The story of Shamli and Maili

It was one of those typical hot summer days, when nothing makes sense. There was no respite from the scorching heat. Even the shade of the Peepal tree seemed inadequate. Shamli finally decides to sit down and take a break. She has been working in the fields since morning. Even a minutes rest is difficult to spare. Well, there’s not much she can complain about. Shamli is aware of the financial difficulties that have bogged down her master. Otherwise Ramlal is a good man. He and Malkin have given her much love and affection. One can very well call them her foster parents. 

Shamli’s mind drifts back to that day when she had stepped into Ramlal’s family and become one of their own. Her eyes shut down in deep slumber while her mind raced back to the long, forgotten past.

Shamli was eleven years old and lived with her Ma. She had no clue about her father, who, like many other ‘lompot’ (loose character) men, had taken advantage of her mother and then left her with a child. Since then, it has only been the two of them. Her mother had struggled hard to bring up her little girl. She lost her beauty and youth, toiling hard in the fields. The masters were ruthless, they beat and tortured her. The weather was equally merciless. Her sufferings ended at dusk, only to begin anew as it darkened further. The lusty men would turn up then. Shamli was a witness to her mother’s ordeal. Every day, they prayed for a release from this pain. 

Finally the ordeal ended. Shamli’s mother decided to go back to her maternal home. 

One early morning they set out for their village. They walked past the hills, the river, and then the huge meadow that led to the little village. Shamli’s mother grew excited as the village drew closer. She kept telling her little girl, stories of her childhood, about Shamli’s grandparents, her aunts and uncles. Shamli shivered with anticipation. 

They arrived at the railway crossing which connected the village to the city. This was the final crossing and then they would be home. Shamli heard her mother sing, her beautiful voice soaring higher and higher as she danced to it. She stood back and looked at her mother who had never looked so ethereal. She had never seen her mother happier. ‘I wish she would always be happy and beautiful like this. Please God grant me this wish’! 

That was the last thing Shamli remembered. She saw a huge flash of red, heard her mother’s cry and a huge roar. Then there was nothing. She woke up to find people everywhere. Angry voices reverberated around. And then she saw her mother. They had never heard the train, neither its whistle nor the engine. Just the final roar before it hit and cut her mother into two neat slices. The sight was gory but the little child thought of the freedom her mother had finally attained. The daily torture, the nightly rape and the fear of facing her family was at last wiped out. She was gone far, very far from her.  

Little Shamli shed tears, as she sat for hours mourning her mother, mourning the loss of the family that she had dreamt of. Without her mother, she had no hope of tracking them down ever. The crowd cleared and some men led her mother’s body away for the final rites. She watched as they dug a grave for the body, piled earth on it, relegating to oblivion, the traces of a beautiful woman who had just hours ago, sung a beautiful song.

She turned back, but realized she had nowhere to go. Shamli had for long, led a protected life. But there was no one to shield her anymore. The hawks were already closing in on her. At eleven, she knew she was the prettiest. Her milky complexion, her big eyes and her pink mouth were already an object of envy amongst her friends while the boys yearned for her. She was aware of the way men looked at her. How long would Shamli be able to protect herself?  What if the train had hit her too? She shuddered and sighed. 

A cool hand closed on her forehead. She looked up to see an elderly man looking down at her. The sympathy and love in his eyes was unmistakable! That was Ramlal, her master. He had cradled her head that day as she cried. In those few minutes, Shamli knew that she had found a father in him. Ramlal took her home, introduced her to his family and there was no looking back since then. He was a wealthy man and took good care of her. She grew and blossomed under the Malkin’s care and repaid them by toiling hard in his fields. 

She finally met her match in Nathu, a local boy who was besotted with her since he had first seen her. But her happiness was short-lived. He disappeared one night. The patches of blood in the cow shed where he spent the night, the bloody rope that he kept with him and the paw marks of a leopard were enough to let everyone guess what had happened. His body was never found. Shamli was numb with pain. The days passed in agony. She worked hard in the field, lay awake for nights till the first wave of nausea hit her. She realized within a few days that Nathu was now alive within her. Shamli bounced back with a fresh lease of life. Few months later a baby was born to her, a daughter she would cherish for all the years to come. The baby was dark and resembled her father. Everyone thought she was the ugliest baby in the village. But she was the prettiest to her mother. The villagers called her Maili. Shamli called her Maii, ‘my mother’.  

Maili was now seven years old and growing up fast under the care of Shamli and Malkin. Ramlal was too old and his health was gradually failing him. His sons had left the village many years back. Badelal arrived home every two months to claim his share in the field. But never offered a helping hand to his old father, nor gave him money when his father mortgaged Malkins jewellery. Chotelal was never seen again. 

This year was an extremely difficult one. The monsoons were late. They arrived when the crop was lush and ruined everything. Then, a fire at the godown destroyed last year’s harvest which had been carefully stored. There was no buffer left for next year. Payment to the laborers were pending. Ramlal had nothing left, except for the few barren tracts of land. He had never felt so forlorn. 

Shamli took each day as it came. Food was getting scarce. The Malkin always kept away some food for Maili before serving anyone else. But the rations wouldn’t last long. She knew Ramlal had no option but sell the land to the mill owners who have been after him for quite some time. The day came sooner than she had expected. Raghuvir, the man behind the rice mills, arrived one morning. After a heated exchange, the price was negotiated, the deed signed and payment made to Ramlal. Next morning Badelal arrived and demanded a share of the money. The land could have been his future, is what he told his old father. Hence the sons should have their rightful share. The money was divided into three and Badelal left with both the shares and after a proper lunch. 

Shamli and Maili usually slept near the cowshed. As it grew dark, the stifling heat gave way to a cool breeze. The night progressed and it gradually grew colder. Maili would snuggle up to her mother for warmth. This was bliss to her. This village, her friends, the house, Malkin, everyone was so dear to her. She would never leave this place, is what she promised herself. 

That night, it was late. Shamli could see Ramlal sitting on the Khatiya outside. He had refused dinner. Shamli knew he was thinking of all the good times that he had had. All of a sudden, Ramlal slumped to the ground. He was frothing from the mouth and was incoherent. The village Kabiraj was called in. Medicines and herbs were administered. They kept a steady vigil the whole night. The sun rose the next morning, but Ramlal left his lifeless body behind. 

The sons arrived. Ramlal’s last rites were performed. They decided to sell off the house and the adjoining land for more money and shift their mother to the city. Despite Malkins protests, everything was arranged and executed in haste. No one uttered a word about Shamli and Maili. Shamli decided it was time for her to leave the household. Taking leave of the Malkin who held on to her, she gathered her belongings and directed a reluctant Maili to get ready. 

She heard voices outside. One of them was Ranjhu, the village dalal. She wondered why Ranjhu was here after all these years. This was the same man who had tried to misbehave with her. Ramlal’s timely intervention had saved her that day. Since then the master had forbade the dalal from stepping into their courtyard. A strange foreboding filled her. She rushed to Maili and hid her behind. 

Badelal and Ranjhu entered. Ranjhu, after all these years had grown much older but had not lost the wicked gleam in his eyes. His eyes raked in Shamli and Maili for quite some time. Shamli could feel her little girl’s unease. ‘Sold’, was the only word, that the lecherous man uttered before leaving the shed. Shamli knew what it meant. She pleaded Badelal to spare Maili. But he repeated that he needed money. 

With a resigned look on her face, Shamli and Maili gathered their bags and followed Ranjhu. They followed the same route which Shamli had once taken with her mother. She hoped that Maili would find a savior to take her to a new home. They trudged miles, as the morning gave way to afternoon and then to evening. There was nothing to eat but a few drops of water to drink from a pitcher that Ranjhu slung from his shoulders. 

As the sun set, they came upon a huge meadow. Shamli was surprised to find scores of women and men seated there. Each had a story of their own. Some were old and feeble, while many were young and energetic. And they all awaited their fate. Shamli learnt that their walk was over for the day. The next day they would begin their walk again. She further learnt that they would all congregate at a village near Anukul. An auction would be held for all of them. 

Shamli was stupefied. She had heard such sordid tales before, but never thought that this would happen to her. She knew what would become of the young, luscious ones, but, she was clueless why the old and haggard were being taken. Her questions had no answers. The old and senile were fast asleep. Some were barely conscious after the day’s walk and starvation. Dinner had been sparse. Some corn and broth were all that they had been given. And the quantity was meager. Shamli had given up her share to Maili. She lay awake the whole night crooning songs to her little girl. Escape was ruled out as there were men guarding them.  An escape would mean vicious torture for them. She hoped that her little girl found a good man the next day. That was all she could pray. Maili slept while Shamli watched the sky turn into a reddish hue.

Soon they were all gathered into smaller herds and made to march. The day grew warmer and oppressive. But nothing stopped them. Not even when a frail old woman passed out. Water was sprinkled on her and she was assisted by a young man. But she couldn’t make it for long. She lost the struggle. Her body was unceremoniously dumped beside the river. No arguments for a decent burial worked with Ranjhu. He maintained that the wild animals would have a good feast that night. Shedding silent tears, the herd marched on. They did not stop when the little boy of five started retching. His mother picked him up and tried carrying him. But she had nothing left in her. The boy was the next casualty. Little Maili had grown silent. She had never seen so many deaths in a day. The sufferings were too hard for her to bear. She wept uncontrollably. The little delays had made it impossible for the group to reach the fair that night. They halted beside the river. This halt had been unplanned. Food was very scarce. The young and the supposedly strong went hungry. The night was calm, but filled with occasional sighs and gasps. That night saw few more casualties. Ranjhu seemed happy as the casualties comprised mostly of senior citizens. 

The morning began early. They started their walk again. The huge group reached the fair by mid-morning. A square platform had been built in the centre to showcase the ‘specimens’ while seating arrangements had been made around it. Shamli watched in disgust as people went up, one after the other, to be exhibited, prodded with fingers, poked, weighed and then named a price. The bidding was much sober when the old and senile went up. The excitement and fervor reached its peak when the specimen was a young man or woman. The bidders rushed to the platform to inspect her, scrutinize her from all angles and quote a price. The bidders went insane on seeing fresh, new flesh. Many a woman was disrobed on this platform much to the delight of the onlookers. It was a sickening sight. 

Finally it was time for Shamli to climb up the dais. As she went up, keeping her head high, she felt nauseous. She kept her eyes tightly shut as if that was the only way she could transport herself far away from the reality. She knew what would happen next. As she counted seconds, nothing happened. She did not feel anyone jabbing his fingers into her. But she did hear the world ‘sold’. Surprised she opened her eyes and looked up into the kind eyes of Ramlal. Ramlal? No, how  could it be Ramlal?

It was Chotelal, Ramlal’s youngest son who had bidden for Shamli. How could he forget his childhood with Shamli? She has always been his best friend. Older to him by a few years, it was Shamli who would stand guard by the infant Chotey as Malkin wrapped up her household chores. It was Shamli who would accompany him to school every day. It was Shamli who had once saved him from the older bullies. The pretty, docile Shamli had threatened those big boys with a spade. How can he forget how Shamli had stood by his father for all the years? He felt ashamed that he couldn’t do anything when Shamli and Maili were sold to the evil Ranjhu. 

They embraced each other and wept. They were tears of joy. He whispered that he had also ‘bought’ Maili and they would all live happily ever after. 

P.S: Well, now the last bit for you. This mother-daughter duo are cows who were headed to the village fair. While Shamli, who was well past her youth, was destined to be slaughtered, Maili would have been sold as a help to a tiller. Every year I see huge herds of cows, traversing miles after miles, only to be sold or slaughtered. Starved and weak, many die during this arduous journey. While the old, haggard ones are slaughtered for their meat, bones and skin, the younger ones are auctioned off to the highest bidder. As human beings, our ignominy is no different from theirs.  Trafficking is a huge issue that faces us.