The Hand of The Devil
I am 35, and this happened when I was around seven years old.
He was not married at that time. Except for a few details, I don't remember more information. I know what happened, but I cannot understand how it affected my life yet. Sometimes I think it should have made me angry, but honestly, I never felt it. Since then, I have met him countless times as he was my dad's friend. Our families had known each other even before I was born.
We moved from an apartment to a house that my dad built. It was a proud moment for us as a family back then. We would walk to the construction site across the main road, pluck groundnut plants from a farm and eat them under the shade of a big tree on the way. It was a family time before we started calling out moments like those when I think about it.
After we moved, I made a lot of friends around the neighborhood. I used to drive my bike around, play cricket on the ground, and sometimes play cricket at home in the car parking area all by myself. Playing cricket with my dad every Sunday evening on the deck of our house was a familiar scene. My mom would bring tea to the deck in the evening, and sometimes at night, we all would have dinner there. My mom would mix rice and curd and hand over small balls of it in our cupped hands with a bit of pickle, and we would eat it. I don't remember what we spoke about that time as a family, but it must have been a good conversation.
My dad had a lot of known people, work colleagues, neighbors, acquaintances through his activities in the club, local temples, etc. One particular person in that group was his colleague/friend/neighbor, who frequently came home. Let's refer to him as my dad's friend. He was kind, playful, and generally a nice person. He stayed alone near our house for the most part, and occasionally, his parents, sometimes his sister, and her kids would visit during the holidays. I have a lot of memories of watching movies with them on the VCR cassettes and playing with them. When my dad's friend stayed alone, he did not have a telephone connection, so his parents would call my home, and I would either shout his name from the backyard or relay the message to him. We celebrated festivals together as a family.
Once, I played a prank on him by faking that his mom had called, and he came running from his house. After he realized this, he got angry and scolded me. My dad got mad at him as it was just a playful prank. I remember crying the entire day. They resolved it the same day as all friends would do. We became so close as a family that I would spend time in his house watching sports or movies or playing cricket with him and his friends.
I don't remember exactly why, but I happened to sleep in his house one night. Back then, bed was not very common in our houses, and we used dry grass mats instead. My dad's friend slept next to me and read a book on that particular night. It was pretty standard back in the day to sleep next to your trusted family or friend. I have a lot of good memories with my other family members and friends. He slowly put his right hand inside my shorts while reading the book. I don't know what else happened and how long. I must have woken up the following day and gone home. I cannot recall any discomfort or the impact it caused on my life.
I have not met him for years now, and I don't think I will. I had decided to leave it to Karma long back. Not being traumatized is a privilege, and I have taken it for granted for the longest time.