“Just one more story, Ammumma”, shouted Priya excitedly.

“Yes, tell us about the one thousand and one ‘manchadis’” was Anju’s comment.

Ammumma laughed and said, “God knows how many times I have told Anju this story. But have you heard it, Priya?”

“No, Ammumma. I surely would have remembered such a quaint name for a story.”  Priya lived with her parents abroad and had come for the holidays.

“It is not really a story, is it Ammumma?”

“No, it isn’t, Anju.For it really happened to me, once long back when I was about your age.”

“Wow, now I really want to hear this. Start, Ammumma.”

And Ammumma started.

“Suma, go and get some water from the river”, said Amma.

“Yes Amma”, said Suma happily. For going to the river for water was one chore Suma really liked. For that meant she could spend some time by the river playing and searching for ‘manchadis’ which used to fall from the ‘manchadi’ tree nearby. Suma’s father worked in the Panchayat and they had recently come to this village.

Suma was collecting ‘manchadis’ in earnest, for one of her grand aunts had told her,

“If you collect a thousand and one ‘manchadis’, the prince of your dreams will come for you.”

Suma had by now collected around three hundred ‘manchadis’. Oh, how long must I wait! She thought sadly.

Anyway each trip to the riverside meant she could add another handful to her collection. That was why Suma happily skipped off to the riverside. Soon she reached the shallow waters from where the whole village gathered water.

She had two pots with her. She was filling one pot when she heard a sound behind her. She turned around. A small girl, about her age, was shyly standing there, uncertain of what to do. She had a couple of pots with her too.

Suma smiled brightly and said, “Come little girl, there is a lot of water here”

Hearing her sound, the girl quickly drew back frightened. She ran away before Suma could say another word.

Many times after that, Suma saw a glimpse of her, but she would always run away before Suma could say anything. Like a frightened deer, thought Suma amusedly.

Once she asked her Amma about this girl. “Maybe this girl is an untouchable and is not supposed to collect water from the river here.”

Suma had many questions about that. It was the first time she was hearing this. Many times, she had come across people who would move away from her path respectfully when they saw her, but she hadn’t really thought much about their behaviour.

Now she was shocked to find that the untouchables, as they were called, could not get water from the river from where she collected it. But strangely, they were made to walk another four miles to a place where the same river flowed. It was the same water, so what purpose did it serve?

Her parents had never encouraged such practices, so this ugly face of village life had been closed to her till now. She could not understand why they were called untouchables. They were human beings, just like her, maybe not as well-dressed, for they were very poor.

Now Suma wanted to meet the girl again. She made it a point to go to the river everyday. Slowly through smiles and encouraging gestures, the girl drew courage to come near her. Slowly Suma came to know this girl well, the way her face lit up into a sudden smile when she saw Suma.

The girl, her name was Charu, had never took water from this spot, she firmly believed that if she did so, her God would put a curse on her. But she didn’t want to walk the four miles either. All this Suma extracted from Charu slowly.

One day, Suma had an idea. She got water in her pot, gestured to Charu to bring her pot and slowly poured the water into it, making sure not to touch the pot with her hands. For Suma was also scared. Who knows what would happen if she touched an untouchable pot?

That became the practice after that. Once Charu saw her collecting ‘manchadis’ and asked her why she was doing it. Suma told her the story. After that, Charu would also help Suma look for  ‘manchadis’, pointing out the ones which she found, never touching any of them.

One day, Suma’s mother told her something which made her very sad. Her father had been transferred to another place. Suma had by now grown to love this village. Besides, she needed around three hundred more ‘manchadis’ to reach a thousand and one. What if she couldn’t find any in the new village?

So it was a tearful Suma who went to gather water that day. She told Charu the sad news. Charu was also unhappy. Now she would have to walk the four miles, and also she would miss Suma’s friendship.

Soon it was time for Suma to leave and it was the last trip to get water. Charu was waiting by the river with a bag in her hand. It was full of ‘manchadis’, lots of them. Charu offered the bag to Suma hesitantly.

Suma’s eagerness for the ‘manchadis’ soon overcame her fear, and she held out her hand. The bag exchanged hands. Both Suma and Charu closed their eyes in fear, waiting for the curse to take effect. Nothing happened, and both of them laughed joyously. They hugged each other and cried. Now they knew that they were just two little girls. It was a sad farewell for both of them.

Suma took the two bags of ‘manchadis’ safely with her. At the new house, she counted them out. Together, they were a little more than a thousand and one. But she didn’t keep them together; she kept them in their own bags as Suma’s and Charu’s ‘manchadis’.

Here Ammumma ended the story. Priya asked excitedly,”And did you get your prince?”

“Of course I did. I was married to your grandfather two years after that. And he was really the prince of my dreams.”

“Now, Anju, you run to my room and bring the jewellery box I keep in my chest.”

“You are going to open it, Ammumma? I have never seen it opened.  Is there a lot of treasure inside?” asked Anju.

“Sure there is. You bring it and I will show it to you.” said Ammumma.

The box was opened and with bated breath, Anju and Priya waited. Ammumma brought out two old cloth bags.

“The ‘manchadis’” cried Anju and Priya together.

“Yes. This one’s mine and this one’s Charu’s. I have kept them separate all these years.”

Saying so, Ammumma opened both the bags and shook out both into one big heap in front of them.

“Now tell me” she asked mixing the two with her hands, “which are mine and which are the ‘untouchable manchadis’?”

***********************************************

I stopped writing this midway as I felt it wasn’t relevant to the present situation. But then I saw a news item on TV that even now, in literate Kerala, untouchability is practised in some villages.

 


This story won a consolation prize in the 2007 Tinkle Short Story Contest.