Paro - Crumpled Note

It was two days since Paro-Miriyam was back and there was a buzz about James Ekka’s house. She was looking well dressed and well fed. All the children had gathered in her house to listen to the tales of big cities from her and she enthralled them all with tales of Fast cars, Buses, Air-conditioned trains, Big roads, Cinema halls, Electricity and Television. The one person she was dying to meet and share her experiences with was Sis Stella and she was away.

Sis Stella came back as soon as she heard of Miriyam. After having lunch at Miriyam’s house they walked back to the Church and she heard Miriyam’s story. Beginning with the train journey to Delhi and ending in another train trip back home. They sat under the big Neem tree as she also told her about her resolve to become a Paro carrier, make money and bring up her two children.

As the afternoon Sun became harsh they went in to Sis Stella’s room, sat on the cool floor and sipped tea from steel cups. During a lull in the conversation Miriyam asked,

“You have been such a great mentor for me but have never shared anything about yourself”
“There’s nothing to tell Miriyam. I am here as always”
“You seemed to know so much about everything. I want know where you are from, where did you grow up”.

She looked up at the ceiling wistfully, as if trying to make up her mind.

“My name is Seema and I was your Fakhru’s first deal”
“What, you were a Paro too?”
“It was over twenty years ago that I went, much like you, on a train journey to Rajasthan as a Paro”.

“I had reached Ashraf’s village in the morning. His family had been cold towards me in the beginning. I was his third wife. First one had died leaving behind a tiny girl and the second one had produced three girls in a row. They all had been disappointed that there was no boy to take the family forward even after six years of marriage.

“Tribal girls are quite strong and produce a lot of boys”
“My sister’s Devar also brought a Paro and she gave him two boys in two years”
“and what’s the harm? If it doesn’t work, sell her off”

Fortified with such statements, Ashraf had sought out Fakhru and both of them came to take me.

There was no sympathy from anyone in those initial months. I used to long for a word of appreciation or a hint of love and all I used to get was cold stares and more housework. Days turned to weeks and weeks to months. I did not get pregnant and the family became more and more oppressive.

I would be up before day-break and work like a slave all day till late in the night. Then at night Ashraf would try to produce a baby. One day his mother slapped me when she found a pebble in her Dal. This brought some sympathy from Ashraf and later that night I hugged him and cried my heart out. This catharsis must have done something because I conceived that week.

Within a month, my life changed. From a pariah slave I became the family’s savior. They took me to a Doctor, got all my check-ups done. I was advised rest and a healthy diet. After three months I was taken to Sikar town where an ultra-sound was conducted.

“Ladka hai. It’s a boy”

These two words spread like wildfire in the village and I suddenly became special. They wouldn’t let me do any work, I was fed on the bed. All sorts of sweets and meats were served up.

I can’t tell you the feeling when Mohd. Islam was born. He was very tiny but had my eyes and nose. Motherhood can only be experienced Miriyam, I can’t tell you my innate joy of those initial two-three months.

Things began to change after six months. I was back at doing my household chores and was working in the fields too. Islam would spend all day with my Mother-in-law. She would ensure that I was kept busy all day and would send Islam to me only after he had gone off to sleep at night. It was thick of winter and Islam was now nearly a year old. He was a strong lad and had started sitting up. He was so adorable when he laughed out loudly.

The men were sitting around and chatting one day when I overheard that I was to be sold off. That night I had a fight with Ashraf. I just could not understand why? I had been really good, worked really hard and had finally got them a son too. Why did they want to get rid of me? Apparently, I discovered much later, Ashraf’s other wife was from a rich family and was putting immense pressure on them to let her be the sole wife.

The deal got done and I was to leave them. When I began packing my things among tears, that lightening really struck.

“Ladka nahin jayega. The boy will remain here”

I was dumbstruck. I just could not comprehend how they could treat me like this. I wailed and screamed and pleaded. They were all stone faced. My mother-in-law was her nasty self,

“He is my grandson. How can we let you take him away.”
“But what about me? I bore him for nine months, he is a piece of my body. How can you take him away? Please have mercy”

For the rest of the night I hugged Islam and wept. They had locked my room to stop me from running away at night. In the morning a few guys from my new would-be family came to take me away. I was trapped and could really see no way out. Screaming and wailing I went with them. My eyes were swollen with crying but I felt helpless. I stayed at the new house for two days and decided to ditch them and run away.

I slipped away at night and came back to Ashraf’s house to see my Islam once again. It was after mid-night when I reached home and knocked on the window pane. Ashraf came out and hugged me tightly while I wept again.

“Look Seema, I am sorry for all this but I promise you, Islam will remain the apple of my eye. Let him grow up a bit and you can come back to see him once tempers cool down here a bit”
“How am I to live?”
“Why don’t you go back to your village? I will send you money regularly. We’ll see after four or five years”

Amidst un-consolable sobbing I asked to see him for the last time. Ashraf went in and brought sleeping Islam out. He also brought a pair of his clothes out for me to take as a souvenir. I hugged him and cried.

Sis Stella had silent tears streaming down her cheeks as she took Miriyam by the hand to an old trunk in her room. She sat on the floor, opened it and brought out a small blue Kurta-pyjama, a tiny pair of gloves, a red rattle, a black thread with a lucky charm and finally a much folded, crumpled and straightened piece of paper. On it was a tiny turmeric-stained hand-print.