Christina K Sangma
Every morning, just as the market began to stir awake, a small brown dog trotted down the narrow street with a cloth bag tied gently around his neck. He moved with quiet purpose, weaving through baskets of vegetables and the chatter of early customers. The vendors knew him well. Some smiled and slipped fresh produce into his bag, often adding a little extra without charge.
The dog belonged to an old man who lived at the far end of the lane. Frail but kind, he had come to rely on the dog, who carried a small note and a few coins each day to the market and back again.
Most people admired the dog’s loyalty. But one vendor did not.
Raghav, who sold the freshest greens in the market, had little patience for him. He disliked the attention the dog drew and the quiet expectation of kindness in its presence. To him, the market was for business, not sentiment. Whenever the dog came near, he waved it away sharply, muttering about distractions.
The dog never barked or resisted. It simply stepped aside and went elsewhere.
Days passed, and the routine remained unchanged, until one morning, the dog did not come.
At first, no one noticed. The market was as busy as ever. But as hours passed, a subtle absence settled in. The familiar small figure was missing, and something felt off.
Raghav noticed last, though the realisation lingered with unexpected weight. He found himself glancing toward the street, half-expecting the dog to appear. When it didn’t, unease crept in.
By afternoon, curiosity overcame him.
Closing his stall early, he walked down the lane the dog always came from. At the end stood a small house, its door slightly open.
Inside, the air was heavy with silence.
The old man sat beside the dog, who lay curled on a thin mat, breathing weakly. The cloth bag rested nearby, empty. The room carried the quiet strain of worry.
Raghav hesitated. Then the dog lifted its head slightly. Its tired eyes met his, not with fear, but recognition.
Something softened in him.
Without speaking, Raghav stepped forward and placed the basket of fresh vegetables beside the old man. The next day, he returned. And the next. He brought food, medicine, and help, small things, done steadily.
Slowly, the dog grew stronger.
Its eyes brightened. Its movements steadied. And each time Raghav entered, the dog greeted him with a faint wag of its tail.
When the dog finally returned to the market, the cloth bag once again tied around its neck, it walked a little slower, but with the same quiet purpose.
This time, when it approached Raghav’s stall, there was no dismissal.
Instead, Raghav carefully filled the bag himself, choosing the freshest vegetables and placing them gently inside.
The dog paused for a moment before leaving, as if acknowledging something unspoken.
And from that day on, the space between them was no longer indifference, but quiet companionship, built through small, steady acts of care.
