I could see tears rolling down her cheeks. I took her to the nearest food stall and offered her
something to eat and some sweets. She was very happy.
‘Sir, you are a good man. Thank you. I must say that you remind me of my father. He used to
have a Punjabi just like the one you are wearing. He was fat and heavy built like you, sir.’
‘Oh! I see,’ I smilingly replied.
‘What do you do?’
‘I work as a baby sitter but I don’t like the job,’ she paused and continued in an aggressive tone,
“I live the life of an animal. It is miserable and it is slavery . . .” Can you help me, Sir? I want to go
back to my mother and start studying again. I told mom not to worry as I can teach and earn some
money. I have completed class xi but had to discontinue as my mother retired from a school where she
had to work as a caretaker of the hostel .Being poor, all animals are equal… I had to come here for
work.’
Her aggressive words reminded me of some fiery speeches of revolutionaries. Who is this girl
really? I asked myself, her words are very familiar and yet mysterious.
On the loudspeaker we heard the announcement that the cultural competitions are about to begin.
The girl suddenly stood up and pleaded, ‘Sir, can I also participate?’
‘Yes you can,’ I replied.
‘Thanks again, Sir, I do not know if I can come tomorrow or at Dashami. But will they offer me
money in lieu of prizes if I win the competitions?’
‘The Organizers may, but why do you want money and not prizes?’
‘Sir with that money I can buy tickets to go home to my mother.’
I understood the poor girl’s state of mind and decided to buy her a train ticket myself.
‘Don’t worry. I shall buy you a ticket tomorrow but won’t your employers object to this.’
‘No! no! no need to tell them as they will never understand me sir, I will buy a ticket myself. Will
you lend me 500 rupees? I shall return the money by MO.’
‘Yes! Yes! I will but you need not return it.’
‘No sir, by the grace of ‘the Great Cybele’ you will get back the money for sure.’ she said
pointing towards the image of Durga.
I took out seven hundred rupee notes and gave it to her.
‘Thank you sir but I only need 500 rupees.’
‘You keep the money. You will need it, ma.’
My daughter gave her anther 500 rupees from her pocket money. She took a pen and jotted down
my phone number and postal address on one of the hundred rupee notes. She then took out her 10
rupee note and scribbled her telephone number on it. She also scribbled the following lines: ‘A
Clergyman’s daughter thought of shooting an animal in an elephant farm in 1984 during the Burmese
days. . . .’ The lines did not make any sense to me. But I did not question her. I requested Sunaina and
Roma to put her name as a participant for various competitions and told her to have ‘bhog’ at 1.30 pm
and enjoy the Puja.
Around seven in the evening, when we had assembled for the evening puja, Roma,Prateek and
Sunaina came running to me.
‘Uncle you know what happened?’
‘What’ I asked.
‘The participant Shyama you referred to us this morning!’
‘Yes yes what happened to her?’
‘Nothing happened. She was just wonderful, awesome, amazing, brilliant . . .’
‘You know, she won all the four first prizes’
‘I can’t believe this, ma!’
‘The guest judges were mesmerized by her eloquence.’
She recited Kalidas Bandopadhya’s poem ‘Hat’ with such eloquence that it won the hearts of
everyone. She sang a Rabindro sangeet and also its English rendering which won her the first prize
again and at Antakshari she was unparalleled too. Even at the debate she just tore apart her opponents
with her forceful oratory. We never knew that the Children’s rhyme! “Ring-a Ring-o’ roses, A pocket
full of posies, A-tishoo,! A-tishoo! We all fall down” actually talks about the great plague of
England, where people developed rings like reddish sores and rashes all over their body and they