By Pallapuram Prabakaran
“Amma… Amma!” Bibu cried out, breath trembling. “Please hug me tight. I don’t know if what I saw was a dream, or real, or just an illusion. Everything feels confusing.”
Amma pulled him close. “Why, kanna? What happened?”
“Amma! Nobody held my hand. Nobody told me to run. I… I learned to ride my bicycle all by myself!” he exclaimed between sobs.
“You clever boy!” Amma smiled. “Sometimes the mind gets exhausted and feels like dreaming. But this isn’t a dream. It’s a beautiful truth.” She hugged him even tighter, letting the fear melt from his little heart.
Once he calmed down, Bibu jumped up with joy and ran around telling his grandparents, siblings, and everyone in the house. At last, he reached his grandfather, beaming with pride.
Thatha listened with curiosity. “But tell me, Bibu… what is Bucephalus?”
“Achacho! Thatha! Don’t you know?” Bibu giggled. “Bucephalus was Alexander the Great’s horse!”
Thatha chuckled softly. “Ah… that story.”
Grandfather’s memory drifted back. He had told the tale countless times—the story of a magnificent dark horse with white streaks like lightning, blue eyes that sparkled, and a muscular, majestic frame brought by merchants from Thessaly. A horse that obeyed only one master—a master of courage and virtue.
When heroes tried taming it, Bucephalus tore through the arena—kicking, neighing, tossing men aside. The king watched helplessly.
Then little Alexander stepped forward.
He did something no one else thought to do—he watched the horse’s eyes.
Alexander realized Bucephalus was frightened by its own shadow. So he gently turned the horse toward the sun, mounted it in one swift motion, and instantly won its trust.
The entire kingdom roared with pride.
And from that very moment, the horse belonged to Alexander.
The story always lit a spark in Bibu’s heart. “Appa gifted me a cycle for my birthday. Just like Alexander, I will ride mine bravely one day. That’s why I named my cycle Bucephalus!” he proudly declared.
Thatha simply nodded, deeply moved by the child’s imagination. Bibu ran out, eager to meet his trusted steed.
The Ride of Courage
Bibu stood beside his bicycle, remembering his early days of practice—the wobbling, the fear, the whispered pleading:
“Appa, please hold tight… don’t leave me alone!”
Appa always walked beside him, ready to steady the cycle whenever a vehicle passed. But today was different. Today, Bibu felt brave enough to ride alone.
He pedaled down the familiar road to the big lake shore, 1.5 km from home. Appa’s words played like a mantra in his ears:
“Sit straight. Look ahead. Pedal for five counts. And don’t stop.”
His hands tightened on the handlebar, his eyes fixed on the path, his little legs pushing up and down with rhythm and pride.
He remembered his first fall—how scared he was, how he almost cried. But Appa’s words rang clear:
“You cannot reach success without a few scrapes. Giving up brings only defeat.”
Reaching the spot where Appa always parked the bicycle before practice, Bibu stopped and turned the wheel left and right. And just then—his knee brushed against the old blister from yesterday’s fall.
“Aiyo… this wound has become a blister now.” He rubbed it gently and smiled through the discomfort.
The road around him was peaceful—neat houses on one side, green paddy fields on the other, wild flowers carpeting the edges, giant banyan trees guarding the curves like wise old men. Riding alone through such beauty felt magical.
Suddenly, he remembered the day two motorbikes approached from opposite sides. He had swerved incorrectly, stepping into the middle of the road—only to be saved by sheer luck.
Left side. Always left side.
Appa’s voice echoed again.
This time Bibu stayed disciplined.
When a coconut lay blocking the road, he stopped, walked back, and moved it off the path so others wouldn’t be hurt.
“Pavam,” he sighed, patting his own hand proudly. Then he continued toward the lake.
The Unexpected
Just as he reached his usual spot, a sudden grinding noise startled him.
The cycle jerked.
The pedals slipped.
The chain dangled like a loose tail.
Confused and frightened, Bibu dismounted. He pushed the cycle forward—clak clak clak—the chain scraped the road. His heart began to race.
He was too small to fix it.
He was alone.
The world suddenly felt too big.
Tears welled up, and he ran home crying.
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I’m Prabakaran from Pallapuram, a children’s story writer who believes that the simplest moments often carry the deepest lessons. My stories are inspired by real life, innocence, and the magical way kids look at the world. Through this blog, I bring you Bipu’s adventures — stories that teach, inspire, and stay in young hearts.