Hero
Two boys, Sanjit and Giann, lived in an old six-story building in Bandra. The building sat in a busy neighbourhood, surrounded by taller, newer buildings. Their building looked old and worn out. Its white walls had big patches of peeling paint showing grey concrete below. The balcony railings were rusty in places, and the small front gate creaked every time it opened. Each flat had only one bedroom and was just right for a small nuclear family, but when everyone was home, it was a snug fit. The road in front of the building was always full of traffic.
Sanjit had messy black hair that stuck up at the back, bright brown eyes full of curiosity, and a big smile with slightly crooked front teeth. He loved adventures, like climbing trees or exploring hidden lanes. Giann had neat short hair, sparkling eyes, and a quiet laugh that made people happy. He was thoughtful and smart, always thinking of clever ideas for their games.
Sanjit and Giann were roughly of the same age, both were twelve years old, and they were in the sixth standard, though they went to different schools. Every evening after homework, they met in the building’s small compound to play football and dreamed of becoming famous players. They were definitely the best of friends.
Sanjit’s flat was on the third floor — a tiny one-bedroom home that felt even smaller with all the things inside. The living room had a worn brown couch facing a small TV, a coffee table full of newspapers and mugs, and shelves packed with books and old photos. The kitchen was squeezed in one corner, with just enough space for Sanjit’s mom to make tasty snacks like chicken cutlets. Sanjit used to sleep with his parents when he was little, but after age nine, he slept in the living room. A corner of his parents’ bedroom was his study area, covered in posters of football stars.
One bright Sunday evening, Sanjit and Giann were kicking their football in the compound. Sanjit had just dribbled well and scored a goal when a loud screech of tires rang out, followed by a sharp cry of pain. The boys froze. The ball rolled away. “What was that?” Sanjit whispered, eyes wide.
They ran out through the creaky gate to the noisy street, where cars and autos rushed by. There, on the rough road, lay a small puppy — no bigger than a football. One front paw was twisted wrong, with bright red blood coming out and staining the asphalt. The puppy whimpered softly and tried to lift its head but was too weak. An auto sped away in the distance; the driver did not look back. A nearby coconut seller shook his head and shouted, “That bad auto! It hit the poor puppy!”
Sanjit and Giann moved closer, hearts beating fast. The puppy was alive — breathing quickly, chest going up and down. “It’s alive!” Giann said in a shaky voice. The puppy looked up with big eyes, as if asking for help. Sanjit felt a lump in his throat. “We have to help. We can’t leave it here.” Giann nodded, already thinking. “Let’s get your dad, Sanjit. He’s home, right?”
They ran back into the building, skipped the slow elevator, and raced up the stairs two at a time. They burst into Sanjit’s flat. His father was on the couch with coffee, watching cricket on TV. He was tall with a moustache, in his favourite comfy t-shirt, smiling as India batted.
“Dad! Dad!” Sanjit gasped. “A small puppy got hit by an auto outside! It’s hurt bad — bleeding and in pain. We have to save it!”
His father looked up. “A puppy on the street? These things happen in Mumbai. Someone else might help.” But the boys begged. “Please, Uncle,” Giann said. “It’s just a baby dog. It’s crying.” Finally, Sanjit’s dad sighed, put down his mug, and stood up. “Okay, let’s see.”
They took an old soft blanket from the closet and hurried down. The puppy was still there, whimpering softer now. Sanjit’s dad knelt and gently lifted the puppy onto the blanket, wrapping it carefully. Blood stained the cloth, but the puppy did not fight — it just looked thankful. They carried it inside. Sanjit’s dad said, “Sanjit, go get my car keys.”
While Sanjit went up, his dad called a friend who had a dog. “Hey, Raj? We found an injured street puppy. Know a good vet nearby?” He got an address. Sanjit came back with the keys. “Okay, boys, let’s go. You two sit in the back and hold the blanket steady.”
The drive to the vet felt long because of Sunday traffic. Sanjit and Giann sat in the back, holding the puppy between them. Its fur was soft under the dirt, and its nose twitched as it breathed. “Hang on, little one,” Sanjit whispered, stroking its head. Giann held the blanket tight, so the paw did not move. The pup had soft brown fur, big sad chocolate eyes, and tiny floppy ears.
The vet clinic was small and busy, with white walls and a light smell of medicine. A few people waited with cats and dogs. The receptionist saw the bloody blanket and the worried boys. “This is an emergency! Come in.” She took them to an exam room with a shiny table, chairs, and shelves of medical things.
The vet came in soon — a young woman in her twenties with short hair tied back and a white coat. She smiled confidently. “What happened?” she asked.
“An auto hit it,” Sanjit’s dad said. “The wheel went over the paw.”
The vet checked the puppy carefully — listening to its heart, feeling its body. “No shock or internal bleeding — that’s good.” She gave it a pain injection. The whimpering stopped, and the puppy relaxed. She cleaned the paw, removing dirt and gravel. The paw was swollen and bent, with a deep cut. “The bone is broken,” she said. “We’ll X-ray it, but it’s a bad fracture.”
“Boys, leave him here overnight,” the vet said kindly. “I’ll fix him and keep him safe. Come back tomorrow.” She asked, “What’s his name?”
“We don’t know,” Giann said. “He’s a street dog — no collar.”
The vet nodded. “He’s a fighter. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”
That night in the small flat, Sanjit could not stop thinking about the puppy. His dad said, “We can’t keep a dog here while it heals. It might take a month, and the flat is too small.” Sanjit begged, but his dad said no at first. Sanjit’s mom stayed quiet — she liked animals but knew the space was tight.
Sanjit called Giann on the intercom. Giann asked his dad, but his grandma — who was bedridden — did not like dogs because of noise and mess.
Sanjit told his dad and started crying. After a long sigh, his dad said, “Fine, only until it gets better. No longer!”
Next day after school, they went to the vet. The puppy looked brighter. Its paw was in a big, padded splint like a white boot, going halfway up the leg. “I made it long to keep it still,” the vet said. “This pup is so brave — he stayed calm for the X-ray and splint. He’s a real hero.”
The boys were happy. Sanjit’s dad paid the bill, looking unhappy about the cost.
They carried the puppy home in the blanket. Sanjit said, “He’s a Hero! We’ll call him Hero.”
Hero was cute — a street mix with fluffy brown fur (clean now), a black button nose, and big sparkling eyes. In the flat, Sanjit made a cozy corner with pillows and a towel. Hero limped at first but soon hopped on three legs, wagging his tail.
The vet said the splint stayed for a month. Sanjit’s dad grumbled that the flat felt even smaller, but Sanjit took great care of Hero. After school, he fed him milk-soaked chapati, then chicken and puppy food. He cleaned around the splint and played gentle games. Giann came every evening to play too. When they called “Hero,” his tail thumped happily. Soon Hero looked healthier, fluffier, and joyful.
They took Hero for weekly vet checks. The vet always smiled: “Look at this hero! Healing fast because of your care.” The flat filled with laughter — Hero’s yips and the boys’ giggles. Even Sanjit’s mom gave treats, and his dad sometimes patted Hero when no one saw.
After one month, the vet removed the splint. The paw was healed — still pink but strong. Hero trotted without a limp. The boys cheered and hugged.
Back home, Sanjit’s dad watched Hero run around chasing a ball. He planned to say it was time to find Hero a new home, but he could not. Hero had become family. One evening he said softly, “Hero is better now. We should find him a bigger place.”
Sanjit cried hard. “No, Dad! Please! Hero is our dog — we saved him! He’s family! He’ll be sad and alone on the streets again!” He hugged Hero tight. Hero licked his tears. Giann looked sad too. “Uncle, Hero is happy here.”
Sanjit’s mom wiped her eyes and whispered to her husband, “The boy is right.”
Sanjit’s dad paced, then knelt. “Okay, Hero can stay. Forever.”
Sanjit jumped with joy, hugging his dad. Giann whooped. Hero barked and spun. From then on, the small flat in Bandra became Hero’s home. Every morning, Sanjit’s mom or dad took him for a walk on a leash. In evenings, the boys sometimes let Hero join football. In busy Mumbai, a kind act turned into a forever friendship, showing that even in a tiny space, love can make room for miracles.
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