~Binaya Kasajoo~
Translation : Deepak Thapa
“Hey, Dhane, stop him. Stop him at once,” shouted the shopkeeper on seeing a small boy staggering under a huge load upto his shop. “How can such a small boy carry these loads? I will not have it.”
Hearing the shopkeeper scream, the young boy lowered his burden and, not knowing what to do, began wiping his face with his cap. Jamane, who had been following, also heard the rebuke, he eased his own load onto the ground and came puto the small boy and asked, “What are you going to do now, Lale?”
“I don’t know. You tell me what I should do. Mother cannot go to work before purifying herself with the name-giving ceremony of my now-born brother. There is nothing to eat at home and father will not let me enter the house if I go back empty-handed.” In these few words Lale laid bare his predicament.
Jamane could understand how Lale felt. He remembered very well how difficult it had been when he had begun looking for work the year before. Jamane also felt responsible towards the younger one since it was he who had brought the boy to work. He walked back to the shopkeeper and asked nervously, “Can’t you let Lale also work with me, Sahuji?”
“What do you mean,” thundered the shopkeeper. “How can such a kid carry these loads?”
“Have pity, Sahuji,” begged Jamane. “It’s really bad at his home. He’s already carried one load. Let him carry some more. You can give him 50 paisa less instead.”
“Hmmmm, not 50 paisa. One rupee.” The shopkeeper looked over at Lale. “If you’re willing to carry for one rupee less, go ahead.”
Lale needed to hear no more and scampered away happily to bring the next load up.
In the evening Lale counted his earnings and calculated. To feed his parents, his six brothers and sisters and himself, he would need at least three kilos of rice. If only he could some oil, potatoes and onions, but then he would have to buy some medicine for his mother. He first bought the medicine and managed to get just about two kilos of rice with what he had left over.
When Lale reached home it was already dark. His mother was seated by the doorway preparing nettle leaves for cooking. Wailing with hunger were the children scattered here and there. And as usual, with his legs slung over the porch was Lale’s father, dead drunk and blabbering away. “Why the hell did you have such a litter like a sow? If you can’t take care of them….”
Lale took care not to show the medicine bottle and quietly slunk into the house.
(Published in “Face to Face” magazine for development, No.13. Year-end Issue, 1997.)
(Source : Writer’s Blog)
