SHORT STORY
Scourge
SURENDRA
HEART ablaze and head blowing clouds of smoke, the mail train thundered into the platform and ground to a halt. It had a five-minute stop at this station, time for breakfast. The passengers were arranging their food and refreshments. A small group of half-clad beggar children, wrapped in dirty, greasy clothes, scattered and spread towards the coaches, stretching hands or dented begging bowls towards the passengers. Among them was a 10-year old girl dressed in a raggedy petticoat, a blouse a size too small, and a sort of odhni. Instead of walking towards the ordinary coaches, she climbed into a three-tier A.C. sleeper coach and, with an infinitely sad expression on her face and timid voice, began begging the women for something to eat. When she climbed down from the coach her hands were full of quarter and half scraps of pooris and paranthas, a few whole rotis, some cooked dry vegetable, and even a bit of pickle. She was highly pleased with the generosity of the givers. She needn't go beg from door to door that day. There was enough at least for the next meal.
Other children, eating what luck had brought them or frowning and brooding over their empty hands, stared at the riches of her food, jealous of her good luck. One or two children stretched their hands towards her as though she were a benefactor rather than a beggar herself. Driving them off like a stingy seth driving away a beggar, the young girl made her way straight towards the toilet built under a tree in a corner of the platform. Then, she carefully wrapped her rich pickings in her odhni and buried it under a brick among the roots of the tree.
When she came out after a short while, she was shocked to see something she could never have imagined. A young beggar boy sat calmly, legs outstretched, eating her rotis. He had clearly eaten away a portion in a great rush and now was trying to munch his way more slowly through the rest.
The girl had known this dark-black thing she called "Kaloota" for some time now. Occasionally, she deigned to exchange a few words with him. On days when he did not find even a single roti to eat she would make a great show of her generosity and offer him a few. But she would never have believed that Kalua could be so brazen.
Enraged, for a few seconds she couldn't think of a term of abuse sharp and stinging enough to leave him rattled. Then, perhaps realising that no abuse could bring the rotis back from his belly, she stopped wiping her wet hands on her petticoat, stamped her foot on the ground and screamed: "Why, you Kaloote! Did you take my rotis from here?'
"Yes", Kalua replied, swallowing a mouthful of food. He remained expressionless, as if to say he could see no problem even as he quietly withdrew his hands from the rotis.
"You dog! Why did you take my rotis!" she screamed even louder.
"I hadn't eaten anything since last night", said Kalua. "And just now I didn't even get a scrap. What would you have done with so many rotis?"
"Do I look like your mother or your wife that you can eat my rotis when you are hungry? If you didn't find any food you should have asked me for some. Why did you touch my rotis?"
"I was starving", Kalua whimpered. "I couldn't tell if you'd give me some or not."
That was too much for the girl. Furious, she clenched her teeth and cried, "I have been hungry all night, me too. I had worked so hard to get this and . . . and . . . you . . .!"
"You don't have to kill yourself over it", Kalua interrupted. "I haven't wolfed them all down. See how many are left. Why can't you eat them?"
"You wretched dog! You bastard! You son of a whore!" A torrent of abuse that she had held in check until then burst forth from the girl's mouth.
Still hurling abuse she grabbed the remaining rotis and threw them to where water and garbage had collected between the train tracks. Three or four crows swooped down and grabbed as many scraps of roti as they could and flew away! A skeletal dog yelped, greedily eyeing the leftovers.
By the time the girl had thrown away the food and turned around again, Kalua had disappeared. The anger and passion on her face was now replaced by a gathering sorrow. She was becoming tearful.
A few good men, as they do, gathered around to watch the fun. Seeing the girl's tears one of them asked her, "Hey you! What did you throw away the roti for?"
"What will you eat now? Your mother-in-law's heart?" a second taunted.
"She was just lying when she said she hadn't eaten since yesterday", a third frowned.
"No babuji, I wasn't lying. I haven't had a thing to eat since last night. I went to such trouble to find some food to fill my stomach", she said in a choked voice.
"You wretch! Why did you throw it away then?" the first man repeated his question.
The girl's eyes filled with hate as she glanced in the direction in which Kalua had disappeared. "This Kalua," she spat, "he is a fucking sweeper." With these words, weary-limbed, she began to walk away.
(Originally published in Hindi as "Lanat" by Swami Wahid Kazmi, Hans, April 2003, p. 63. Translated by Ira Raja; Edited by Mini Krishnan.)
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