World of Little Gods
By Raja Sharma
Copyright@2011 Raja Sharma
Smashwords Edition
Chapter 1: Overnight Guest
The area was almost deserted. Having kept his suitcase in front of the door, Raman pressed the button of the bell. No response came, and nobody stirred. For a second, he thought that he was standing in front of an unoccupied house. Sweat began to appear on his forehead. Using his handkerchief, he wiped the perspiration and kept his airbag on top of the suitcase. He pressed the button again and brought his ear close to the door, as if to listen to any response emanating from the house. In the back side of the house, an open window was swaying on its hinges and the sound was audible.
He stepped back and looked at the building, two-story house. Like the other houses in the lane, the house had a V shaped top with a firm stone wall between, serving as the facade. The number of the house in the center, near the point of the V was like a dot on the forehead of a woman. The windows on top floor were shut and the curtains were drawn. He whispered," Where could they go at this time?"
He moved toward the back of the house- the same lawn, the hedge, and the bushes; everything was same as he had seen two years before. The willow in the center, as if, seemed to be dozing like an old grizzly. But the garage was open and empty. They may have gone out, having waited for him in the morning. But they could have, at least, left a chit at the door.
He came back to the front door. The sharp August sunlight was blinding his eyes. He was sweating to the core. He sat down on his suitcase in the veranda. Suddenly, he felt the people from the windows of the houses across the road were looking at him. The English, generally, do not peep into the lives of the others, but he was sitting in the open and there was no question of privacy, therefore, they were staring at him with curiosity and interest. But, perhaps, their curiosity was aroused by another reason: almost everybody in that small town knew the other town-dwellers, and he, not only for his appearance but also for his loose Indian suit, seemed to be a strange creature to them.
No one could even guess just by looking at his wrinkled suit and sweating face that he had read his paper in Frankfurt Conference just three days before. "I might be appearing an underprivileged immigrant Asian to them," he thought and got up quickly, as if it would be easier to wait while standing.
Without a second thought, he knocked hard and jumped back-the door opened with a touch. He heard footsteps on the staircase. Melina was standing in front of him. She had run downstairs, and embraced him, before he could ask whether she was inside the house all this time.
The neighbors closed their windows one by one.
She asked softly," How long have you been waiting outside?"
"For two years..."
"Aha!" Such sense of humor of her father irritated her.
"I rang the bell twice. Where were you ?"
"The bell is not working, so I had left the door unlocked."
"You should have informed me on phone. I have been restless like a madman for one hour."
"I was about to tell you but the line got disconnected. Why didn't you insert more coins?
"I had only ten cents and the lady was like a witch!"
"Lady? Who?
"The same that disconnected the line."
Raman dragged his suitcase into the drawing room. The girl began to examine the contents with eagerness- packets of cigarettes, a long bottle of Scotch, bars of chocolate, etc. These were the things which he had bought in a hurry at the Frankfurt airport duty free shop.
"You got your hair shortened?" he looked attentively at her face for the first time.
"Yes, only for the vacations. How do I look?"
"If you were not my daughter, I would think a rogue has broken into our house."
"Oh...Papa!"She laughed and removed the wrapper of a bar of chocolate and offered to her father.
"Swiss chocolate," he waved the bar in air.
"Could you bring me a glass of water?"
"Wait, I will prepare tea for you."
"Tea I will have later," he began to grope for something in the internal pocket of his coat- a note-book, wallet, passport- everything came out but he found his box of tablets at last.
The girl came with a glass of water and asked," What is this medicine for?"
"German," said he," Very effective." He swallowed the pill with water and resettled himself on the sofa.
Everything was as he had thought. The same room, the glass-door, behind the curtains the same square of a lawn, the shadows of birds on the television screen. The birds would fly outside but the shadows appeared on the TV screen.
He came to the threshold of the kitchen. He saw the back of the girl, in front of the gas stoves.
In her black jeans and white folded sleeved shirt, she seemed to be a very delicate girl.
"Where is your mother?" he asked. Perhaps he had asked in such a low pitch of voice that the girl did not hear it but he felt as if she had raised her neck. "Is your mother upstairs?" he asked loudly but the girl remained unmoved. Then he realized that she had heard his first question as well. "Has she gone out?" he asked. The girl moved her head so indistinctly that it could either be a nod or a shake.
"Papa, will you help me?"
He quickly entered the kitchen," Tell me, what is to be done?"
"You carry this kettle, and I will be back in an instant."
"Is that all?" he felt depressed.
"OK, carry cups and saucers as well."
He reentered the room, carrying the things. He wanted to go back to the kitchen but, fearing his daughter, he sat down. A smell of something being fried wafted from the kitchen. She was cooking something for him, and he was unable to help her. Once he felt that he should go to inform her that he didn't want anything to eat but Raman knew that he was hungry. He hadn't eaten anything since morning.
There was such a long queue at the Huston Station that, buying his ticket, he had boarded the train straight. He had thought of having something in the dining car but they didn't serve anything before midday. In fact, he had taken his last meal at the Frankfurt airport the previous evening.
When he reached London at night, he kept on drinking in the bar of the hotel where he had put up for the night. After the third drink, he took the notebook out and saw the phone number and, going to the telephone booth, dialed the number. At first he did not recognize whether the voice belonged to his wife, or his daughter.
His wife may have picked the phone, because for sometime the buzzing of the phone was there and he wanted to put the phone down, but, suddenly, he heard the voice of his daughter. She sounded sleepy. She did not know whether he was calling from India, or Frankfurt, or London. He was about to tell her in detail when the time of three minutes was over, and he didn't have loose coins to continue the conversation. He was satisfied that he had conveyed the message that he would be arriving in town the following morning, although he was quite drunk and sleepy.
Those were happy moments. Outside, England was in her full glory under the golden sunlight. He was inside the house. He felt the warmth inside the house. He was away from the crowd, the airports, those fast traveling taxis, etc. He was inside the house, though it was not his own, but the chairs, curtains, sofa, TV, etc. provided a sense of homely atmosphere. He had lived among these things and he knew the history of all these things. After every two or three years, he would visit the house to meet his daughter and to see how much she had grown up. But these things had stilled from the day he had left the house. The memories of the house would go with him and come back with him.
"Father, you haven't poured tea?" she appeared from the kitchen, carrying toasts and butter on two plates. There were some fried patties as well.
"I was waiting for you."
"Serve the tea; otherwise it would be absolutely cold".
She sat next to him on the sofa," Shall I switch on the TV?"
"Not now. Listen, did you get the stamps which I had sent?"
"Yes, Papa, thanks", said she, while spreading butter over the toasts.
"But you didn't write any letter?"
"I had written one but when I got your telegram that you were coming, I thought it was not necessary to post the letter."
"You are really Gaga."
The girl looked at him and began to laugh. Gaga was the name by which he used to tease her. He had given her the name years before when he lived with them. She was little and she had not heard about India.
He bent towards her as if she were a flighty bird who could be caught only by deceiving her. "When will your mother come back?"
The question was so sudden that the girl could not lie, "She is upstairs, in her room."
"Upstairs? But just now you said....."
She was scratching the burnt toast with a knife, as if she wanted to remove the worries as well. Laughter was still there but it was like an insect in snow stuck on her lips.
"Does she know I am here?"
"Yes, she knows".
"Won't she have tea with us?"
The girl began to serve sausages on another plate, and then, remembering suddenly, she went to the kitchen to bring mustard and ketchup.
"I will go upstairs and ask her," he looked at the girl, as if trying to get her support. When she didn't answer, he moved towards the stairs.
"Papa, please!"
His feet froze.
"Do you want to fight with her again?" the girl seemed to be angry.
"Fight!" he brought out an ashamed laughter," Have I traveled two thousand miles to fight with her?"
"Then you sit with me," she was almost in tears.
"I will be back in a moment," said he and entered the bathroom, next to the staircase. He opened the tap and put his face in the washbasin. He began to sob, and the running water didn't let his tears stay on his face.
After sometime, when he came back, she was not there.
The house again looked without any living soul. He thought she may have gone into her mother's room. He was in a kind of panic. He began to open his suitcase hurriedly. He removed the papers of the Conference from the top.
He had brought a beautiful embroidered dress for his daughter, a pashmina shawl for her mother, a pair of Gujarati slippers, some hand-loom bed-covers, an album of Indian postage stamps, and an illustrated book titled "Banaras the Eternal City". A kind of mini India was spread on the floor in front of him.
Suddenly, he stopped. For sometime, he kept looking at the heap of the things he had brought. Those things seemed to be like orphans scattered in their miserable state. He felt mad for and instant, and thought to run out of the room. No one will know where he has gone. The girl would be a little surprised but he had been meeting her for years and separating without any logical reason.
She used to say," You are Coming and Going Man". At first she would show her resentment but later on it turned into laughter. He knew that she would not be shocked not to see him in the room. She would go upstairs and tell her mother," He has gone, now you can go downstairs." Then both of them would come down and they would be relieved that no one except them was in the room.
"Papa..."
He was startled, as if he had been caught red-handed. With a silly smile on his face, he looked at the girl, who was standing at the entrance and looking at the suitcase and the things, as if it was a Pandora's Box. She did not seem to be amused; perhaps she knew that the elders tricked their children by bribing them with gifts.
"So many things?" she sat in a chair in front of him, "How did they allow you to bring all this stuff? I hear, the people at the customs trouble the Indian passengers unnecessarily."
"No, this time they didn't do any such thing," he said enthusiastically," May be because I was coming from Frankfurt. They suspected on only one thing".
"What was that?" she asked hesitantly.
He pulled out a box of Indian sweets from his suitcase, and said," They were smelling these sweets as if I was carrying drugs in that box". He brought out another box, a box of pickles.
The girl quickly picked a piece and put it in her mouth. The effect was instant. The spicy pickles had brought tears in her eyes. She drank water quickly but said," I love it."
"Did they taste it, father?"
"No, they lack the courage to do so," he laughed. They saw my conference papers and said," You may go, mister."
"Are there many poor people in India, father?" she asked innocently.
Then he realized that the girl sitting in front of him was not the same whom he had left two years before. The frame was same but the picture had been changed. He knew that the children of the separated parents never got the complete information of either culture.
"Father, shall I keep these things safely?"
"What is the hurry about?"
"No, there isn't any hurry, but the mother will see all this..." she said in a worried tone of voice.
"What if she sees all this?" he looked at the girl, with a sense of curiosity on his face.
"Papa, please speak softly!" the girl looked towards the room upstairs.
Upstairs it was all quiet, as if house was a body divided into two parts, one numb and one alive. He was confused whether the girl was acting to be a puppet of her mother, because he saw neither the hand nor the strings to make the puppet dance.
He stood up. The girl was scared," Where are you going?"
"She will not come downstairs?" asked he.
"She knows that you are here," said the girl with a sense of irritation.
"Is that why she doesn't want to come?"
"No," said the girl, "that's why she can come at any moment.How silly you are? You don't understand even the simple things." She bent down and began to pick up the things one by one.
Suddenly, her hands stopped. She felt somebody was there at the door, and then she realized it was the ring of the phone. She rushed to the phone and picked the receiver. Then she shouted, "Mother, your phone!" She was leaning on the banister, with the phone hanging by the chord in her hand. The door of the room upstairs opened and the staircase began to vibrate. Someone was descending the stairs. Then a figure appeared," Who is it?"
"Hello," she said. At that moment he realized that the voice belonged to his wife. He could recognize the voice among thousands of other voices.
"Do you want to talk to Jenny?" the woman said to the girl.
"Hello Jenny, it's me," said she.
"Have a seat," said the man to the woman. He was afraid lest she should go back upstairs.
She was in a dilemma. Now it was difficult to turn, but there was no sense in standing there. She pulled a stool and sat in front of the TV.
"When did you come?" said she in such a soft voice that the man felt the woman talking to her on phone belonged to a different woman.
"It's been quite a while. I didn't know that you were upstairs".
She did not say anything.
The man pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the swept off his forehead. He attempted to smile. "I waited outside the house for about one hour, thinking that no one was inside because I did not see the car in the garage", said he.
He knew but he asked.
"The car has gone for servicing," said the woman. She had always avoided the little discussions and those very little discussions were the spars which he was clutching at, at least for some time.
"Did you get my telegram? I had come to Frankfurt, and on the same ticket, paying a few extra pounds, I came here. I had phoned you but you were not at home".
"When?" The woman looked at him with curiosity," Both of us were at home."
"The bell continued to ring but no one picked the phone. May be the operator did not understand my English and connected the wrong number, "he began to laugh. " Listen, a strange thing happened at the Heath-row airport. There was a woman who looked exactly like you from the back. The good thing was that I didn't call her".
He continued his speech as a blind folded man walking on the rope.
"Is there anything you want to say?" he asked the woman.
"I had stopped you. Why don't you understand?"
"From doing what?"
"I don't want anything from you, then why do you bring all these things to my house? What's the point?"
At first, Raman didn't understand what things she was talking about, but then he looked at the gifts scattered on the floor. "These are not much. If I had not brought all these things, my suitcase would have been empty."
"But I don't want them. Don't you understand this much?" said she in a trembling voice. She seemed to be in some kind of mental agony.
"Do you feel bad even when I come after two years?"
"Yes," her face was tensed, and then she relented," I don't want to see you, and that's all".
Is it easy? He was like the stubborn boy who in spite of knowing the answer acts like ignorant.
"Please," he pleaded.
"Leave me alone," said the woman.
"Can't I come to meet my daughter?" his voice seemed to be begging.
"Not in this house. You can meet her somewhere else".
"Where else?" the man was bewildered.
In those moments he had forgotten there was whole world outside the house: parks, roads, hotel rooms, his own house, and many more. But how he could drag the little child along?
She was laughing on phone," No, I can't come today. My father has arrived today. I didn't ask". Perhaps, her friend had asked how long the father would stay. Even the woman in front of him wanted to know it too.
The sun was slowly going down. TV screen was shining. But the house was empty, only a shadow of the woman was there. It was as if the announcer was going to appear on the TV screen to read the news. But the news was going to be the same news of the old pains and past experiences.
"I have come to meet you as well," he rallied courage.
"Me?" laughed she, with surprise and curiosity," You have not given up the habit of lying?"
"What shall I gain by lying to you now?"
"I don't know what you will gain, but what I have gained has caused me enough pain", she let out a long sigh." Had I known everything about you before, I could have done something".
"What could you do?" he felt a chill run down his spine.
"Anything. I can't live alone like you do, but in this age no one even looks at me."
"Margaret!" he unknowingly held her hand.
"Don't call me by my name. Everything is ruined." She was weeping, as if she had no concern with the man sitting in front of him.
The girl was sitting on the last step of the staircase. With her dry eyes, she was staring at her mother who was shedding tears. She knew that she could not do anything. Even in such a tender age she had seen the realities which the elders learn when they have gone through them.
Suddenly, the girl came to him," Would you like to see our garden?"
"Now?" he felt surprise. She seemed to be eager as if she wanted to say something, and she could not do it in that room.
"Come," said he, rising from his seat, "but first, you carry all these things upstairs."
"We'll collect them later".
"Later, when?" he seemed to be skeptical.
"Do come," she pulled him by his hand.
"Tell him to keep all these things in his suitcase," said the woman.
"Why?"
"I don't need these things".
He felt an inexpressible emotion rising in him," I won't take them back. If you want you can throw them out".
"Out?" her voice was stern," With these things, I can also throw YOU out". Her eyes had a glare in them.
"Won't we go to see the garden?" said the girl.
Though he was in the garden, his wife's voice was haunting him," Out...Out..."
"Why do you argue with the mother?" said the girl.
"Did I start it?" he looked at her, as if she was his enemy too.
"You do!" the girl seemed to be annoyed.
He did not want to lose either of them.
"Your garden is very beautiful," he tried to flatter her;" Do you have a gardener?"
"No, we don't," say the girl with vigor," I water the plants and trees in the evenings, and mother cuts the grass on holidays. Come here, I will show you a strange thing".
She took him near a black hedged yard in which there was a rabbit. She had one in her lap. It was like a ball of wool. It jumped and darted into the nearby bush.
"Earlier there were two, but now we have four".
"Where are the others?'
"Inside. They are quite small."
He wanted to touch the rabbit but his hand moved to the head of his daughter, and he began to caress her brown hair.
"Papa, have you bought a return ticket?"
"No...why?"
"You can get cheap return ticket here".
Had she called him to the garden to confirm whether he was going back the same night.
"Where will you stay tonight?" said she innocently.
"If I stay here...?"
The girl put the rabbit into the pen and closed the door.
"I was joking," he laughed," I will go back by last train".
"There are a few good hotels around. Shall I phone and inquire?"She held his hand and began to caress in the same way as she was caressing the rabbit.
"Listen, I will come to India during coming vacations. This time it is sure".
He did not say a word.
"Papa...Why don't you say something?"
"Every year you say the same".
"Don't you believe me? This year I will certainly come".
"Shall we go inside? Your mother would be waiting".
They entered the house. The woman was not in the drawing room. She entered the bathroom and started washing her hair.
"Papa, do you still talk to yourself?" she came out, wiping her hair with a pink towel.
"Yes, but now no one listens to me," said he, keeping his arm around her shoulders," Is there any soda bottle in the fridge?"
"You go inside, I will fetch it".
The room was deserted. His things had been arranged near his suitcase. He knew that she may have felt those things but could not gather courage to keep them back inside the suitcase.
He deliberately didn't switch on the light.
The girl came in, carrying soda and a glass.
"Where is your mother?"
"She is taking a bath. She will be coming in a moment".
He took the bottle of whiskey out of his bag and asked, "Where is your ginger ale?"
"Now I drink beer," laughed the girl, "do you need ice?"
"No, but where are you going?"
"To feed the rabbits".
He took two drinks, one after another. He did not realize that the woman was standing at the door and looking at him.
He lifted his eyes and suddenly realized her presence.
"Where is Melina?"
"In the garden to feed the rabbits".
She was standing under the banister. She was in a long maxi, and her hair was loose. Her face looked bright and fair. She was looking at the glass on the table. She was silent.
"There is ice too," said she.
"No, I have added soda. Shall I make one for you?"
She moved her head, which meant neither yes nor no. He entered the kitchen and fetched a glass. While he was pouring whiskey in the glass, she said, "That's enough".
"Won't you sit down?"
After a while, she asked," How is everyone at home?"
"They are fine. They have sent all these things".
"I know, but why do you trouble them? You carry all these things and they remain here uselessly".
"They can do only this much," said he," You have not visited them for many years. They remember you very much".
"What is the point in going now?" she took a long sip of the drink," I have no relation with them now".
"You can come with our daughter. She has never been to India".
"She will be fourteen next year, and legally she will be allowed to go anywhere".
"I am not talking about the law, I know she will not go anywhere without you".
"If I could, I would never send her there".
"Why?" he looked into her eyes.
"Aren't we two Indians enough for her?" she laughed.
He remained seated. After some time the door of the kitchen opened, and the girl came in.
She went to the phone. The woman said, "Who are you calling?"
"Would you like to have one more?" said he.
"No," she shook her head.
"Have you started drinking excessively?" said the woman.
"No, but while traveling, I cross the limit", paused he and then said," I was under the impression that you had settled down with a husband".
"What created this illusion in your mind?" she smiled.
"What happened to that girl? Doesn't she live with you?" she asked calmly.
"I live alone with my mother," said he.
"What happened?" the woman was surprised.
"Nothing, may be I am not worth living with," said he in a mournful voice.
Suddenly, he heard the voice of his daughter, "Father, this is the name of the hotel. Taxi will take you there in ten minutes", she handed him a piece of paper.
He finished his drink quickly and picked his suitcase and bag. Before either of them could say anything, he was out of the house, not knowing where he was going.
Rajasir
Chapter 2: Be Homeless
One day a very thoughtful student said to me, "Sir, why didn't Jesus, Buddha, Nanak and many like them have any home?"
I was caught unawares and I remained silent for quite some time. Then I began, as is my habit, in a didactic manner:
A long time ago there was a great sage, you may call him Christ, Buddha, Nanak, or whatever you like. He would wander from village to village, preaching to people and fulfilling their spiritual requirements. The sage had been traveling for many years and he did not stay at one place for long.
One day the sage and his disciple, let's name him Ananda, reached a village near the bank of the holy Ganges. Though the villagers were very religious, they were not ready to listen to the sage who was speaking against superstitions, dogmas, orthodoxy and evil practices prevalent in the area. They started pelting stones and some of them tore the sage's clothes. The dogs were let loose on the sage and his disciple. A stone hit the sage on his forehead and made a big cut. The sage was smiling. He said, "Be happy and live happily! God bless you and your village!"
Ananda, the disciple, was quite confused but he did not say anything.
Next day they reached another village. The villagers were more than generous; they touched his feet and took his blessings; they offered the sage their delicacies to eat; they washed his feet with milk and warm water; they provided him the softest bed available.
The sage spent two days in that village. When it was the time of departure, the whole village gathered at one place to get his blessings. The sage said, "Be homeless! Scatter all over the world!"
The villagers were intelligent and they understood what the sage meant but the disciple was more confused this time.
Finally he said," My Guru, you blessed bad people and cursed these good people. I don't understand anything."
The sage smiled and said," I told the people to be happy in their own village because they have nothing to offer to the world and they will contaminate the places they go to. They had better remain in their own village."
"You told these good people to be homeless?"
"Yes, my son. These good people should go to different places. Wherever they go they will carry their goodness with them. They will spread their fragrance in all directions. If they remain confined to their homes, the world will be deprived of many virtuous souls."
The disciple got the message and he knelt before the sage.
When I finished the story, I could see a very satisfying emotion on the faces of my students and I could feel that they had got their answer.
“Sir, I am not going to concentrate on the material from now on."
"See, only those races have prospered who have travelled and spread the message of love."
I had a faith that many modern Columbuses, Gamas and Markopoulos were in the making in my classroom.
Rajasir.
Author Notes
I often create or rather pick the situations in my classroom to inspire the students to live life to full extent. It does not mean that I disregard home and its values. The story is the allegorical representation of the good and bad aspects of the contemporary society.
Bless you all,
Rajasir
Chapter 3: Parvati
Not far from the Church gate station in Bombay, at the corner where the boundary ended and an iron-fence along the railway track started, a row of tarpaulin-roofed makeshift huts of the vagrants started and stretched up to well over a kilometer. In front of them was a two-way road, nearly always teeming with honking and blowing vehicles. Rarely was there any other time besides 1.00 to 3.00 a.m. when the road would be empty.
Along the main road, there ran a stone-paved pavement on both sides of the road. Instead of proving a help to the pedestrians, the pavement would give a good place to street vendors and beggars. The pedestrians had to jostle against one another in the peak hours. The buses, overloaded with sweating and remonstrative passengers, would pass by the pavement, emitting clouds of block smoke, leaving soot on the faces of the people living on the pavement. They were the so-called pavement-dwellers, quite habitual to smoke and dust, accustomed to rain and heat, ever quiet in response to the reproaches by the angry passers-by, unbent while getting canes and slaps from the policemen who collected weekly rent from those ill-fated souls, at the clemencies of weather. Earlier, local musclemen used to take Rs.10 per week from an individual who wanted to have a place to sleep on the pavement, but the local policemen, perhaps, tired of waiting for promotion, or restless because of no other source of income in consequence of the govt.'s stern actions against corruption, had decided to exploit the people who had pavement as their only home.
On this very footpath, there lived a young girl, about eighteen, with her old humpback father. Parvati and her father Jaman Prasad, though mostly called Jamaiya, had accepted the fact that the pavement was their home. In the name of clothes, she had only one worn out sari, that too without a blouse, which, in spite of her best efforts to cover her body, revealed the portions of her breasts, with tiny black nipples protruding under that tightly wrapped sari. Though having biscuit complexion, Parvati's facial features and curves of the waist attracted the people who passed by that pavement hut. The office-goers, waiting for taxis or buses, could not resist themselves from stealing a tantalizing glimpse of her luring body.
Her father often told her about her mother and his home in Neer Garh village near Pune. His lines, "I had a small house. Your mother was a very beautiful woman. I used to work at construction sites. I was a mason. The earthquake destroyed everything. Your mother was killed. I could not live there. You were two years old at that time. We came to Bombay. I bought this cart (hand cart like a tumbrel). I work hard but not enough money to give you a good life. You are my darling, my Parvati. I will find a bride-groom for you. You will go to your husband's house. Your old father will die, here on this footpath. Never come here after your marriage....I...will..." had been heard hundreds of times by Parvati in the evenings when he would be drunk after the day's hard work. She would give her shy smile to her father, sitting inside that oil lamp lit hut. Their belongings- an old tin box, a stove, two old blankets, a faded sheet, two dinner plates and an old soiled picture of her mother simply presented their meek disapproval of what Jamaiya used to say about Parvati's marriage and a better life.
She knew that the day's hard labor, which resulted in seven or eight rupees, could never bring her all that her father often promised.
She had a few friends, mostly those children who shared the same footpath. They were the boys who shouted at one another and their salutation also included one or two abuses. Some of them worked for the local muscle men, and the rest did whatever came their way- transporting locally brewed liquor, posing as pimps to the prostitutes in the area, stealing from the departmental stores, gambling, and what not. Nighttime street fights and police-arrests were quite common. Black-marketing of cinema tickets was as if an acquired virtue for them. They were never deterred by the police-arrests. Going to jail and coming back to their huts was like visiting some places for pleasure and homecoming. Everything seemed normal after a few days' absence.
Parvati would often think whether lives of those people would change. Sometimes, she would fix her stare on the women, girls and neatly dressed ladies who would walk with their heads held high, with an air of superiority, chatting in their tingling restrained voices, unlike the voices of the down-trodden people on the pavement. She would imagine herself to be one among them, going to office, in a light green sari, with a shoulder-bag, etc. Suddenly, her reverie would be broken by a sharp horn from one of the passing cars.
"What do they do in those offices?"Asked Parvati one day.
Her neighbor Janakibai replied indifferently, "Who knows? May be Mohan can tell you. He has passed big exam." High-school test was what they referred to as big exam.
How much Parvati wished that she could peep into the lives of those dwelling in tall rich buildings. She wanted to see how the rich parents cared for their daughters, what they did at school, how they started their marriage life, what things they ate, what they talked about, what made them so rich, why they always looked neat and clean, how their daughters did their make up and how they succeeded to get rich boy friends, and so forth. She could give the whole world for this privilege of direct vision into the lifestyle of the middle-class and rich people.
For Parvati, a festival meant a special dish of goat-meat. When the children of the wealthy people walked by, with their jeans and clean shirts on, carrying packets of sweets, crackers, flowers, etc., on the occasion of Deepawali ( the festival of lights ), she would muse over her fate, nursing a sense of vain expectation that one day she would also be one of them. Day was not difficult to pass, but as the darkness descended, She experienced uneasiness, for her father would come back home, with a bottle of locally brewed liquor. He would drink till late into night and talk loudly with himself. Parvati would be long asleep before he, finally, collapsed, having licked even the last drop.
The rich drink to mark off an occasion, or to support, or rather strengthen their notions, but her father, like millions of poor , drank to get a momentary relief from his misery, which stayed away while pulling the cart but came back as the work stopped and evening drew near.
Once or twice a week, Parvati worked as a laborer at a construction site. The money, thirty rupees a week, she mostly spent on eating different things sold by the street vendors. Sometimes, with her neighbor, Jamunabai, she afforded the luxury of going to the tea shop at the corner of the street to eat cakes and sandwiches with tea served in cups. But more from the habit than to cool the tea, Parvati would pour the tea in the saucer and drink it with loud sips.
When she was well over eighteen, Jamunabai suggested to Parvati to buy an old blouse from the market where stolen goods were sold. She spent twenty rupees and bought the blouse of light green color, the color of her dreams.
In her hut, she tried the blouse on. However she tried, the big rounded breasts could not be forced into the cup-shaped space in the blouse provided for accommodating the two heights in a woman's body. Somehow she squeezed them inside and hooked the blouse; still, some brown parts of the rounds could be seen from the curve of the neck and the gaps between two hooks in the front portion of the blouse.
The effect was instant. The green tinge had added to her beauty. To make everything look proper, she had neatly combed her hair and tied them in a knot, with the hairclip she had kept for a long time in her tin box. Some of the local boys began to flock around her. They realized that she had grown up to be in what they called business. Innocent Parvati never doubted the sincerity of the friendly invitations to movies, to teashops, or for a taxi ride. She would never go against the will of her father who often told her to stay away from those boys.
One evening, at about 8 o'clock, while Parvati was waiting for her father to return with his cart and the provisions for the night, a taxi stopped by the side of the curb. To her surprise, Jamaiya stepped out.
"Parvati! Parvati! Come, look the master has invited us to dinner," he shouted and pulled her hand. Parvati could smell the spirit in his breath. She sensed something fishy, but she kept quiet and got on the taxi, without any demur. Jamaiya kept a piece of tin-sheet in front of the opening of the hut, and it served as the door. He entered the taxi and locked the door. After a few moments, the taxi stopped in front of a building. Jamaiya paid the driver and led Parvati to an apartment on the third floor. The door was ajar, and without any hesitation, he pushed the door in and told Parvati to go inside. She knew Kanaiyalal, a local pimp, sitting on a sofa, in front of which there were two glasses with a bottle of English whiskey and some cashew nuts in a plate. He offered some to Parvati and she, before taking some, looked in the direction of her father. He nodded and smiled. Kanaiyalal motioned Parvati to sit near him on the sofa. He gave five hundred rupees to Jamaiya.
"Go into the bathroom and take a bath," Kanaiyalal said to Parvati. But she did not move. He got up and pulled her by her hand. It was a nice tiled bathroom with a shower. He handed Parvati a new sari to wear and told to come out soon. Parvati, as if hypnotized, could not go against his commands.
She didn't even know why she had been told to take a bath. She was too simple to understand the meaning of being a young woman. She was rather confused why Kanaiyalal had given money to her father. While standing under the shower and looking at her fully developed body in the wall mirror in the bathroom, she began to imagine how she would look in that new sari which was gifted to her. She applied soap vigorously all over her voluptuous body. She felt a tingling sensation when the cake of soap reached under her waist. For a moment, she believed that her father's promise of getting her married to a handsome bridegroom was going to be fulfilled.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, wearing the red sari, she looked an absolutely different Parvati. She entered the room where she had left her father with Kanaiyalal. But, she was shocked, for a while, not to find her father there.
"Where is my father?" she was very nervous.
"What work does he have here now? Come, sit by me. You are mine now. Sit with me,"Kanaiyalal spoke softly and directed her to the sofa.
"This is your house?" said Parvati hesitantly, looking at the wallpaper.
"Yes, my dear," laughed he, putting his right arm on her shoulder. Parvati was too innocent to mind that. He offered her a drink which she accepted rather timidly.
"It's bitter!" coughed Parvati, just having taken a sip of the whiskey.
"Drink it up quickly! It will taste better after a while," said Kanaiyalal, supporting her glass from the bottom and pushing it to her mouth.
The whiskey having entered her bloodstream, Parvati felt wonderful. Her eyes had developed a kind of glitter, and they looked dreamy. He looked handsome to her. His touch seemed to be very comforting. He made her drink again and gave her some snacks to eat.
After a while, she found herself in a large bed in the adjoining room. It was like a dream, in that soft velvety cushioned bed. Kanaiyalal was all over her body. He was kissing her very passionately. He began to remove her clothes very delicately. His lips enclosed her nipple of the right breast. She felt ecstasy unknown to her and she shrieked with pleasure. Parvati made no attempt to stop Kanaiyalal. The poor girl never realized that she had been sold to that beast for a few hundred rupees, and in the morning she would have to go back to the realistic world of the pavement.
Next morning, when she was walking towards her shabby tent-house beside the pavement, she could notice the stares of the neighboring boys. Some of them whistled and passed vulgar remarks. By now she was clever enough to know why they were staring at her. She had also become one of those Dhandewali (whore). She had heard about the girls selling their bodies and earning money. Now she had also become one of them.
Jamaiya was still asleep when she came inside. She stared at his face for a while, and suddenly got furious. She spat on his face with a loud vulgar shout," You bastard! You made your daughter a whore! You pimp! "Parvati did not notice that the boys of the area had gathered outside her hut. She came out and gave them a hard stare, and they begin to disappear one by one.
After that day, Parvati began to cash on her body. She had suddenly changed and she openly contacted the loc al pimps who arranged customers for her. She would go out with her customers at night and come back to her hut early in the morning. Within a few months she had saved enough money to buy a small apartment, with the help of a local pimp.
Meanwhile, Jamaiya's health began to deteriorate, for he had started drinking excessively with the money which was so easily available to him. He had to be hospitalized. In spite of the good medical care, he did not survive long. One night he vomited blood and fell unconscious. He never came to senses again. The father's death was only an incident for Parvati. After the cremation of the dead body, she entered her room and began to drink from the bottle which her father had left. Within no time she was drunk, and she began to throw his belongings out of the window. The vagrants in the street happily collected those things and ran away.
Parvati was a famous name among the pimps in the Bombay Central area. Sometimes she had to entertain one of the local police officers to get the favor and to avoid the harassment she faced when the raiding police parties troubled her. She was happy as she was. Life was easy, with all the money to spend on good food, clothes and ornaments.
One night, after about two years, she had a strange customer, a rich man's son, about 26 years of age. He had paid her Rs.6oo for one night. His name was Vijay Kumar. Unlike other customers, who would immediately undress her and fulfill their sexual demands, Vijay Kumar spent the whole night chatting with her. The questions were the same which she had heard hundreds of times from her other customers: why did you enter this business? Don't you have any family? And so on. The customers would ask such questions but having enjoyed her body, they never stopped to listen to the woes of the poor girl. But, this boy was different.
Vijay was from Pune. The boy was studying in Bombay, so he had told Parvati. After the first night, he began to visit her every Friday night. This continued for about six months, but during all this period he had never tried to get what he used to pay for. He informed Parvati that his father had passed away and his uncles had taken over the business of his father. Vijay seemed to be gloomy all the time. His mother had died when he was only ten years old.
"Parvati, now I don't want to go back to Pune. Will you marry me?" asked he, so casually that Parvati was thrown off balance. She had no words in her mouth. Since she had become a prostitute, she had stopped thinking about a married life and family.
"Answer me. Will you? I love you. I don't know what you are , or how many men you have slept with, all I know is that I love you and I want to be with you for the rest of my life", he said all this in one breath. His tone suggested extreme sincerity.
Next morning, Parvati called a broker and sold her apartment for Rs.60, 000, with the provision that the possession would be given after one month after the payment, for Parvati and Vijay needed time to look for another place to live, away from that part of Bombay. Within a week they were declared husband and wife by a priest in a small temple in the remote part of Bombay, near Borivali.
With the money which she had saved and the money received from the sale of her own apartment, they bought a small house in a village in Northern Bombay, away from the people who recognized her as a prostitute. Vijay had his driving license, and he got a taxi on daily basis from a local dealer. The owner of the taxi was a generous man, and knowing that Vijay was a qualified person, he didn't hesitate in handing him the keys of a taxi, of course without any deposit or guarantee. He charged Vijay less than the other drivers. Vijay had to pay him Rs.100 per day to the owner.
Life was easy for the newly married couple. Vijay loved Parvati very much. He would teach her how to read and write. Parvati could expect nothing more. She had all that she had once dreamt of. That Parvati from the pavement near the Church gate station had a loving husband and a small house of her own to boot. After one year, she gave birth to a boy child. Their happiness knew no bounds. Parvati was thrilled. She wanted to give him all those things which she had seen in the hands of the rich children, while she would be sitting on the pavement. Vijay had never given any chance of complain in their married life. In this way, three years passed happily.
One night, Vijay complained of a headache. Parvati gave him aspirin. It was quite normal. They suspected nothing. But, the destiny had some other plans for poor Parvati. One day, at about noon time, she was informed by a taxi driver friend of Vijay that Vijay was in a hospital. Taking her son along, she rushed to the hospital.
Vijay was in the intensive care unit. The doctors told her to bring certain medicines which they had prescribed. Parvati spent about Rs.4, 000 on his treatment. He came home after two weeks. The words of the doctor were haunting Parvati," He has a brain-tumor! He has a brain-tumor!" They had told her that the operation would cost about sixty thousand rupees. The medicines and the accommodation in the hospital would be about twenty five thousand.
Parvati never told Vijay even a word about his illness. One month later, Vijay was hospitalized. Parvati had arranged money by pawning the house. She sold all her ornaments, but she was still short of about twenty thousand rupees. There was no way she could raise the remaining amount of money to treat Vijay. Operation was to take place on Sunday. There were five days in her hand. There was no other way but to go to her old acquaintances, the pimps. She left her son with a neighbor for five days and once again entered that mire from where she had come out so happily. The customers were not hard to find. She worked day and night. Right from Rs.100 to Rs.2000 per night, she entertained almost all the customers, sometimes ten in a day. She wanted to save Vijay at any cost. For all her attempts, she could not save him. He died two days after the operation. After his death, she realized that she would have to go back whence she had come.
There was no time for mourning, for had she tried to dress like a widow, carrying the memories of her loving husband, feeding the child and her own survival would have been impossible. She had already sold most of the household goods. Now she had only one aim-to give a better life to her son. She would never let it happen to her son. She determined to collect as much money as she could by selling herself to the so-called civilized men of the society, who kissed, licked and sucked every part of her body. She was fully back in her business, and the apartment, but this time she had taken the apartment on rent.
She had sent her son to a boarding school, away from that filthy place of her own. Once in a week, she would visit him. Hardly had she recovered from the loss of her husband when a new reality was in front of her. One morning, while bathing, she noticed a small pimple on her left thigh. She didn't mind it much. After a week, three more pimples appeared on the same thigh. There was a rash around her vagina. While passing urine, she felt a burning sensation. She visited a local doctor, and he gave her some tablets.
She had to be very careful lest any sign of the disease should appear on her face. The day it happened would be the last for her business. Finally, it did happen one day. A small pimple appeared on her nose. She noticed some dry patches under her lower lip. She applied some cream, but in a few days the dry patches turned red. The customers did not notice much in the darkness of the room. They used to be either drunk or too dazed by her beauty to notice that she had a dreaded disease.
One day a pimp noticed that and he demanded bigger share. He threatened to disclose her secret to the customers. Now, she began to get less and less amount of money for the services she provided to the lusty, blinded customers. The pimps would snatch away the major portion of her earnings.
However, it did not remain a secret for long. No customers would come to her. They began to shun her. In a few months, she was thrown out of her apartment. She had no place to go to. Finally, she decided to go back to her original home- the pavement near the Church gate station. The child was with her now.
One year later, on that pavement, a woman, a leper, was trying to avoid the flies that were trying to settle on her face to suck the liquid oozing out of her wounds. There was no nose on her face. She looked frightening. The child was playing nearby. A few passers by took pity and threw a few coins in front of her. Parvati was trying to smile but the grotesque face was too disgusting to produce any smile. Wasn't it like a dream? The ultimate destiny of a lovely woman was too cruel to be described as the God's act. The lines were ringing in her ears, " I will find a handsome bridegroom for my Parvati, my goddess."
Chapter 4: East and West
It was a dark night in the month of June. For the people of the village, Rampur, life was really difficult. It was very common to have load shedding even when it drizzled or lightening flashed through the sky. The whistling wind was adding to the scare of the dark night. The villagers were huddled together in their small dark houses and infants were crying in their highest pitch of voice.
You might be thinking that I am going to write a thriller or a murder mystery. No, my friends, I am simply narrating the life style of the people for whom every dark night was not less frightening than a scary movie which they did not want to watch. In a sense, life was merely a struggle for existence. The worst role was played by, otherwise adorned by poets and writers, Mother Nature.
My story begins from a small house in that village. It was the house of a widow, Radhia, commonly called Radhia Kaki by the villagers. Her husband had been stung by a cobra when their son Vijay was two years old. The poor widow was left with only a dilapidated house and a small piece of land the produce of which was not enough for even the mother and her son.
In that dark night Radhia Kaki looked out of the window and felt as if the cluster of dark clouds would fall down and shatter their old house. Seeing the fierce form of the nature she called her grand daughter and embraced her tightly. The old memories flooded her mind.
She remembered when Vijay was about three, he was going to an open school which was conducted under a tree by a retired teacher. She wanted to send him to a good school. She worked hard day and night and with the money she saved she bought a cow. Mornings would be spent in grazing the cow. She would sell the milk to the local milk trader who transported the collected milk to the nearby town. In the afternoon Radhia Kaki would collect the cow dung from the neighboring fields and sit down in her yard to prepare dung cakes which she sold to the villagers who cooked meals on fire produced by dung cakes. In return she got rice, pulse and sometimes salt.
Having fed Vijay in the morning, she would take him to a school where she had to pay fees which was very difficult for her to arrange. She often went to bed empty stomach so that the saved ration and money could be spent on Vijay.
The struggle continued for years and finally she felt as if God had heard her pleas. Vijay passed the final exam of the Intermediate level. He got a job in an office in the town. Now Radhia Kaki felt a bit relieved because she had every reason to believe that her son would earn enough to provide for her in her old age.
The signs of some prosperity began to appear in the house. Vijay had bought a bicycle and a radio. The villagers would come to Vijay's house in the evening to listen to news and songs. A new kind of joy had, as if, covered the house and the nearby houses.
When Vijay was about 22, his mother forced him to marry a girl of her choice. Meena was the daughter of a tailor from Radhia Kaki's paternal village. Vijay could not disobey her mother's commands.
Vijay was fortunate, or we can say that his wife's luck brought him a fellowship to study in USA. The whole village was in a jubilant mood because Vijay was the first person from that village to go abroad for higher studies. Ticket and other expenses were born by the college but many other arrangements had to be done. Though his mother was not ready, Vijay took loan from a bank and deposited the papers of his land and house as a guarantee. That day Radhia Kaki was very sad and she felt that raising money on land and house was an inauspicious sign.
As the destiny would have it, Vijay reached Boston. While he was traveling by a taxi from the airport to his college hostel, his eyes were showing sure signs of surprise and delight, for he had reached a dreamland and he was sure that the villagers back home would never believe if he told them that such a place existed on earth.
First day at college was a kind of exposure to the miracle world. He met students from many countries. Whole day was spent in introductions and formalities. The hostel canteen provided food to the students. The quality of the food made him ashamed of the fact that such food was not available even on the special occasions in his village.
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