The Thief

The mother sat on her haunches, cradling the baby on her lap. Her shadow danced on the mud wall behind her as the dry wood crackled and burnt in the blackened brick stove in one corner of the room. In the other corner sat the old mother-in-law watching the mother and the child with her bony hands on her mouth. The night outside the hut was dark. The incessant rain trying to drown the village of Bankura in West Bengal had let up in the past few hours. The mother sobbed and wiped her nose with the tattered end of her cotton saree as she rocked on her haunches. The month old child’s chest rose and fell as he breathed through his open mouth with a wheezing noise. A puddle had formed in the middle of the room from where the roof had been leaking.

The father ran inside the house, his knee length dhoti muddied from his outing. Another man followed him inside as he closed the black umbrella and shook the water from it. The man wore an ankle length dhoti and white kurta. The father removed the gamcha tied around his forehead and squeezed it stretching his hands outside the door.

The man kept the umbrella near the entrance and sat beside the mother and the child. He took the thin hands of the child between his fingers and thumb and applied some pressure. He looked gravely at the child’s chest. He put his hand on the chest and felt a soft rumble every time the chest went up and down. He shook his head and took out a packet from the bag hung on his shoulders. The packet was wrapped in a couple of banyan leaves.

“What is the matter Vaidji?” The father asked as he stood, with his hands folded.

“Madan, I told you to take him to the town. This pneumonia is beyond me.” Vaidji replied. He opened the banyan leaves, took some green paste from the leaf and applied it with soft hands on the heaving chest of the child.

Another man wearing a saffron cloth around his shouldered entered the hut. Madan and Vaidji turned around to look at the man.

“It’s only a matter of a few hours now.” Vaidji said shaking his head gravely. The mother gave out a short yelp, covered her mouth with the end of her saree and began to sob.

“I had told you earlier, the child’s Shani has a fault and his mother’s Rahu is in the wrong place he will be critically ill and die.” The man wearing the saffron cloth addressed the cracked wall opposite him. The mother started to cry audibly.

“Panditji isn’t there a solution?” Asked Madan, his voice wreaked of a father’s desperation.

“You will have to sell the child.” Panditji replied coldly.

“How can a father sell his own child?” Madan asked sitting down on floor with his hand on his head and his voice shaking with grief.

“Who has the money to buy the child? And what is the guarantee that after the child is sold he will be cured?” Viadji said standing up and wiping his hand with the end of the kurta. “Don’t believe in these superstitions Madan and take the kid to the town hospital as soon as possible.”

“When the child is sold, he will belong to someone else and his mother’s fault will no longer affect him. You have to sell him and spend the money on buying Prasad for the Devi in the temple and feed the Prasad to a Brahman.” Panditji said turning around and beginning to leave, “and sell the child for liquid money, not food or cloth or any other barter. Only liquid money, and no less that Rs. 21. It’s an auspicious number, if you want to save him.”

Panditji went out of the house followed by Vaidji and Madan.

“Vaidji, why don’t you buy my child? I will be your slave for the rest of my life.”

“I don’t have any money on me Madan. Nobody has paid me in liquid money in a long time. They give me some rice or wheat in return for my medicines.”

“Panditji…” Madan looked at the priest questioningly.

“How can a Brahman buy a Chamaar’s child? Are you out of your mind?” Panditji shouted at Madan. “Do you think we can dismiss these classes created by God himself on our whims and fancies?

“Someone stole twenty one rupees that someone had donated to the Devi from the temple this evening.” Panditji continued and spat on the ground. “This village has lost all its morality. Stealing from the Devi’s feet is disgusting. No wonder you mortals are suffering like this.”

Madan ran to a neighboring house and knocked on the door. A short man opened the door and came out.

“Kalua, please buy my child, he is dying, it’s the only way to save him.”

Kalua looked at Madan and then at Vaidji. Listening to the commotion a few more doors opened and people came out of their huts and stood around Madan.

“What is the matter?” Kalua asked. Madan gave them an account of what Panditji had told him about saving the life of his child.

“I can only give you a handful of rice for your child.” Hariya said keeping a hand on Madan’s shoulder.

“Rice won’t do Hariya, I have to sell my son for twenty one Rupees nothing less.”

Soon everyone was out of their huts standing in the middle of the 30 house village under a dark sky, which was now beginning to clear after the torrential rains. None of the villagers had anything other than consolation to give.

“This is what will happen to everyone’s family when people steal from the Devi’s feet.” Panditji said sharply. Everyone knew about the theft that evening. The Pandit had created a huge ruckus over it. Everybody started murmuring amongst themselves discussing the kind of troubles that could befall on the village due to the theft.

“Bapu, should I buy his child?” whispered Panditji’s fifteen year old son.

“What?”

“I have some money with me.” The son showed two ten rupee note with a one rupee coin in his palm. The coin had a faint smear of vermilion on it. Panditji stared at the money in horror. No one noticed Panditji grabbing the son by his arm and pulling him towards their house behind the temple.

“Stay inside, you thief, you will ruin my hard earned reputation in the village.” Panditji said gritting his teeth and pushed the son inside the house and closed the door shut behind him.

“I will buy the child.” A man squatting under a banyan tree shouted, as Panditji returned with the expectation of making a quick buck out of someone’s ill fate. Everyone turned around to look at the source of the deep voice.

“I will buy the child, I have the money.” The man repeated shuffling a bit under the tree adjusting his weight.

“Aey Karim, where did you get the money from?” Kalua shouted.

“I went to the town today did some work as a coolie and earned this money.”

“Why would you buy a Hindu’s child?” Someone from the crowd asked.

“A child is a child. And besides we must save every life.”

“Aey Karim, you have been known to be involved in a lot of hanky panky stuff, how can we believe that it’s your hard earned money and has not come from some dubious means?” Kalua shouted again.

“No, I have left my past behind. I am a changed man. I don’t want to go to the jail again. I swear on my dead ammi.”

“There has been a theft in the temple, you know.” Someone in the crowd whispered.

“Yes I heard, someone stole twenty one rupees from the Devi’s feet.”

Panditji heard the whispering.

“How much money do you have? We need twenty one rupees.” Madan said walking towards where Karim was now standing.

“I have twenty one rupees.” Karim said reassuringly.

“Wait, how do we know that you haven’t stolen the money? There has been a theft in the temple today.” Panditji spoke, stepping forward.

“No, Panditji, I did not steal it from anywhere I earned this as a coolie in the town today.”

“How can we believe you? You have once gone to jail for stealing in the next village.” Panditji said again. “Madan if you let this man buy your child with this tainted money, not only your child will die but unspeakable trouble will come upon each and everyone in this village.”

Madan looked at Panditji his eyes wide in grief and horror. The short spark of hope was now lost forever. Will his child be saved, he thought?

Inside the hut, the child’s breathing grew faint with every passing moment. The mother was crying as a few women gathered around her, tried to console her. Outside in the conundrum of the theft everyone forgot about the ailing child and wailing mother.

“Yes that’s right, we will not let someone from another religion to get away after stealing from our temples.” A man shouted from the crowd. A murmur ran through the dark night.

“What are you waiting for? Reclaim the Devi’s money from this man.” Panditji shouted pointing towards Karim and looking towards the crowded. Madan stood in one place stunned into inaction as the horde ran towards Karim. Karim began to run, but the crowd caught up with him. As the villagers swooped upon Karim, Madan heard his wife’s wails from inside the hut. Karim began to shout for help as the villagers started to beat him up. Madan ran inside the house and saw the child lying motionless on the floor and the wife cried and wailed and beat her bossom.