Part – 1 “Prejudice”

It was a warm summer afternoon; the hot stingy breeze was blowing ferociously through the entire terrain. In front of my eyes was a vast expanse of mango trees. It was the mango farm of my master,”Zamindar ji” or “Shyam maalik” as we used to call him. He was a strong man, that’s what I had been told since childhood. I used to assume his huge build and strong muscles to be the sole reason for such a stupendous title of strength but then I realized he was strong enough to flex his muscles through the households of the entire village to fulfill his wishes. This was the reason for his supremacy.

My father used to work in his fields. He used to tow them and make sure that crows kept away from his crop fields during the night. My father was a simple man. Lean and thin, a structure familiar with the poor of this country, he always had a smile on his face. My mother had died giving birth to me. Ever since all I knew of family was my father. I adored him a lot. I remember flinging my arms around his neck and smelling his sun burnt hair as he used to carry me on his back and show me around. Our favorite spot was on the outskirts of the village. Our village was delicately placed along the banks of river Ganga and though with passing time water in the river had turned minimal, our village still was known as “Gangapur”.

Along the bank of the river Ganga was my most cherished Hanuman temple. I remember my father used to travel early morning carrying me on his back for a glimpse of his favorite deity. He used to tell me stories of hanuman’s bravery and that how he defied all theories in the service of his master Ram. He expected us to be the same. He prayed for strength and loyalty and for character so that he could make Shyam master pleased and happy. “When he is happy, he will reward us with land. The one which will be ours, a property” he used to exclaim.

When I was seven our master came to visit us. Apparently he wanted to see if I had grown enough to be able to complete his household duties. His presence in our house was very strange. It was as if his fair skin radiated light and all of our poverty and helplessness was visible in it. He caught hold of me by my ears, measured my legs with his stick and gave me few thumps on the back which I survived. I was told that I had cleared his enduring loyalty examination and that I was fit enough to be employed in his service. I had never seen my father any happier. He ran through the entire village telling everyone that he had been promoted , While he would be taking care of the flowers and plants in master’s lawn, I was to take care of his household chores. I can still see his eyes brimming with hope and loyalty.

We had been placed in a small hut just outside master’s home. Being involved in his daily work meant being around him and his work all day and all night. I remember the first time I entered master’s home. I was mesmerized by the sheer beauty of it. White sparkling marble on the floor, I was scared to even walk on it, terrified it would get dirty. His house was magnificent; everywhere I could see there was a generous display of pomp and style. The windows were so big I could fit in between the panes. They were covered by silky shiny covers; the touch of them was magical. Very smooth and heavenly. There were candle posts, horses and elephants too. The kitchen was twice as big as our gram panchayat, clean and glittering. I was astounded to see that their meal consumption of a day was enough to feed our family for a month, may be two months.

I was also introduced to master’s family. His wife was ugly and laden with all forms of jewelry. He had a son of my age. I was told he went to some English medium school. He used to drink pista milk everyday and talk in a language neither I nor his dad could comprehend. I was placed in his service. I was supposed to take care of all his needs, whims and fancies. I was to inform the master when his son needed or demanded anything. I also was employed in the kitchen every now and then. My job was to peel potatoes for every meal the family had. I used to love my job in the kitchen, the window allowed me to take a glimpse at my porously sweating father, as he worked in the heat with plants and flowers. His fading health was to be the catalyst that would blossom them.

It had been almost a month of my new job. Master’s son was a tough guy to please but I came to know he was happy with my service.”Chota kunwar” was what I called him. He chuckled at his name, while Chota seemed funny to his instincts, kunwar made him proud and beam with arrogance. Summer had attained its peak and it was not long before his school was closed for summer holidays. The entire family was to embark on a trip to Kashmir. I had never even heard of the name before kunwar ji informed me it was a mystical place. Somewhere on earth, it lay open with snow clad mountains, lakes, boats and that it was very beautiful. Heaven on earth I was told. I remember myself listening intently. Each word and each expression amazed me even more. I was left astounded and speechless. I used to imagine me and my father sitting near a snow freezed lake, talking and cracking peanuts.

A week before they were to embark on their passage to heaven, kunwar ji received a gift. It was from his father’s friend from the city. He was gifted shoes, but they were not ordinary. They glowed every time he used to wear them and walk. With every foot step he took they would turn red, yellow, green, all sorts of colors. First I was scared to even be around him when he wore them but later he explained me to that the shoe had light bulbs in it. Tiny light bulbs which glowed when he walked.

I fell in love with those shoes. To see him walk around glowing in the night was astounding. My dreams had changed now. I and my father were still near a snow freezed lake. But he was the only one sitting now; I was walking on the snow glowing with my each footstep. Red, yellow, green it was a pattern. The dreams kept on changing, from snow clad mountains to lakes, I and my father went everywhere but the common threads holding each of my dreams together were these shoes. I glowed with each footstep in my dreams and it followed a pattern.

It was two in the night and kunwar ji was fast asleep. The shoes were lying near his bed and smiling at me seductively. I weighed my options; I knew trying them on once won’t do any harm. I wanted to feel them in my feet just once. And it was always safe in the night. Who would even notice, I thought. Scared and excited I wore each of them, one by one. The touch was magical, I took a foot forward and they started glowing.”Red, yellow, green” was all I could see as the room turned into Kashmir, I could see mountains, swans and my father sitting beside the snow freezed lake telling me to be careful. I kept on walking and the pattern of lights kept on amazing me.

I was brought back to senses by a stick hitting against my knee repeatedly. I cried out in pain and agony. Master was standing right in front of me. He started calling me names and kept hitting me with the stick. I cried and howled, all of it in vain. He beat me with the stick till he got tired and my skin turned blue.

My father was summoned into the room. He repeatedly called us a thief and said any connection between my family and our village was now over. My father had tears in his eyes; he caught hold of master’s legs and pleaded. My master had regained his strength by now, His stick swung into action as my father cried and wept. We were thrown out of the house and our hut. We were blamed traitors and not allowed to enter the village too. The title of 'A thief' was bestowed on us by everone. The villagers refused to acknowledge our presence, my master’s instructions said so. He was able to erase their memories. I was left alone and weak. A thought haunted me every now and then. I was not a thief; I did not steal his shoes.