A short story I submitted to the FMS college magazine -
Maya held a plastic pot on her head as she
precariously walked on the pipe. The pipe spanned across a city drain, about 20
meters wide. The city’s sewage flowed
underneath, eclipsed by thick clumps of water hyacinths. Herons waded in the
noxious muck, hunting for the creatures that thrive on it. As she alighted from
the pipe, there were no onlookers to cheer, whistle and reward her show of
daredevilry. Instead, she had harvested a quantum of fresh water, which was
sufficient to sustain her family for the next few hours.
The circular pipeline, with a diameter of 4
feet, carried water from a faraway river to benefit the residents of the city.
Ironically, while villagers bordering the river had to walk a few kilometres to
harness its life giving liquid, the residents of the city, a hundred kilometres
away, could access it with a simple twist of their expensive Jaquar taps. The
portion of the pipe that spanned across the gutter had a leaky valve in the
middle. The PWD engineers turned a blind eye to the leak; the relative
inaccessibility of the spot gave them a convenient excuse. They had mercifully done
so for two years now, and enabled Maya, Balwant and their toddler to live off
it.
The first few journeys across the pipeline
were harrowing. Maya had to leave behind her new-born baby in her tent, at the
mercy of the other inhabitants of the pavement: stray dogs, vagabonds and the
occasional traffic policeman. She had to carefully balance the pot on her head
with one hand while holding her ghagra up
shin-high to avoid tripping over it while crossing. The passage of two years
had consequently replaced fear with steely courage. Desperation begets bravery.
Maya was 18
years of age and nursing a new-born baby when she was forced out of her village
in Rajasthan, to eke out a living. A few neighbouring families had narrated
promising stories of prosperity in the cities of south India. Balwant, accompanied
by Maya, had ambled to the railway station, caught the first train that was
rumoured to head south, and got off after a couple of days at a railway station
that seemed big enough to serve a city. Only by chance did it happen to be
Bangalore; landing in Chennai, Hyderabad or Vishakhapatnam would have made no
real difference. At least Bangalore’s weather is a shade kinder to the plight
of a people who live in tattered tents that line its footpaths.
They managed to
get on by selling knick-knacks on the pavement. A formidable variety of
helmets, kick scooters, teddy bears and replicas of Venus De Milo made of
plaster of Paris greeted passers-by. Their business attracted the attention of
the local traffic policeman, who was their biggest source of expenditure. They
also had to give him the occasional toy to keep him mollified. The law can be
sadistically cruel to people who have been the victims of centuries of
lawlessness.
One fine
morning, Sharat Chandra happened to chance upon the leaky pipeline on his
morning walk. He noticed the steady trickle of pure water drip down to be mixed
with the sewage below. Chandra was a well-intentioned elderly gentleman who had
recently retired from his occupation. He was now determined to put his newfound
time and the little vitality that age had spared him for the cause of the
common good. Later that day, he called at the local corporation office and requested
to meet the engineer-in-charge. The engineer wasn’t at the office as he had
gone to attend to some urgent repairs. The elderly man was met with some or the
other excuse on repeated visits to the office, but he was determined. Finally,
after hours of waiting, he stood before the engineer. Contrary to what he had
expected, the engineer seemed to be a very cheerful and polite man. He gave Chandra
a patient listening and was eager to get the leak fixed. He promised to visit
the pipeline the following morning at ten ‘o’ clock to inspect the leak and
tackle the problem. He explained that he was newly posted in the area and
thanked Chandra for bringing the leak to the notice of his office.
The designated
hour was at hand. Chandra leaned on his walking stick while staring into the
seemingly endless sewage drain. Sure enough, at 10 AM, the engineer, surrounded
by a couple of lackeys, strode out of his Ambassador car and shook hands with him.
He quickly inspected the trickling pipe from a distance, gave instructions to
the two men accompanying him and assured Chandra that the leak would be fixed
in a couple of days. Chandra looked at the engineer as the latter strode
towards his car with brisk steps and was driven away. The engineer seemed to be
an assertive man, who took his job seriously. A quiet sense of satisfaction
seemed to fill Chandra.
As he prepared
to leave the scene, Chandra glanced at the pipeline and was shocked to find a
woman balanced carefully upon it. With measured and confident steps she,
proceeded to reach the spot of the leak and hang a pot at the location of the
leak. Maya made her way back across the pipeline and saw the elderly man
looking at her. Their eyes met for a couple of seconds after which Maya made
her way back to her humble tent. Chandra stood at the scene, frozen, as
vehicles whizzed by.
