GOD HANDCUFFS

Harvesting was over. I always accompanied my mother for plucking cotton buds, plucking out and thrashing groundnuts, removing wild grass, weeds in the crops and such other jobs. Horrible was to collect remains of crops scattered in the fields and then burn its heaps in scorching sun heat during summer. As I was doing such jobs on Sundays and holidays I simply did not like Sundays, festival holidays and summer vacations.

During summer, among other jobs another hard job was plucking out the dried sticks of cotton trees buried deep in the earth of the fields. My mother and other members of my family would go to the fields before sunrise. It was absolutely necessary to wrap fingers and palms with long strips of cloth, which served as protection pads while plucking the sticks buried in the ground. Both jobs, though I narrated above looked very simple and easy but it required physical strength, endurance, and capacity to tolerate extreme summer heat and control thirst, as you would feel thirsty after every 10-15 minutes. This time my mother took me daily with her. I would pluck out only small and smooth sticks. After work she would untie my wrappers and holding my palms in her hands look closely at them whether my plucking stick had caused any boils on the palms. If she noticed any, she looked so sad. In the summer when she collected our wages from landowner, it was hardly 4 anas (i.e. a quarter rupee).

Having worked continuously for about 15-20 days, one day she told me that we both were going to my sister Dwarka’s house at her village Nakashi about 10-15 miles away from our village. It was Dwarka’s remarriage as her first husband was dead. My brother-in-law Onkar also a poor man – had accepted my sister with her two children. He was so nice, simple and honest beyond description. Every year he invited us to his village and urged us to come to a popular fair at village named Shindkhed still further 10 miles away from his village. On my insistence my mother allowed me to accompany   one of  my close class friend Bhivson (real name) from our locality to the fair.

I was very glad when my mother told that this time we were going to the Shindkhed fair also. She had collected two rupees for the fair. With or without money, but it was a great joyful event for children. I had gone to

Gaigaon fair – mentioned earlier and also seen fair of Shegaon of Saint Gajanan Maharaj – just 3 miles away from Jawla.

We had no bullock-cart nor could we afford motor fare. That time motor was being driven on coal-thermal power. Coal was stuffed in a big barrel fixed behind the motor. And we wanted to save the precious amount for fair expenses. So my mother and I with my friend walked the distance on foot. Our first halting place was Balapur – a small town situated on the conflunence of the rivers. My mother had brought one sorghum bread and some pulp of thrashed green chilies. We finished it there, drank plenty of water and reached the next stop at Wadegaon. Whenever my mother felt that walking barefooted in the heat was too much for me, she would carry me on her back for a short distance.In fact to carry a child like me, was also quite a difficult job for her. At her home, my sister and brother-in-law happily received us.

After staying for 2-3 days with my sister, we all including my sister and her family embarked upon, again walking for our pilgrimage journey. As it was a very popular fair, I could see decorated bullock-carts, children in colourful dresses and women old and young in new sarees seated in the carts vis-à-vis our old clothes, barefoot walking, full of sweat all over the body due to heat which made me uneasy. But such events would make me more determined to put an end to our condition.

Somehow, we all reached the Shindkhed fair. Our family settled down under the scanty shade of a tree. The place was full of people, shops, bullock-carts and resounding with noises of various musical instruments. My mother had a habit of eating betel nut, tobacco and betel leaves. She had finished her tobacco and now as we squatted, she desired to eat it. So she gave me a coin of one rupee and asked to fetch some betel nut leaves, tobacco from nearby shop of the fair warning not to loose the coin as she had now only one rupee out of two we had brought.

I took the rupee coin keeping in my hand and started roaming here and there in the fair with my friend to find out the tobacco shop, but not far off from the place our family members were sitting.

Suddenly from nowhere a policeman caught my neck and started shouting at me. He held me so tight and asked me what I was holding

in my hands. Terribly frightened I showed him the one rupee coin.

In a broken voice I told him that my mother had given it to bring some tobacco and nuts for her. But he did not listen to me tightening his grip around my neck began to abuse me saying that I was pick pocketing and he caught me red handed. He started dragging me and also shouting in vulgar words. He brought me to the police station of the fair. I was crying and telling that the coin was given by my mother. But I found none was listening to me. When I looked around for my friend he was nowhere. Within 10 minutes my entire family reached to police station. My friend scared of the scene had ran away and he brought my family there.

All of them tried to explain the police about us and the rupee. It was all in vain. My mother was dumb shaken and could not say a word except that I was not a thief. The police just did not pay any attention to their narration telling as to how we worked hard in the field and saved these two rupees just to come to this fair. My sister told them how we walked from our village to her village and from there to the place of fair. “He is a pickpocket and I have caught him red handed”-the policeman was repeating the same thing again and again. Without paying even slightest heed to crying of my mother he registered a case against me. They took my fingerprints. My brother-in-law stood as a guarantor for me; gave me the bail and police allowed me to go warning that I must attend court when summoned. Everyone was shaken. Gloom on their faces was visible. Everybody knew that I was innocent and police falsely implicated me in the case. It was a cruel charge. I remembered the hard and painful work my mother and I had undergone to save that money just to come to this fair. Whole thing turned topsy-turvy. Nobody was in mood to see the fair. Now we were left with one rupee only as the police confiscated the other one rupee.

Immediately we started returning back and walking throughout the night reached my sister’s home in the morning. Next day my mother and I with my friend Bhivson left my sister’s place and returned our village. It was a long march. We narrated the case to my brother Gunaji and my family members. My friend told the story to our common classmates. My brother immediately looked pale. Probably he understood its implications and seriousness. Some believed us, some

did not, although my friend Bhivson who himself was sole eyewitness to the story from beginning to the end, tried his best to tell as to how I was caught in his presence on totally false charge of pick pocket.

Summer vacation was over. I passed my 5^th standard and was attending my classes as usual. One day we received a letter from Akola Court ordering me to attend the Court in connection with my case of pickpocket. Since nothing was heard after the incident for months, we presumed that the matter was closed. But now suddenly it came with a frightening bang.

Akola was a district place, quite a big city about 25 miles away from our village. To reach Akola meant either we had to go by train from Shegaon or walk upto it. When we were struggling hard to purchase our one times meal, to go by train to Akola was just out of question. But we had to go to Akola, engage a lawyer and arrange money for further litigations. My brother had already explained the difficulties that we would be facing when we received the court summon. Everybody started looking at each other with blank face! What to do? Was a big question before us. We were in a grave situation. It being a first hearing my brother borrowed some money and we went to Shegaon and reached Akola by train. It was my first train journey. It was 10 AM in the morning. We drank water from the tap of the court premises. My brother did some inquiries and he took me inside the concerned Courtroom. We were kept waiting up to 4 PM.

Then they informed that hearing was postponed. The next date was after 15 days. Again he made some inquiries; met one lawyer who asked us to meet him next day in the morning at his residence and gave his address to my brother. That night we slept on the platform of Akola railway station. As I was too young to understand the case, my brother never discussed anything about  it  with me. He used to smoke tobacco through his small earthen pipe. Whenever he was in difficulty he would smoke very frequently. On that night also whenever I woke up due to trains’ whistles I saw him smoking and engrossed in deep thinking.

He woke up me in the morning and asked me to wash my face with the tap water on the platform. Probably he had already finished his morning jobs. He purchased one cup of tea and we shared it together.

He found out the lawyer’s residence. The lawyer was a middle aged man, very fair, handsome and extremely soft-spoken. His residence was a huge bungalow. He listened the case from me, then told my brother to narrate it once again. After that he asked my brother whether we would be able to pay his fee. Silence prevailed. My brother kept

mum. Then lawyer himself said that whatever possible for us we should pay him! As anything was impossible for us, my brother again kept mum. The lawyer just smiled, lifted English paper lying on the table and asked us to meet him in the court at 10 AM on the date of hearing. I looked at the English paper and decided in my mind that one day I must be able to read it.

We returned by Akola-Shegaon train. I started going to school and Gunaji got busy with his social work.

 For next hearing he could not arrange any money. As we had to meet the lawyer at 10 AM. So we walked throughout the night. It was moonlight and occasionally my brother looked back telling me to follow him and not to get scared of anything. We crossed villages Varkhed, Nagzari and Paras. From Paras it was straight railway track up to Akola. The path up to Paras was very zigzag, up and down, with the jungle and ditches. Anyway, we reached Akola early in the morning. With cool blowing air, strenuous walk of such a long distance made me physically exhausted and when we reached court I was just trembling. We met the lawyer who asked us to meet him after lunch hour.

Meantime he asked me to sign some papers.

Now we had no bread and my brother had very small amount, which he had taken from my mother. He took me to residence of one Mr. Rambhau Patil (real name) from our village who was staying there with his family. They knew my brother quite well. In fact I too knew them. My mother used to go to their residence well known as “Deul” i.e. Temple. It was huge fortress with a beautiful temple of Lord Shiva. I was invariably accompanying her and Mrs. Patil never missed to give me something to eat.

Probably my brother told Mr. Rambhau Patil about my court case and our difficulties. In fact Mr. and Mrs. Patil were already aware of our condition. After sometime Mrs. Patil came out with 4-5 Sorghum breads and some vegetable and she told me and my brother to eat it

there itself in their varandah. We finished eating. She looked at me with full affection and asked to eat as much as I wanted; then turning to my brother she said whenever we came for court case without any hesitation we should go to their residence for food. She also told my brother not to keep me without food!

The case continued for about eight months. Every time we were getting postponement. For every hearing my brother and myself walked the to and fro distance. Every time we went, we went to Mr. Patil’s residence and every time Mrs. Patil gave us sumptuous food with smile showing no sign of any favour. But neither the police who filed the case nor his prosecutor or any witness attended any hearing.

As we were attending court regularly, we exhausted our physical strength and stamina also. One day my brother drafted a letter for the Hon. Judge and asked me to copy it in my handwriting and sign it. I did it and the letter was posted. The summary was like this – “my mother and I worked as agricultural labourers in the fields continuously 15 days and with all difficulties we saved Rs. two only for the Shindkhed fair to worship Lord Shiva. It was our hard earned money. My mother and I along with my one classmate went to the fair by walk in the hot sun. Would we walk such a long distance just to steal one rupee? In fact seeming a rustic boy, the police falsely charged me of pick pocket. We are so poor that we cannot afford train fare and as such we come on foot from our village Jawla to Akola and back with my elder brother. I have been attending Court without fail but none from the police side is coming to the Court. We do not have money to purchase even small bread. Feeling pity on our condition and knowing that I am innocent, a Patil family from our village has been giving us food. Is this justice that a boy of my age is punished for nothing? In fact in my case there is no real thief also as no pickpocket has taken place. Are we suffering for the satisfaction of the police?”

When we attended the next hearing I could notice my letter in Judge’s hand who gave it to our lawyer to read. On asking by the Court, we left the court and sat waiting in the courtyard for our lawyer. In the evening, when the court was adjourned our lawyer told us that our case was dismissed and he told us to go home. My brother respectfully bowed his head and asked me to touch his feet. I did it with all my reverence for him. Indeed a lawyer was kind-hearted person. He did not ask us

his fee. Before leaving for our village, we met Mr. Rambhau Patil and his wife who provided us food every time and with all affection. We paid our respect to both of them. Even while leaving their residence, Mrs. Patil gave some food to my brother asking to eat it en route. They were so good and kind towards us.

We reached home and my brother told my family members about the

dismissal of the case. All felt happy and relieved. As usual my mother wept silently. I remembered our walking in the dark, hunger, helplessness of my brother, Patil family’s help and our physical and mental agony. It was horrible, terrible and incredible too. Whole event haunted me many days and months!

I must get rid of this life. I must earn as early as possible and I must become a big man. I must help my mother. These thoughts also haunted me days and nights. Although I was in sixth standard, my ambition was big. As I was good in studies and my teachers being aware of our condition, one of them by name Marathe (real name) a Brahmin, sometimes took me at his residence and served food. So was another teacher named Vinchankar(real name) was very kind to me. He was staying in the house of Kulkarni, a village officer whose job was to maintain records of land, births and deaths. He too was a Brahmin.

 As I stated earlier in our village, disease of untouchability was nearly nil. As such my going to their house nobody objected. But I was feeling belittled when they gave me food, although, believe me – the biggest, the hardest and unimaginary problem before me and my family was to have food! Many a times I had eaten seeds of mango by baking in the fire, had taken boiled seeds of tamarind, boiled pumpkins and groundnuts just to put something in stomach! No doubt in general, majority people of my locality were poor and they were also struggling but our family was the poorest.

I was literally fed up. One of our locality man named Krishna Sawdekar was living in Mumbai. Whenever he came from Mumbai, he was almost in our house. He too was well known social worker in Mumbai. He used to discuss hours together various subjects with my brother. Being youngest my job was to serve them tea and bring cigarettes for him. Words like comrades, communities, unions, mills, Marx etc.

I always heard in his talk. He was always in good dress. He would say job was not a problem in Mumbai.

So Mumbai attracted me, fascinated me and beckoned me. My main concern was to get the job. Somehow I passed 6^th standard and summer vacations commenced; and now story of hard summer would repeat. This year it was famine and there was no work in the fields. My brother shifted our family except Raghunath who was working on yearly basis, to a nearby village named “Varkhed” where  ours close relatives were living and they were quite well off.

My real maternal uncle provided us a small hut. There immediately available job was to dig long ditches along with the boundaries of the fields so that the rain water could be stored there. The wages depended on the number of ditches, their length, breadth and depth.

I was helping my mother in the work. Our all efforts, works, energy and total attention and in short whole life was revolving and revolving around only one thing and that was food!

I got exhausted and also restless. “Now it is enough and enough” I said to myself.