‘Bachisu’ the Story by Saraswati

Narasimha got up late. Usually an early riser, he was utterly exhausted with the work of the previous day, on which the ‘Festival of Bengaluru’ had generated heavy garbage and sweeping tasks. Today he slept till afternoon. Rising at two, he had his ragi ball and started for the market, to look for coolie.

‘Appa’, his beloved daughter Lakshmi called out

‘Yes dear?’

‘Appa give me money if you have some. I have some, and I shall buy half a kg mutton and cook it for dinner.’

Tears came to Narasimha’s eyes as he looked at his pregnant daughter filling up the doorway. He had brought her home a week back. Since then, far from mutton, not even jaggery had been put to the back of rice . ‘fuck off this bloody poverty…’

Seeing tears in her father’s eyes Lachmu said, why tears?‘It’s alright, leave it, Appa…’

‘No, no, pregnant daughter at home and I didn’t even ask what she would like to eat, so I was feeling bad…’ He dug into both pockets and produced forty rupees totally, which he gave to her saying, ‘Here, don’t waste your money; buy the meat, just for yourself, and make it. TheMarnami festival is approaching: we shall cook more meat at that time and have it.’ And he left.

It’s not for me, Lakshmi was about to say. But bit her toungue as she wanted it to be a surprise. Instead she called after him, ‘Appa, I will get half kg mutton only and prepare curry & ragi balls. You come home early, so that you can eat it hot.’

Narasimma moved by her warm words came back caressed her cheeks & took ‘latke’ & said ‘I must have been in your womb in a previous birth,’ he said.

‘Appa is Appa, I must tell Maama [1] to settle down here. Back there, is not even a palm size of land, and no coolie because no rain as she thought She took a bag, fastened the door, and started for the mutton shop, ruminating. ‘It is winter. I must not buy sheep’s mutton, which will cause‘cold’. It is cold season & Amma leaves for work early in the morning. I shall buy goat’s meat, cook it nicely and serve it to her hot. Poor Amma; god has not written happiness in her forehead.’ She leaves at five in the morning & comes only at seven in the evening.

She quickened her pace. At that moment the little one in her womb kicked hard, as if to remind her of its existence. She addressed it: ‘Hey shut up you’ll get your share through me, why are you kicking up a noise?’ She laid a careful hand on her stomach for a moment in reassurance before she moved on.

She bought half kg of goat’s meat from the mutton shop. Then she bought ginger and coriander in a ‘petti’ shop, and in Kaka’s shop she bought coconut pieces and chana dal. She came home and cut the meat into small pieces and washed in water mixed with turmeric powder. She lit the kerosene stove and heated groundnut oil in a vessel, added cut onion,smashed garlic and ginger to the hot oil and stirred it as it sizzled. Mixing the meat into this, she covered the vessel with a plate. As the meat cooked, she washed the grinding stone and ground a mixture of coconut, chana, coriander, bay leaves, garlic and ginger into a fine paste. ‘This masala will make the meat tastier; at least today Amma must eat her fill; she has not so much as touched the ragi balls for three days,’ thought Lakshmi.

Lakshmi knows very well what makes Amma go off food. As a little girl she regularly accompanied her mother on the sweeping round, despite Amma’s protests. Amma use to pamper her so much to make her go to school. ‘Sleep for some more time yanktajji Grandma next door will wake you up .wash your face and ask her to comb your hair; eat previous night’s rice and then go to school’. This was Anjinamma’s daily morning chant. But Lakshmi ignored it. Fond of sleeping on Amma’s tummy, she knew when Amma got up, and would rise with her. She did not like to be left alone at home. Deaf to Amma’s instructions, she would follow her everywhere. If she was forcibly left at home she would cry at the top of her voice. Sometimes Amma would shout in frustration, ‘ I have swept roads with you in my tummy and kept you as a baby by the roadside as I swept. No wonder you can think of nothing but the broom. God has written your fate too in the broom stick. No school in your fate…’ Yet, while she took Lakshmi with her she never let her touch the broom. In warm weather she made Lakshmi play under a tree while the mother worked. Sometimes Appa made a swing with a rope and a gunnybag for Lakshmi to play. After the sweeping round, Appa went to the market for coolie work, and Amma had jobs in two houses nearby where she cleaned vessels, washed clothes, and did the sweeping and swabbing. Lakshmi often followed her to these houses too, and then her mother fed her all the leftover eatables that she was given in these houses. Sometimes she went with her father to the market, where she got carrots and sometimes fruits. Appa would search the best in the waste and wipe it clean on his shoulder cloth before he gave it to her. Lakshmi laughed to herself remembering what her husband had said – ‘Eating nice food in the city you are like a pure bred jersey cow!’ Let him come here, she smiled, and I shall call him ‘skeleton ox from the drought area’ and pull his nose! She added salt to the meat. The mouth watering aroma of meat cooking with garlic and onion rose warm from the pot.

She gathered the ground masala from the grinding stone, washed the stone and collected the water also; and added the masala to the meat. The aroma of this will make Amma eat a bellyful; she thought. But when will her life be free from the brooms? Whenever Amma lifted the stinking dead cats and dogs she would stop eating for two-three days. She was able to only drink coffee, tea, gruel. She would not touch food.

After the masala paste was added, the flavour of the meat filled the house. Appa will sniff it and say ‘Merely to smell it makes me hungry. If I eat I can eat not less than two ragi balls.’ Whatever I prepare it’s nice for him. But Amma cooks tastier than me. She is good in whatever she does. I must tell her to prepare dry fish and fried avarekalu [2]. Though she doesn’t like the strong smell of fish, she will not mind cooking it for me. Again Lakshmi reflected, by god’s grace if something works out maama and I can settle here. It will be good for amma and appa.

***

At this very time Anjinamma was trying to gather all her energy into pushing the cart containing four plastic drums of garbage, up a slope. The garbage lorry stood at the roadside on top of the incline. Her shoulders were tired, thighs were shivering. She reached the lorry and told Obalesu in it to lift the drums and empty the garbage into the lorry. Then she sat under a roadside tree to rest a bit.

Anjimamma is always neat. She pulls her hair into a tight bun and holds it in place with hair pins. Not a single strand ever falls on her face. The pallu of her saree is tucked tight into the waist so that it does not get displaced while sweeping. To tuck it tight she ties her under-skirt tight. On top she wears the green coat on which Swacha Bengaluru is inscribed. She does up all the buttons of the coat. Whether she sweeps the road, cleans the gutter, lifts the garbage, or plucks the weeds, she never makes her clothes dirty. Perfectly neat in her job, she maintains her personal neatness also, which is why people in the area call her for domestic work. She is small in build. Generally her face is expressionless; but when she smiles her face is lit up and transformed. She stands straight with one hand kept behind her. Her speech is direct and forceful like an arrow. It is only when she speaks that one makes the acquaintance of the indomitable spirit in that petite body.

Earlier Anjinamma, along with others, had worked at clearing the wilderness for developing the beautiful residential extension Vidyanagar, which had come up in the area earlier called Sannathimmenahalli. It had been full of thorny or poisonous weeds, ant-hills, mounds and ravines, congress grass, snakes, and varieties of insects, when she joined the job of cleaning this area 10-12 years back. Her salary was just 300. When contractors had come to Kullappa Palya slum to recruit people for cleaning work they had promised that the job would be made permanent under Bangalore city Corporation. The Narsimha - Anjinamma couple had been among many who joined eagerly in the hope of a permanent job. Ten – twelve years passed to the chant of ‘now contract, later permanent’. Through the fishing rod of contract with a worm of permanent job, the contractors hooked the fish of profits in the waters of innocent peoples’ sweat. The contractors led a cosy golden life while the lives of poor workers were burnt as coal.

Pulling out big weeds to clear the land the workers never knew whether their hands would next touch a snake or shit. Unafraid of the snake, unshaken by the shit, they worked at clearing the vegetation and leveling the pits and troughs and made the grounds even. The land was developed into a beautiful posh extension but the lives of the workers remained unchanged. Even this drudgery did not kill Anjinamma’s spirit. If unquestioning faith is the essence of devotion then one can call Anjinamma a perfect devotee, worthy of any place of god.

Wages never flowed as fast as the workers’ sweat flowed. Moving upwards slowly the wage level had reached 1000 and got struck there. Comrade Unnikrishnan has been tirelessly telling the workers that according to the rules they must get minimum wage of 1800/- per month, and also gum boots, gloves, mask, PF & ESI. ‘The owners[3] are thugs, he keeps saying, ‘they give 1000 Rs to you, and get your thumb print and in the books maintained for the corporation they show it as 1500. They make profit out of poor workers’ blood and lead five star life style. You should all learn reading and writing, and unite to protect your rights Unikrishnan is ‘Sameru’ (lord) for Anjinamma, though he insists on being addressed as comrade. Anjinamma is as faithful to the struggle as she is to her god. She who worked so sincerely had a mighty heart and unbending spirit.

As she was sitting under a tree tears started flowing from both eyes. She was not crying. This had been happening for the past few months. The doctor who examined her said that her eyes required an operation, after which she should rest for two weeks and avoid dust and dirt. Recalling this, Anjinamma thought, the maistri who would not even allow us to eat breakfast, and who shouts at us if we put our bums to the ground even for a few seconds - will he give leave for 15 days? He speaks as if his boneless tongue wags without control. When Nanjamma asked for a new broom as it was worn out he asked her to remove he saree and use it to sweep. Can’t he respect her age at least. Let him say such things to me, I will scratch his face with the back of the broom. If one takes leave for two days one is sure of losing the job, how can one get 2 weeks leave. Particularly after the episode of Ayudha Pooja arathi he is looking for opportunities to get his own back at me. Anjinamma silently laughed remembering that episode.

How we fought for the new salary, went and met many big people many times, shouted so much in front of the corporation office. The Commissioner said it will happen; the Government passed the order for the new salary. Days moved ahead of the orders day but their salary lagged behind. Our footwear, legs, money, voice, everything got worn out. It was unbearable. She could not restrain herself when the inspector came for checking, and burst out asking the owner, ‘What samy (Swami), our salary came to the court, to the Vidhana Soudha, and also to the corporation, but we have not got it in our hands, we have not seen it with our eyes. It is not a favour that we are asking for, Samy, we are only asking for the price of our sweat. You would be blessed if you give, we shall light lamps in your name.’ The owner was furious and turned away as if someone had put chilli in his asshole. Later on what a game he played to insulte her.

The day after the incident, Anjinamma was worried that she may lose the job. Instead there was a message from the owner through to get all the carts to the next ward to do Ayudha Puja and take bachisu (bakshish).

The workers were hopeful of the new salary also. When they went, all preparations for puja were ready and the worship was about to begin. However they were not invited to join the puja or bring their carts for it. The owner watched them covertly with cruel satisfaction in his eyes. When Arathi was made, the workers were ignored. Anjinamma quickly understood the insult and told the others ‘come let’s go back’. As they turned their carts the owner said in a loud voice, ‘For lifting the garbage they want the same salary as an office goer. But just the word Bachisu (tip) made them come here sniffing like dogs,’ and he spat. Anjimamma just swallowed the insult.

The next day Anjinamma collected 10 Rs from each worker, and things needed for pooja were brought. They washed all their carts. They timed the pooja for the owner’s arrival and offered arathi to him. He in his embarrassment had to put 200 Rs on the arathi plate. He wanted to leave immediately. Before he left Bagya offered him a small sweet packet with 50 rupees tucked in the rubber band. He took it and was about to give it to the driver, when Anjiamma politely said, ‘Please take the gift from us poor workers, it is out of hard earned money, take it home and give your wife and children, let all of you be blessed”. Remembering the incident Anjiamma wiped her tears. Because I don’t cry, she thought, god has given me this eye problem to remind me that eyes are for tears.

Maistri came there, and seeing Anjimamma he shouted, we don’t pay for simply sitting, get up and go to 7^th road; some dead thing must be stinking there, someone has complained. She got up and went to 7^th road without uttering a word.

As soon as she entered the road the stink hit her nose. She quickly found the source. It was under the stone slab next to the gutter. She guessed how it had happened. The woman in the stone building always buys buns to feed the street dogs. To escape from the big dogs the little puppy has gone under the slab to eat and has got stuck between the slabs and died. No way to remove it with the broom: it has to be lifted by hand. God has again snatched away my two days’ food, she said to herself, and let her hand into the hole. As the carcass had decomposed, it disintegrated as she tried to lift it, and only part of it came up in her hand. She shoved the slab to a side with the broom and pushed the rest of the carcass onto a plank; covered it with mud and threw it into the plastic garbage bin. The smell was nauseating. She went to the public tap, took her bit of soap from its hiding place, and turned the tap open with her forearm to wash her hands. She washed them two-three times. Then she went to give attendance in the must,[4] and left for her round of domestic work. By the time she finished her work in the two houses she was drained of all energy, physically and mentally. Dragging her aching legs slowly, she reached home.

Lakshmi was waiting on the doorstep. Seeing her mother she said in happy excitement, ‘Wash your hands and feet, Amma, there is hot water.’ Anjinamma felt through her fatigue, it is I who should be pampering her, instead she is looking after me. To assuage her guilt she murmured, ‘Some avarekaalu is lying in the kitchen, tomorrow I shall come early; tell appa to get dry fish, I’ll make a tasty gravy of fish and avarekaalu for you.’

I will eat my belly ful you will fill with the smell!

Its all right dear ‘pregnant woman should eat what she wishes’

Lakshmi,overflowed with affection for mother said ‘Amma, you can even have a bath if you like, I have heated enough water. I’ll scrub your back for you.’

‘I’ll have a bath,’ Anjinamma said but No need to scrub my back. But make some tea, I’ll have it after my bath.’

It’s time to eat and she wants tea, Lakshmi grumbled to herself. Not eating, drinking tea and coffee all the time has dried up her hunger. Let her bathe and come, I’ll make her eat well today!

‘lachmu dear’ She heard her father calling outside, and hurried out to greet him.

‘Gently, dear, take care. I’ve brought jilebi and khara for you. Is your cooking done?’

Lakshmi winked. ‘Amma does not know.’ Narasimha nodded and washed his face as Lakshmi poured the water for him. Anjinamma came out after her bath and asked for her tea. ‘No tea for you, you have become like a dry stick,’ Lakshmi scolded affectionately. ‘You come and eat.’ She served out meat gravy and ragi balls on three plates and took her mother by the hand and seated her before a plate. She smiled mischievously. ‘Didn’t your nose get the flavour?’

Filled with the stink of dead dog, Anjninamma’s nose could not feel the delicious aroma of the food that her daughter had cooked for her so affectionately.

‘Taste and tell me how it is.’ Lakshmi’s face bloomed with happiness. Seeing this, Anjinamma tried. as her fingers touched the ragi ballshe felt its texture like the decomposed puppy dog that she had handled earlier in the day. Tears welled up in her eyes. They were real tears of grief this time.

Not understanding the tears Lakshmi remarked, ‘You must have that operation. I shall stay and take care of you. Eat, Amma, you won’t enjoy the food if the ragi balls go cold.’

Narsimma was engrossed in eating, silently appreciative of his daughter’s tasty curry. Except for the bent head and the crackling sound of breaking bones he may have been meditating.

The daughter was fulfilling the hunger of the big tummy.

Anjinamma got up for water. As she was taking water from the pot, some spilt on the floor. She looked for the cloth to wipe it. Observing this Lakshmi commented, ‘God has not written in your fate that you are to eat properly.’ Before she could complete the sentence she felt a catch in her waist and the baby moving downward. Frightened, she shouted, ‘Amma!’

Anjinamma went to her swiftly and held and consoled her. ‘Don’t be afraid. it seems the baby had been just waiting to taste the delicious meat before trying to come out. If you get pains twice more we shall go to the hospital.’Narasimha broke his meditation and ran to get Ramanji’s auto. Lakshmi’s pains came again, more frequent and intense. She held on to her mother tightly, and left her only when taken to the labour ward. Without much delay Lakshmi’s ‘sampat’ {wealth}arrived in this world.

The newborn had only two fingers in the right hand and three in his left hand. Those fingers too were not properly formed. The doctor pronounced that a surgery could be performed after three months, which would remedy matters to the extent that the child would be able to use his hands. Silence fell on the room. His three listeners were in wordless agony like a bird pierced with an arrow through the chest. The child cried loudly as if to break the silence.

Anjinamma pulled the arrow from her chest and spoke to the doctor. ‘How much money would the operation require?’ Narasimha, in the meantime, held the newborn against the warmth of his body and stroked his daughter’s head gently.

After speaking with the doctor Anjinamma came up to her daughter and seeing her pensive face said, ‘You must not lose heart at misfortune in life, Lakshmi. When god gives us good things we take it with both hands; when he gives what is not so good we must accept that too and never refuse it. When he gives difficulties say to him, you gave me this, now show me the way to deal with it. My dear, the child will be all right after the operation; did you notice how active he is, how strong his voice when he cried?’

Lakshmi replied, ‘Amma I was not pensive was only recalling how much you tried to make me go to school but I never heeded you; now there is no way but to send this child to school. You ask why? This child can only hold a pen in two fingers and never a broom. God has given this gift, why should I refuse?’

[1] ‘Maama’ or ‘maternal uncle’ is also used for husband in communities in which it is customary to marry the maternal uncle, actual or removed.

[2] ‘Avarekkalu’, a variety of beans, are a favourite food among Kannadigas.

[3] ‘Owner’ is colloquial usage in Bangalore for the boss in a private set-up. For example, the word may be used by a domestic worker to refer to the head of a household. Unnikrishnan uses the word to refer to the contractors.

[4] Place where the workers gather three times a day to give attendance.
 

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