting syndicates who influenced the game by cricketers they had financed and groomed. I looked at the money in my hand, that much I had never held at one time and I wondered how much more over the years I could earn in big games.
It was a gamble I was willing to take, but my mother wasn’t, despite living in the unkind clutches of poverty. She had taught me to recognize the wrongs from the rights, and though I could, it was the best opportunity I had. This was my chance to make something out of my miserable life.

“It will be like selling your soul to the devil,” she said, trying to make me understand that at 14, I was so young and there would be other options, she didn’t want to lose me just for the sake of a better life.
“The Minister of Social Services,” she said, “Will be visiting the district soon, she’s a good person who’s reaching out to help all those in need.
“We needed help so long,” I said, my anger rising, “How many times you tried to reach her and you couldn’t? What makes you think you will now?”

“We can’t lose hope, son. She can help us, you should come with me to see her.”
“No! I’m not wasting any more time!”
“She can be the angel you need in your life.”

“There are no angels!” I said angrily, “If there was an angel to help me, would I be living like this? I hate this life. I hate you having to work so hard!”
I kicked the old table and it crashed to the ground, ignoring my mother softly crying as I smashed a chair against the wall and the last thing I saw as I ran out of the hut towards the beach was the helpless and tearful look on my mother’s face.

I sat down under the coconut palms, choking with anger and as my rage cooled, I felt deep regret for hurting my mother’s feelings, knowing she only wanted the best for me. In two days, a final decision had to be made and I didn’t know what to do. Saying ‘yes’ would give me everything I want and saying ‘no’ would leave me with nothing.

I sat down the last day staring at the calm river, my thoughts all confused, when a warm voice said, “Is something bothering you, young man?”
I looked up startled and saw a beautiful woman standing there, a pleasant look on her face. I scrambled to my feet and looked around, the beach was deserted, where did she come from?
I looked at her closely and in her eyes I saw that look of genuine concern.

“You’re—not an -a-angel, are you?” I asked hesitantly.
She smiled sweetly, “Is that what you want?”
No one had smiled at me like that and my heart warmed towards her.
“It’s what I need,” I said.

“Maybe I can be that to you. Your mother is very worried about you and she asked for my help.”
“The minister herself–?” I wondered. I couldn’t quite believe it and for once in my life, I felt something good was really going to happen to me.
She reached out and took my hand saying, “Come let me hear what’s bothering you.”

I talked and she listened, and at the end of it all she gave me hopes of a new beginning in my life, where my family would be given support and a better home. I would go back to school, join a cricket club and carve out a good name for myself. She promised me before she left that she would take a personal interest in my development in the game.
I had found my angel and she came just in time to save me from selling my soul to the devil.