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.
