By Savitri Narayanan
‘Again I’m late’, thought Meenakshi as she walked faster, ‘Upadhyay madam must be in her – – pooja room, immersed in her rituals. As a rule she didn’t enter the kitchen until Meenakshi completed her tasks and moved out leaving the kitchen clean.
Meenakshi worked as a household helper. Like many others like her, she lived with her husband and children in a one room tenement beside the Chheelpur Lake. She was up and about much before the crows crowed. She collected and brought home water from the public tap, bathed, cleaned and cooked, woke up Anand and Aniket who went to the nearby Government Primary School, hurried them through their breakfast of rotis and subji. The midday meal was provided in the school so she stored away the extra food she made knowing that they would return from school ravenously hungry. After Upadhyay madam’s, she worked in three more bungalows, either cleaning, cooking or both. When Anand and Aniket returned from school usually she was in their small front yard cleaning the rice – or chatting with a neighbour. Her husband, Kishore, worked as a security guard in a nearby factory and worked in shifts. He was a quiet person who helped around in the house. If he did night duty, caught up with his sleep at home.
The road was deserted except for – a scooter or two or an auto rickshaw. Meenakshi hastened her steps, her mind back in their ancestral village in Bihar where they were building a house, a place they could call their own! Close to their uncle’s house, it was a small two room place but it cost a lot of money. They had taken a loan from Mehtaji, a local moneylender. ‘It’ll be soon time to pay the next instalment,’ thought Meenakshi.
After the pair of badam trees she turned right – off the road – to follow the lane leading to Upadhyay’s bungalow. It was then that she saw it. A bag! Something wrapped in plastic, tied with a string, lying there on the road. Instinctively she picked it up. ‘Somebody must have dropped it by mistake,’ she thought, ‘might even bump into the owner in search of it!’
There was not a human being in sight and she was almost at the Upadhyay’s gate.
‘Whose bag is it?’, ‘Why did I pick it up! Should I put it back where I found it?’ the thoughts kept surfacing. ‘What’s in the bag?’
Without losing time, Meenakshi took out the bag. It was a plastic packet tied with jute thread. She bit it open to find another plastic bag within, neatly wrapped and folded. To her shock, there was money – packs of currency notes with rubber bands around them!
‘So much money! Could complete our home in Bihar in no time!’ was the thought that crossed her mind as she opened the bungalow’s gate.
‘The one who lost it must be so sad!’ she thought. ‘It’s not mine, I can’t take it!’
Instead of going left to the backyard to which the kitchen door opened to, in a daze, Meenakshi rang the front door bell!
* * *
‘If only I could find something else to do,’ thought Kedar, ‘some better way to earn a living!’
It was three years ago that he had boarded the train from his village near Patna for Delhi in search of a job. Their neighbour Rehman uncle’s friend knew someone through whom he came to Faridabad where he was introduced to Murari Lal.
Without much ado, he looked Kedar straight in his eyes and asked,
“Do you want to work with our chit-fund? It’s a lot of work!”
“Yes, sir,” Kedar answered promptly, “I’m ready for hard work!”
“Leave your aadhaar card with me,” he said, “And start work tomorrow!”
Murari Lal had a chit-fund in which the members paid an amount monthly and on the first of every month any one member could get a lumpsum- – amount less some commission. Kedar was given a bicycle to go around the village, collect cash from the members and hand it over to Murari Lal who in turn, counted it and made entries in his book. Before long Kedar won his trust, came to know the villagers and soon became a familiar figure in the neighbourhood. Deep in his mind Kedar was a little tense about handling cash and would feel relaxed only at the end of the day when the cash was accounted for and handed over.
On that particular evening there was a death in the family and Murarilal was away at that relative’s so Kedar had taken the cash back home with him. After a tense, sleepless night, Kedar was up early morning to hand over the cash to Murari Lal. To his shock he realised that the cash was missing from his bag! Arranged, packed and tied neatly, safely kept in his bag, how could the cash be lost? Where was it gone?
“Come back with the cash!” Murari Lal waved him away, “Or I’ll call the police!”
Stunned, Kedar got on his bicycle and retraced his route, hoping to find the lost bag lying around on the road.
* * *
As usual, Upadhyay was reading the newspaper when the doorbell chimed and he opened the door. Lakshmi too came over to see who was the unexpected visitor.
“Sabji, madamji, what to do?” There was shock in her voice as Meenakshi stepped inside and closed the door. She collapsed on the floor, the bag of notes open in front.
In a while they realised the situation and consoled Meenakshi.
“You could have quietly taken it home, but you didn’t,” said Lakshmi. “Appreciate your honesty, now our task is to find the owner, we’ll find a way!”
They talked among themselves, made a few phone calls and waited.
Soon the Panchayat Pradhan was there on his scooter and two more Panchayat members walked in. After a brief exchange of ideas, the Pradhan said, “Thank God for the technology, let’s spread the news in our WhatsApp group!” Soon the message was all over, ‘If you’ve lost money in this village, contact the Pradhan or come to Sri Upadhyaya’s home with details for verification!’
Lakshmi brought in some tea as they waited. Soon a few villagers assembled in the front yard out of curiosity, stood around talking to each other.
* * *
Kedar grew increasingly panicky as he rode around his usual routes. Exhausted in mind and body, he parked his bicycle and sat down on the bench in the provision store in the village square, his head in his hands.
“What happened, Kedar?” quite a few came over with concern in their voice and face, “What’s the matter?”
‘As if they could help!’ thought Kedar. He was close to tears, when he overheard the conversation.
‘If you’ve lost money in this village, contact the Pradhan or come to Sri Upadhyaya’s home with details for verification!’, says the message!
Instantly Kedar pulled out his cellphone and saw the message. Within seconds he was on his bicycle headed for Upadhyaya’s home which was in the next lane.
Pleased to get his money back, Kedar was relieved beyond words. As he tried to express his gratitude, he broke into tears.
“We’re all good people in this village, betey,” Pradhanji said with a smile and got up to leave, “But today Meenakshi is the – proof of honesty. She has brought glory to our village, we’ll organise a public meeting to honour her!”
The crowd spontaneously clapped as Meenakshi walked to the backyard to do her work.
(Savitri Narayanan is a retired educationist at present in Goa. A mother and grandmother, loves readig, writing and travelling.)
