Homeward Bound
She looked at the long line of vehicles. The signal had turned red. She had found out that when the red light comes on in the big post, the vehicles would stop, and people could cross the road. She hurried across. Once on the other side, she furtively looked to where her Ma and Baba would be. No, no one had seen her.
She smiled suddenly. She had never come this way before. Her Ma had extracted a promise from her that she would not cross the road. But the line of shops, with the colourful display boards had been beckoning to her for too long now. Today, with her little brother Munna asleep, she had got the perfect chance.
She walked slowly, gazing wonderingly at the shops that displayed their wares proudly – a shop full of shoes and hand bags, another with mannequins draped with colourful sarees. She passed them by. She saw the roadside vendors dozing, sitting next to their carts. It was mid afternoon now and they did not see any prospective customers.
The next shop window made her pause. Through the glass window, she saw pastries, laddoo, jalebi, halwa and such other items that made her mouth water. Of course, she did not know all the names. She had eaten a laddoo once or twice and anything that was in its company must be delightful, she reasoned using her eight year old intelligence. Her stomach grumbled. The rice and watery dal that she had eaten seemed to be a long time ago. Her mouth started to water.
The shop keeper caught sight of her just then. He had just woken up from his siesta, polished the display glass once again, in anticipation of the evening rush, and finished arranging the fresh food stuffs. Then he had come out with a glass of water and splashed some on the road in front of him, to settle the dust.
He was about to shoo her away when he saw her spellbound expression. Maybe he had had a good dream today, or maybe he just was a good soul, he called out, “Little girl, which one do you want?”
She shook her head. She did not understand a word.
The vendor sitting in the shade of the shop told the shop keeper, “She is one from the workers who are building the underpass; she knows only Hindi.”
The shop keeper nodded his understanding, turned to the display window and pointed fingers to each of the items in turn. She smiled and thought for a while. Then she pointed to the orange jalebi. The shop keeper went inside, took one and brought it out to her. She accepted it, eyes gleaming. Then she looked at him, smiled and turned around. She walked for a while before she looked at the slightly hot jalebi in her hand. She took a bite, it melted in her mouth. It was better than that laddoo, she thought!
Soon she had reached the tarpaulin tent which was her home. She savoured each bite of the jalebi. Suddenly, she saw her mother standing inside the tent. She stopped guiltily. Her mother grabbed hold of her, struck her a couple of times. The jalebi fell to the ground. Soon explanations were asked for and given. A couple more blows found their way to her behind. To her surprise, her mother started to cry. Seeing that, she cried again.
Munna also woke up hearing the bawling and added to the noise.
“I have to go now. Don’t step out of the tent.” Her mother admonished her.
She cried for a while. Then she picked up the piece of jalebi and gave a bite to Munna.
Sitting inside the tent is boring. It is hot and there is nothing to do. When Munna wakes up from his nap, we usually play outside, with the other children. But I am scared of Ma. She hits me often now. She never used to before when we were back home. I don’t like it here. I miss our dog Babloo, the hens and the cow. I used to help Ma find the eggs. She had time to play with us then. Baba also smiled often and took me to the fair sometimes. Then it did not rain for many years. Baba had to sell the hen and the cows. We did not have any food to eat.
One day, Baba came home and told Ma to pack what we needed. He had found work. It was in a far-off land, said Baba. There would be enough for us to eat. When I cried and said I did not want to leave Babloo, Baba said we would come back soon.
It has been so long now. I wonder if he misses me, my Babloo. I wonder who gives him food to eat and tickles his ears. I also miss going to school with my friends.
Here Ma and Baba leave early in the morning. They are digging the earth and building a tunnel for the vehicles. They wear a round yellow helmet. Ma looks funny in the helmet, but she never laughs with me. Every day, she tells me not to go wandering outside, to stay with the other children. She tells me there are people who will take us away and chop off our hands and legs. I am afraid, but sometimes I do go out. That is how I got the sweet today.
Every evening, when Ma puts me to sleep, I ask her when we are going back. She always tells, “Soon.”
The construction of the underpass was progressing well. The official inauguration had been planned already. It was time for the migrant workers to go, to dismantle their tents and leave.
She happily watched her mother pack their meagre belongings. Baba was busy taking down the tent. They were going home. She reminded Munna about Babloo and that they would be seeing him soon. She also told him about school and how he would have a lot of friends.
“Are you telling her now?” he asked her.
She looked at her daughter, tears found their way down her cheeks. She shook her head. Let her find out slowly.
They got onto the trucks with the other families – off to another city, to build a flyover this time.
She slept peacefully, on her mother’s lap, dreaming of going home, soon.
Featured by Sulekha
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Thank You Priya
Happy to see you here often!
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Thank You Avinashjee
Good to see you here as you are one of my favourites!
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Usha,
This one tugged at my heart. So simply written, yet so compelling.
Priya.
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Usha,
I missed this one probably in the rush for my vacation.
But this is seriously good. very simply written but effective in getting the gooseflesh on my arms.
Avinash
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Thank You Mrs. Muffet Welcome here
late is fine, never is not
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Dr. P. E. Sarangadhara Kartha Thank You Sir. That is true, all of us make promises to our mothers and fail to keep them.. but then, who else would put up with that and love us all the same?
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Lakshmi Thank You. yes, we often consider them as an extension of the machinery
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Hi Usha M,
Why didn't I see it before?!
Sorry, arrived very late .
A brilliant narration.... ...every voice amazes......what a touching story !!!
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Dear Usha,
Flowing narration with the help of simple idioms!
Somewhere along the length of the story, I could connect with the kid. (Probably that was a link you had planted in the story's soul). When we left our Mother, She, like the kid's mother, had taken a promise from us, that, in this new environment, be a good child and do not try to be wayward. But what we are doing? Just opposite (at least most of the times) to our promise to our Mother (probably like all kids worththeir salt).
Good story.
Kartha
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UshaM
So true of these nomadic by necessity workers who are treated like cattle and dragged from place to place.........
They are an extension of the machinery that is used in the construction and are reduced to lifeless zombies by the pitiless work they do to hold body and soul together
Lakshmi
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