From the riches to the rags...
As the sun went down behind the trees leaving behind an orange-red hue in the western sky, and a flock of birds gabbled on their way back home, Nitai drew close to him his rusted bowl that was lying all day on the pavement in front of him. It was a small bowl, blackened with dirt on its outer side, and reddened at places from overexposure to both rain and sun. This bowl had been his companion for more than thirty years, ever since he had crossed over to this side of the border during the partition of Bengal.
Two one rupee, one generously donated two rupees, and three fifty paisa coins lay in it.
Nitai laid them out, arranged them on the pavement and counted. Well, five rupees-fifty paisa…that’s the day’s earning.
He supported his weak body on his bent, irregularly shaped stick and stood up. His tattered clothes barely covered his scrawny body. He was frail, and his belly caved inwards with hunger. He was just a covering of skin on bones. His ailing spirit seemed to be in love with that lean, skeletal body, for it had always refused to leave it in spite of his daily sufferings.
Nitai had seen it all, borne it all, with silence and helplessness! He had seen his small well-knit happy family and acres of green fields. He had seen his own countrymen turning into killers and squatters, blinded by the evils of religious fanaticism. He had seen his golden crops getting stained red with blood, the blood of his loved ones, and heard their screams and cries for help. He had seen his house being set to fire. But then, he was helpless…….he could only run away under the commands of the same wretched spirit that had always refused to leave his body. How much he wished that he had not listened to it that time!
He had seen it all, and felt it all!
He had felt the fear, pain and worry in the bleary eyes of the thousand others who had crossed over the borders along with him. He had felt relieved at the Government’s assurances that they all will get food, shelter and work; work with good wages. But alas! He had seen a nightmare coming true and his dreams getting shattered, and then he had found himself turning from a refugee to a beggar. Yes, he had seen it all, heard it all, and felt it all!
Nitai picked up his begging bowl and supported himself on his stick and looked around for a while. Cars whizzed by, Trams rattled on and buses sped along the wide roads. He scuffed along the footpath towards the Victoria Memorial, extending his small rusted begging bowl to the passers-by. Old memories flashed across his mind and tears crowded in his eyes, but he wiped them off and moved on.
Two one rupee, one generously donated two rupees, and three fifty paisa coins lay in it.
Nitai laid them out, arranged them on the pavement and counted. Well, five rupees-fifty paisa…that’s the day’s earning.
He supported his weak body on his bent, irregularly shaped stick and stood up. His tattered clothes barely covered his scrawny body. He was frail, and his belly caved inwards with hunger. He was just a covering of skin on bones. His ailing spirit seemed to be in love with that lean, skeletal body, for it had always refused to leave it in spite of his daily sufferings.
Nitai had seen it all, borne it all, with silence and helplessness! He had seen his small well-knit happy family and acres of green fields. He had seen his own countrymen turning into killers and squatters, blinded by the evils of religious fanaticism. He had seen his golden crops getting stained red with blood, the blood of his loved ones, and heard their screams and cries for help. He had seen his house being set to fire. But then, he was helpless…….he could only run away under the commands of the same wretched spirit that had always refused to leave his body. How much he wished that he had not listened to it that time!
He had seen it all, and felt it all!
He had felt the fear, pain and worry in the bleary eyes of the thousand others who had crossed over the borders along with him. He had felt relieved at the Government’s assurances that they all will get food, shelter and work; work with good wages. But alas! He had seen a nightmare coming true and his dreams getting shattered, and then he had found himself turning from a refugee to a beggar. Yes, he had seen it all, heard it all, and felt it all!
Nitai picked up his begging bowl and supported himself on his stick and looked around for a while. Cars whizzed by, Trams rattled on and buses sped along the wide roads. He scuffed along the footpath towards the Victoria Memorial, extending his small rusted begging bowl to the passers-by. Old memories flashed across his mind and tears crowded in his eyes, but he wiped them off and moved on.
posted by Soumya Sen @ 3:19 AM
2 comments
2 Comments:
Is tragedy and suffering all u can write about? Let us have some humor here please!
There are other ways to look at unhappiness...
"The probability that we may fail in the struggle ought not to deter us from the support of a cause we believe to be just. - Abraham Lincoln"
I know that writing about the 'have nots' and a struggle to voice their story may fail to be an eye-opener, but i won't be deterred from supporting the cause of writing their stories.
These are not tragedy, they are a step for inculcating socialist ideas in the minds of the readers.
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