T. Janakiraman
Reproduced without permission from "The Plough and the Stars: Stories from Tamilnad". Editors: K. Swaminathan, Periaswami Thooran, and M.R. Perumal Mudaliar. Asia Publishing House, New York, 1963.
Part-3 of 3
Suddenly my boy bit on a hot chili and drew his breath
sharply his eyes stinging.
"Take a drink of water," I said.
The girl rose at once and going to the counter grabbed a
handful of sugar which she brought to the boy.
A little later she said to him: "Wait. The curds and rice
are not mixed properly. I shall mix it nicely for you." And wash-
ing her own hands, she mixed the rice carefully for him. The boy
watched her and smiled at me, pleased.
"Why the smile?" I asked.
"She is mixing the rice for me, Daddy," he said unable to explain
it better.
Later it was she who washed his hand for him and wiped his mouth.
She then said to him, "Now, take a glass of water."
"No, I don't want it."
"If you don't drink water after a meal," she explained "the food
will not be digested properly. Come, drink it."
"Contrary to his usual manner, the boy did as he was told and
without a word, drank the water. The girl took him by the hand
with a familiarity of long aquaintance and led him back to the
compartment carefully. The boy also happily trotted beside her,
not minding her being a stranger.
"Do you know the people in Calcutta at whose house you're going
to work?" I asked her.
"No, uncle, I only know that the gentleman has got a big job. His
pay is Rs. 3000 a month. I have to look after their baby. That
will be my work."
One child, I thought, is going from somewhere to look after
some other child. A mother was sending her child all that way to
a strange place to work for a living, and the child had started
hopefully, rolling = up an extra skirt and blouse. What courage!
"A very smart girl this, you know," I said to the lady. "She
has an affectionate disposition. If she were not going to Cal-
cutta, I would have taken her along with me. Just look at her.
She did not even say she was hungry, till we asked her. Well,
only the Lord should take care of this child."
My son picked up the orange which had fallen down.
"Shall I peel it for you?" asked the lady.
"No, aunty, I'm going to ask my mother to peel it for me when I
go home."
"I am also a mother," she said smiling.
The boy smiled and kept quiet. After a moment he turned to Kunju.
"How old are you?" he asked her.
"Ten."
"Ten?" said the boy counting off his fingers. "Then you must be
in the fifth class."
"No," she said.
"Is it a rule that at ten you must be in the fifth class?" I
asked him.
"Yes, Daddy. I am six years old. I am in the first class. 6-7-8-
9-10. She must be in the fifth class."
"She doesn't go to school," I said.
"You don't go to school?" he asked her surprised. "Do you read at
home?"
"She is going to Calcutta," I said. "That's why she doesn't go to
school."
"What is she going to Calcutta for?"
"To work in a house."
"No! ...... Are you really going to work?"
"Yes."
The boy sat staring at her for some time. He could not believe it.
"Can you ride a bicycle?" he asked her at last.
The girl laughed at this question. That was the first time she
had laughed since we met.
"How would I know cycling?" she said.
"Then how can you go to work?"
"I will walk."
He stared at her again, puzzled. His father went to his work
riding on a bicycle. So this girl also, as if she was going to
work, must go on a bicycle. He could not believe there could be
any other way. Soon he stopped wondering however and the two
children sat quietly looking out of the window.
"How do you explain this girl's blind faith?" I asked the lady.
"What does she know of those people in Calcutta?"
"They are relations of the judge, I understand," said the lady,
"and the man is employed in some firm there. He gets an income
of three thousand rupees a month. I think they will treat her
well. But however well they treat her and however good be the
food and clothes they give her, she will still be made to think
she is a servant. When all is said and done, can the girl think
of them as her own parents? But she has an affectionate disposi-
tion as I told you and will manage to be reasonably happy any-
where. But still, it will not be like staying with her own
parents, will it?"
I felt sick with anxiety about this girl. I felt as if it
was I who was going to a strange place where I knew nobody. A
fear and an emptiness gripped me.
"God will take care of this orphan, I suppose. Else, how could
her parents send her out into the world like this? They couldn't
pin their faith on mere men."
"Yes, who else but God can take care of her? We go round and
round and finally come to God, don't we? But who is responsible,
we must also ask, for a family coming to these straits? Who seeks
the cure for such evils in society? If her father was paid enough
by his school, would this child have to go so far for a living?"
"But then who will take care after the children of judges?"
"That is also true."
"Every home has its problems," I said. "Perhaps the man who pays
her father to teach in his school is a poor man himself."
I couldn't understand it at all.
That little girl moved us all to pity. The other passengers
too, who had listened to our conversation, felt strongly dis-
turbed. The gentleman- he seemed a Maharashtrian Brahmin- who
was sitting at the end of the seat bit his lip and looked out of
the window.
The train arrived at Kumbakonam.
As I took leave of the lady and the child I gave the girl a
rupee. The lady stopped me saying: "Why do you have to give her
anything?"
"Why shouldn't I? After all, it is not your own child. Somehow
I feel in some small way responsible for this girl. I can't do
more than this, but this much I want to."
The woman, with a sigh, acknowledged my argument.
"Take it then," she said to the girl, and to me, "God will bless
you for this."
"Daddy, I want to give this to her," said my son, stretching out
his hand with the orange in it.
"Give it. Why ask me?"
"No, let him take home. He was so looking forward to having his
mother peel it for him."
"Ask her to take it, Daddy."
"Take it, my dear."
The girl took the orange.
"You have got a good son," said the lady. "Come here and give me
a kiss."
As my son ran back to me, I caught him in an embrace, and
turning my face away so that I would not betray myself I walked
away carrying him. Couln't my son walk? He could, but somehow an
overpowering desire came over me to hold him in my arms. I carried
him and fondled him as I walked. My heart overflowed with joy. I
was holding in my arms Love itself, the all-embracing love which
leads to supreme bliss.
End of Part 3 of 3; i.e., the Story
