Children of a Lesser God

NOTE: This is a true story, unlike the other works I had written. 13 of us had gone to attend a program conducted by the NGO Samatol on the 22nd of August, 2010. Runaway street children were reunited with their parents by the NGO. Parents and Children were seeing each other after several months and in some cases years.

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In that auditorium, where 20odd families had shed tears of joy after being reunited with their families, I noticed one kid who looked a bit sad.

“What’s your name and how old are you??”, I asked. “Rafiqque, 12”, he replied.
“Where are you from??”, “Bhagamari, Orissa”.

I almost felt like an interrogator; I prodded him more asking him how he managed in Mumbai alone and why he ran away from his home.
It was a sad tale.

“My parents used to beat me very often. I used to quarrel often with my little sister. My father used to beat me with a stick on some days because of the quarreling. Some days I couldn’t sleep because of the pain.

One day while playing, I pushed my sister. My sister fell and hit the ground. She was crying and her lips and hands were bleeding a bit. I didn’t intend to hurt her. I helped her home. My father saw her bleeding lips, and got angry. He grabbed an iron rod, and shouted he’d kill me. I ran and ran and ran. I didn’t think. I boarded a train at the station and left.

I begged on the train and bought food. The train’s last stop was Mumbai CST, and I wanted to see Mumbai.

I made friends with some kids on the platform. There were lots of restaurants close by. I cleaned plates and utensils the first day and got enough money to buy food. After that I became a rag picker. For each bag of plastic collected, I used to get Rs 20. Whatever I earned I spent that day.
Each day I used to be at a different station, one day at Kalyan, one day at Dadar, another at CST. Some of my friends used to beg for money. Some pickpocketted.

I used to do a lot of bad things then. Whenever there was more money, we used to spend it on cigarettes, paan and glue(Many street children are addicted to consuming adhesives, toothpaste, vicks etc). Some children also used to buy drugs at the paan shops and have them.

One day I met a man at Kalyan who offered a job at a food processing company. He told me that he will give Rs 2000 a month, a place to stay and food to eat. I obliged.

He had assured me that the job was safe and involved just wrapping plastic on food. I was taken to a factory in Badlapur, a satellite town of Mumbai. The ‘food processing’ company was actually a chemical factory.

They used to wake me up at 4 in the morning and make me work till 8 in the night. There were other kids also there. All of us slept on the factory floor. It was tough sometimes. They used to beat us up when we didn’t work. I was made to handle some of the chemicals by hand without any gloves.

After a month, I became sick, very sick. I contracted a high fever was feeling very dizzy. They continued to make me work and one day I fell unconscious. I don’t know how I reached the hospital. I just remember waking up in a hospital with some tubes inserted in my arm. I was very weak.

I was in the hospital for 3 weeks. Latha didi found me in the hospital. They paid for my treatment and took me to their ‘Manaparivartan’camp on the outskirts of Kalyan.
I enjoyed the camp a lot. We learnt a lot. I drew a lot of paintings, made a lot of friends. It was nice.”

Rafiqque was called by one of the volunteers for some reason. The program was coming to an end. Of the 26 atleast 20 were reunited with their familes. Some after 5 months, others after a year or two. Getting kids who just landed up on the stations to want to go back to their homes was easier than getting kids who have survived on their own for months to change their mind.

“These kids after a month get addicted to consuming chemicals, gums, toothpastes, anything that they can get their hands on. Gaining the trust of addicted children is very difficult. We can’t do anything if they are not willing to come with us..”, lamented Latha didi, a volunteer with the NGO.

There were many such stories. Stories that made me doubt whether humans were any better than animals. And all of this was happening in front of our eyes and yet we do not see them. How many times have we seen and ignored???

I was watching Rafiqque. He seemed sad for some reason. I saw him finally crying holding onto a volunteer.I overheard some of his cries, and it made me cry too.

“I love my sister a lot. I want to go back…. I want to see her again….Will I ever see her again????????”

I noticed that the volunteer was also struggling to fight her tears. She had no consoling answers this time.

Rafiqque was one of the unlucky ones that day. His parents were not found in the village he mentioned. I cannot imagine what the unlucky ones were feeling then. They saw 20-odd friends of theirs holding onto their mothers and crying their hearts out. They had seen the emotions on the faces of the mothers, fathers , brothers and sisters. The unlucky ones were still orphans, children of a lesser god.

There are several thousands in Mumbai alone like Rafiquee. The United Nations estimates that Mumbai has a quarter of a million(2.5 lakh) street children with the whole of India having 18million street children.

Rafiqque was only 12. There were several children younger than him.

Imagine how your life was when you were 8. When you were in your 2ndor 3rd standards. We used to cry purposefully, knowing fully well that that toy or plane would be ours if we cried hard enough. Love was showered on us by our doting parents, teachers and relatives. These kids at the age of 8 are all alone; subjected to the cruelest realities of our world.

Let us convince ourselves that the world is a nice and rosy place. Let us choose to not see any problems. Let us not believe that we are having problems. All is well. Let us only see what we want to see. Let us choose to remain blind.

Otherwise, will you be able to sleep comfortably in the night?????

Devavratha, Part 1

Devavratha paused to think of his life till that day. He knew that the end was near; his whole 350 years of life was flashing before his eyes, his past life, the excesses as his existence as Prabhasa, his early life, his gurus Brihaspati, Vashishta and Parashuram , the ‘bhishana pratignjya’(terrible oath) made to Satyavati’s father and all the sad incidents that befell Hastinapur.
He had hoped it would end that day itself. A sacred end to a life of pain and sadness.
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Part 1: The night before the 9th day

Duruyodhana was furious and sad. He had lost 24 of his brothers that day to Bhima. Duruyodhana distraughtly looked at Karna. “The war is not going well. Bhishma is doing nothing against the Pandavas, he will never hurt them.”
“Life shall always end sometime, your brothers died like warriors. Talk to Bhishma, by oath he has to obey the throne of Hastinapur, just coax him a bit more. Victory shall always be ours.”

Karna did not believe his own words. He knew that their side was doomed to lose; they had to face the end with their heads held high. He owed a lot to Duruyodhana; when his own mother refused to acknowledge him, his friend had treated him with honor and respect; he would die for his friend without a second thought, for better or for worse.

Duruyodhana approached Bhishma in his tent. “Pitamaha, I lost 24 brothers today to Bhima, why do you not attack the Pandavas as you rightfully should. As commander you are duty bound to your army. As the chief commander you cannot let personal affection come in the way of your duty.”

Duruyodhana continued his assault, attacking Bhishma’s integrity. His sharp words were like needles piercing into soft skin. Bhishma was furious.

“Like ghee on the sacrificial fire I am pouring my life out for you. Why do you seek to mortify me, who have been doing my very utmost for you? You are now reaping the harvest of the hatred you deliberately sowed. It is not possible for me to fight Sikhandin, for I can never raise my hand against a woman. Nor can I with my hands kill the Pandavas, for my mind revolts against it. I will do everything barring these two and fight all the warriors opposed to you. Nothing is gained by losing heart. Fight as a Kshatriya should and honour will be yours whatever the events."

Duruyodhana appointed his brother Dushasana in charge of Bhsihma’s security. Shikhandin should never be allowed to come close to the grandsire and then Bhishma would be able to wreak havoc on the Pandavas.

Part 2: The 9th day of war

The brutal assault by Bhishma had begun. Bhishma commanded his army into an offensive formation and threw himself into the Pandava army. Nobody, human or god had defeated Bhishma in combat. He had defeated his own Guru Parashuram, the very same Parashuram who slew the entire clan of Kartavriyan. His prowess even at the age of 350 had not diminished. The Pandavan army ran helter skelter. The golden palm tree flag on top of Bhishma’s chariot was the last thing that most of them saw.

All five brothers had proceeded to stop Bhishma. Not even Arjuna and Bhima could do anything to stop the fury of the grandsire. “Do not hesitate to kill the grandsire. Remember the duty of a soldier.” urged Krishna to Arjuna.

“I would have continued to be an exile in the forest than kill the grandsire and the teachers whom I love, but I know what must be done.” Arjuna moved towards Bhishma, half heartedly preparing to fight. The fight between Arjuna and Bhishma raged on. Bhishma rained arrows on Arjuna; Krishna had to use every ounce of his skill to manoeuvre through the volley. Arjuna shot several arrows breaking Bhishma’s bow several times. But each time Bhishma just replaced his bow and fought with renewed vigour.

Arjuna’s half-hearted methods infuriated Krishna. Krishna realized that very soon only the Pandavas would remain standing, army less.

“To save a devotee, my own honour can be forgone.”, saying so, Krishna leapt off the chariot. The Lord leapt skyward changing into his furious Bhairavaroopa and in a brilliant flash summoned his Sudarshana Chakra. Armies on both sides stopped fighting, scared stiff seeing this display of sheer power. The brilliance blinded all, Krishna covered in blue fire with his eyes burning white with the deadly disc rotating on his raised palm.

Arjuna frantically ran to stop Krishna from killing Bhishma. Bhishma fell on his knees with tears of joy in his eye, seeing the sacred divine fury of the Lord.
"O, Kanjalochana, Blessed am I to be separated from the body by you! Come, come!” wept Bhishma in joy; his life of suffering on earth cannot get a more auspicious end.

Arjuna fell at the feet of Krishna praying and pleading with him. "Stop, Krishna," he cried. "Do not break your pledge. You have promised not to use weapons in this battle. This is my work. I shall not fail. I shall send my arrows and kill the beloved grandsire myself. Pray, mount the car and take the reins."

Krishna was pacified realizing Arjuna had come to his senses. He stopped and took up the reigns; his display had shaken both armies, and the sun set soon afterwards brining the day’s battle to an end.
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Bhishma realized that his end was near. He wished that the Lord had killed him that day itself. How much more pain was in store for him? , he thought.

Self Made

“ Yaar can you tell me how to make an email id?”, asked the guy sitting next to me in the computer lab. I looked at the 19 year old guy dressed neatly in a shirt and pants, puzzled. After all how many 19 year olds have I met who do not have an email id let alone not knowing how to make one? I opened gmail and showed him how an email account is setup. He smiled and told me his name was Adit and he was from the Metallurgy department; I told him my name and my department. A sort of friendship was struck. It was the beginning of our first year; 660 of us had cracked the JEE and got into IIT-Bombay. All of us had made a lot of friends in a few hours. Times like those are very rare; when you make a new beginning and look into the world differently.

After the CS101 lab, Adit hung around chatting with me, as we walked back to the hostel. The next question after department is always where you are from and which coaching institute [:)]. “ I am from a village near Patna”, he told me with a shy smile. I urged him on, asking him for the name of the village, how big it was, how fun life was etc etc. The village of Jorarpur as it was called was in a place called Harnaut not too far from Patna. You could say that it was also 160 kms from civilization; with electricity for just 3 hours and the only source of drinking water being the village well. Adit’s face had clearly shown he was from a simple background, but his pleasant demeanour gave a different perspective to life.
“Life was fun yaar. I still cant believe that I landed here. To think that my father is still illiterate and breaking his back”, he said with a smile. I didn’t know how to react, should I say , ‘Nice..good shit...’ or ‘Sorry..’ . I said neither and goaded him on. I learnt that his father still earned around Rs 80 per day. I sort of choked, the treat that my uncle gave me the day before alone was 10 times that.

I was in awe of the guy and asked for more. The walk to the hostel was not long, so I made it long, insisting on going to the lake, so that I could talk more. “Life was simple, my father and mother used to always tell me , Pado....Bach Jao...(Study...Save Yourself). And right from an early age, I was studying, to save myself I guess. My friends and I used to play cricket after school till it was night, then I used to go home and study some things. Most of the time there wasn’t any electricity. Candles are the best. They are bright and don’t smell or make much noise. Kerosene was expensive and the burner made a noise that i didn’t like and Diyas aren’t that bright. Those days were fun playing, roaming around and studying...”, Adit said, remniscencing the old days.

I asked him when he heard of IIT. “I don’t remember but 5 years ago Rambhai from my village also made it to IIT. Everyone knows that IIT means money and respect. I was in it just for the money. I knew that if I studied and got admission here, rest of my life would be okay. My parents knew, and made me study. Though they didn’t know what I studied. They always used to say.. ‘Tum bada aadmi banega’, it was my father’s dream that I become an engineer. He didn’t know what an engineer was. All he knew was that the man who made the factory where he works in was an engineer. He wanted me to be the man who made factories rather than the worker who worked in those factories.”, Adit said with a hint of tears at his eyes. I felt my own eyes becoming slightly moist. All of us had dreams. There is no better satisfaction in life than seeing all that one dreamt has become reality.

Adit continued talking about his simple old life. His family was sort of well off, they never went hungry any day. The eighty rupees was enough to live. He told me that the days before the school year starts, the food that they ate were of the cheaper kind, so that there was enough money to buy books. Adit had gotten a decent 85% in his 10th class boards. “A week after the results, I and my father went to Patna. There was this coaching institute in Patna which taught and gave scholarships to poor talented students. I went and gave the exam and tried my luck. I had missed the cutoff by some 5 marks. But the sir there told me that he will see for 2 to 3 weeks whether I was dedicated or not. And then I studied and studied and studied. ...”, Adit beamed.

“There were 30 of us staying, eating and studying together. The sir was a kind man. He along with another sir, put their own money for teaching us. The fee that they demanded was dedication and hardwork. And none of us wanted to blow the gift from god. We all struggled. There were days when I may have studied more than 12 hours. I only noticed those days when I dropped down and slept head on the table. We had exams quite frequently. The sir used to give prizes for the toppers of his exams. Sometimes it would be sweets and sometimes it would be wrist watches. I got a wrist watch once when I topped once. Those 2 years were the best years. I knew that I would become somebody. Paseena se khushi kabhi kabhi milta hai..(Sometimes happiness comes from sweat). All of us helped each other out. All of us were from mostly poor backgrounds. That sort of united us. We all wanted to go forward in life. It was sort of like a war. We were preparing for the battle of our lives. A good rank meant a highway from poverty to prosperity.

The big day came and all of us gave the JEE. I had prayed the day before; I knew that nothing would stop me. It was sort of tough, but I answered everything I knew. The best day of my life was the day the result was announced. I had gotten an AIR (All India Rank) 2109. Both my parents cried that day. Their lives finally meant something. The hours of back breaking work at the factory had born fruit. They couldn’t read the call letter or understand 2109 or anything else. They just knew that their son had made it. ....”, Adit stopped talking for some time, caught up in the past. He closed his eyes looking up to the moon above the lake. I understood that he was thanking the guy above. I was humbled. I thought of myself as an achiever, going the distance when most others had told me that I wouldn’t go the distance. And here was a person who had actually gone the distance. There weren’t too many people like him at IIT-Bombay. Most of the guys were pretty well off, not too bothered with the problems in life. Many had been forced into coaching institutes and had studied hard and gotten through.
“I am proud of where I am coming from. I can now go anywhere.....”, said Adit confidently.

I began to realize how awesome a place IIT was. It was not the money or the facilities. Its the IITians that make IIT’s so awed. People who at least at some point of time had fire burning in their bellies. There are big guns who will go the distance. Sometimes I find it rather funny. People who have absolutely nothing in lives somehow stand up fight and come up while intelligent people who are capable and have all the facilities in the world somehow waste the lucky life given to them. Maybe its supposed to be like. Success is for those who deserve it. If the intelligent and spoilt rich kids everywhere in India started working sincerely, people like Adit could be sidelined. Maybe its all meant to work that way.........

A Struggle

For the first time in 5 years, Andy felt warmth spreading throughout his legs. He strained to look at his blanket covered legs; somehow he pushed the blanket off and felt the cool air brushing against his feet. “Well might as well try it…”, Andy thought and tried moving his toes. One of the toes on his right leg twitched. Andy hoped that he was awake and that everything wasn’t some crazy anaesthetic induced dream. He pinched himself. “Ow…! That hurt..”, he told himself. “Jen….Jen…you there anywhere?..”, he shouted. The door opened, and his wife Jennifer walked in. “I think my toe moved”, Andy said with tears in his eyes as he tried moving his toes again. Jennifer cried and cried while still smiling. The floodgates of a dam had suddenly opened, the pain and suffering of 5 long years erupted. They cried, in each other’s arms like little children.

5 years ago:
It was just like any other day in Iraq. Captain Andrew Symmonds of the 2nd Battalion, 35th Infantry Regiment was in the lead vehicle of a convoy of 6 vehicles, on a routine patrol mission, 45kms from the city of Basra which was completely under coalition control by t hen. The only warning that they got was when an RPG shell hit the second hummer in the convoy. Everything happened fast. Barrages of bullets were exchanged. Andy was hit by two bullets, one near the groin and one on his right shoulder; he remembered falling down while still aiming and firing. The Jehadi with the RPG launcher on his shoulder was shot dead by Andy before he could fire the next grenade. Soon the M16 rifles of the coalition soldiers drowned out the AK47’s of the insurgents. The loss of blood from the gunshot wounds soon caused Andy to lose consciousness. He remembered waking up in a military hospital ward in Basra; his abdomen, lower back, and shoulders wrapped in bandages, with no sensation in his legs.

The doctor told him that the first bullet had grazed his spinal cord narrowly missing some of the vital organs and that he was lucky to live. The bad news was that he had lost total control of the lower half of his body. He was paralysed totally waist down. He was awarded the ‘Purple Heart’ for his efforts and flown home. He should have been married 6 months before; the assault on Iraq had delayed the wedding plans. When the bullet grazed his spine, 2 lives went down in a tailspin, his own and that of his fiancée. Jen had prayed hard for his safe return; Andy had returned, but not in the way she had hoped. Andy had told her to forget him. He was half a vegetable, he couldn’t walk or run, he couldn’t control his bladder and he couldn’t make love. He didn’t want to ruin her life; the only good thing that he could do was to let her go. All the memories of the long hiking trips and late night dances and bedroom romps just brought more and more pain.

The first few months were the worst; depression had set in, he had even contemplated suicide. After all half a life isn’t worth living to some people; paralysis is a fate worse than death. Sometimes he even cursed the Iraqi insurgent for his aim, condemning him to a life of eternal suffering and embarrassment; a few inches or so and it would have been so peaceful. A Captain in the army, a man used to leading his company into the battlefield without fear, now had his mother and nurse lift him to the bathroom every time he wanted to go. He needed someone to help him put on trousers; the simplest of truggles activities became huge struggles. Life had made a tough man like him cry like a baby. He had lost all hope; but Jen hadn’t. She had urged him to fight on, begging him to move on with life. Love is a strange thing. Jen married Andy knowing fully aware that marital bliss in the conventional sense would never happen. She had urged him to visit many of the specialists on the East Coast. Slowly they adjusted to a different sort of life. By then they had lost all hope of Andy walking again; the only thing that they could do was adjust.

Extensive physiotherapy and MRI scans were conducted and numerous consultations were made, but of no use. The problem is that nerve cells do not have the extensive regeneration capabilities as normal human cells, with the capability decreasing progressively as one ages. Spinal cord injury has stages to it; partial recovery occurs after a few weeks, with some reflexes working, but gradually the recovered reflexes degenerate completely. After 3 and half years, life became more routine. She moved her job of interior designing to their home to take care of Andy. Andy looked after the running of the clothes stores that the family owned. One of the family friends had suggested stem cell treatment. Stem cell research is regulated in many countries because of the moral issue involved in how the stem cells are obtained; embryonic stem cells can only be obtained by killing the live embryo. Stem cells have the capability to differentiate into a diverse variety of cells. They are like ‘god cells’ from which any cell could be theoretically cultivated.

Beike Biotech of the People’s Republic of China is one of the few establishments worldwide to have commenced treating patients using stem cells. In the People’s Republic of China, the end justifies the means. Andrew and Jennifer flew to the headquarters of the company in Shenzhen. After all they had nothing to lose; they had already lost everything. Over the years they had saved enough money for the procedure. The surgery was conducted shortly; umbilical cord stem cell transplants were done, along with administering Nerve Growth Factor Transfusions. The surgery was over in 3 short hours.

Present Time:
Jennifer had prayed hard every day for the past 5 years for Andrew; each day hoping a miracle would happen. She had willingly accepted the life of a nun for him. She hoped that the treatment would work. All throughout the surgery she was pacing outside the theatre. They had shifted her sedated husband to a hospital room for resting. Jen had dozed off as well outside the room. She was dreaming of a warm spring day, holding Andy’s hand and walking in the park; it was a happy dream. The sound of Andy calling her name jolted her from her sleep. She had rushed into the room. She saw him moving his toes; she had started crying helplessly then. Jen realized that her dream could come true….

A year later after continued physiotherapy, Andy stood up and walked for the first time. Slowly he gained control over the lower half of his body. The struggle had brought them closer and made their relationship stronger. Controversy still rages on regarding stem cell transplants, with some arguing that benefits are only short term. Only time will tell……………

A Rail Journey

It was a cold morning; and my train to Delhi was to leave the Jammu Tawi Station at 0630. It was a tremendous effort to pull myself out of my warm bed at the hotel; and an even bigger effort to walk the short distance to the station. I could have taken a Tonga but they always overcharge. The sun hadn’t yet come up when I clambered onto the A4 compartment of the Rajdhani Express, thanking whoever who invented air conditioning. The slight warmth in the cabin was refreshing. I checked my ticket and searched for seat number 9. I walked into the compartment where seat 9 was situated. The first pleasant moment that entire day was the sight of the pretty little thing that sat opposite to my seat. She was gazing out of the window when I came in. She looked at me as I entered with my luggage.

The things that I noticed first were the bright blue eyes she had and the big smile she wore. The fair skin, innocent face, cashmere shawl, and the pale white hands I noticed only later. She was the one who started the conversation. No sooner had I sat down than she started asking my name, my hometown, what I was doing etc etc etc …. I was only happy to oblige. After all how often does a beautiful angel with the sweetest of voices start a conversation with you? I returned the favour, by asking my own questions. She was named after the goddess Lakshmi. To me she was like an apsaras sent from heaven. It turned out that both of us were of the same age; both of us had just finished our first years of college. She was studying in a college in Jammu and was going to her home in Kathua not too far from the railway station at Kathua. Kathua was the first stop of the train, the first of the 3 stops before Delhi. I swiftly calculated that perhaps there was an hour till Kathua. I do not remember what we talked about. She was always smiling; sand I was always distracted by her eyes and smiles. I stopped thinking and listening altogether. It was when the sun came up that she placed her hands on the window, as though she was soaking the warmth from the sunrays. That was when I truly realized the beauty of the moment. In front of me was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen; and to my side out of the window was one of the most beautiful places on earth. Between Jammy and Kathua, there were a few valleys and hills. The sun lightened up the valley; reflecting off the dew on the expanses of flowers and trees. Heaven would have been something like that. The sun also seemed to reflect off of her face as well, making her look even more beautiful.

Lakshmi was the goddess of beauty and prosperity among many other things; it in Sanskrit itself meant a lucky sign or omen…..and it was to be so. Her sweet voice had a calming effect on me. I was worried about a lot of things, many things had troubled me but those moments with her; time stood still. The train appeared to slow down; Laksmi asked me whether we were nearing Kathua station. I checked my watch and told her that the train would be reaching the station shortly. I cheekily asked her for her number and she smiled and gave it to me. A few minutes later, when the train entered the station, she reached under he seat and took an aluminium stick out.

She was blind. I was totally taken aback by it. Not once in the past hour did she show any signs of blindness; yet she was…..I softly cursed the heavens for making her beautiful eyes worthless….cursing the heavens for depriving such a kind soul of the vital sense of sight. “Wait, I’ll lead you out…there will be a big rush…”, I remember myself saying. I held her hand and took her luggage and led her out. Someone was waiting for her outside. She whispered a “Thank You”, as I returned to the railway coach.

By being blind she couldn’t see the bad things in the world. Perhaps her innocence was untainted because she was blind to everything bad….shielded forever….

DARK WATERS

Selvan smiled when he woke up that day. For after that day he would no longer be an orphan; he was going to have a family again after 5 long years of hardships. The story was the same for the girl he was going to marry as well. Selvan had met Mary in the orphanage 5 years ago. Selvan winced when he thought of that day, the day that changed his life and his soon to be wife’s.

5 years ago:
Selvan had just turned 16 a few weeks back; he had a loving father, mother and 2 younger sisters. His father was a shopkeeper in the small town of Tiruppundi not too far from the famous church at Velanganni. Christmas was usually the best time of the year for business, with a lot of pilgrims stopping by at Tiruppundi while traveling to Velanganni. He went to a government school not far from his one storeyed house, along with his younger sisters. There was a family tradition of going to Velanganni to offer prays to the Arokia Matha. It was on that trip that Selvan had first seen Mary. She was seated a few meters from him. The family had taken a taxi to Velanganni in the morning and prayed at the Basilica. They then went to Selvan’s uncle’s home where his aunt had prepared a feast of sorts for them. It was a happy time of the year when people forgot all their worries. Selvan slept well that night dreaming of the girl he saw in the church, little knowing how his life was going to change in a few short hours.

The family prepared to leave for home the next morning. They clambered into the ancient Ambassador taxi. It had happened suddenly, Selvan watched in shock as a water wall thrice as high as the taxi approached them from the left. The force of the water blew away the car making it roll several times. Some of the debris hit the windshield and broke it, with the water swallowing up the car. Selvan remembers being thrown out through the windshield while the car was rolling in the water. He somehow managed to break to the surface of the water for a gasp of air and tried to remain at the top frantically kicking with his legs while gasping for air. He could make out the top of a coconut tree in the path of the flood and tried reaching for it. He gripped at the leaves of the tree with all the strength he could muster and tried pulling himself towards the tree. He succeeded and felt a sense of security in the tumult around him. He climbed to the top of the tree to have a better view. The sight before his eyes filled him with a fear and awe. All around him he could see water and the only things that broke the surface were the tallest of trees and a building in the distance. All around him he could see things floating around, moving with the mass of water. He could make out wooden pieces that would have made up the roof of a house, plastic chairs, and whole trees floating as well.

The bodies he saw floating in the water while on his perch still haunted Selvan in his dreams. He prayed to God above to spare the lives of his family. Tears welled up in his eyes at the thought of not seeing his little sisters again. There are truly only a few instances when a person truly prays out his heart and soul. After what seemed like hours the water began to recede, and Selvan slowly climbed down from his perch wary of what the sea was taking with her. He saw many more dead-bodies while moving down with the receding water level. When the water level was just knee high, Selvan started to run away from the direction of the sea, crying out for his family. Deep in his heart he knew that he would be only greeted by silence. He tried not to notice the death around him. He could see for miles land that was ravaged and raped. There was debris all around him, he could make out piles of raised earth, where hours ago there was a house. Selvan ran with tears welling up in his eyes. God had not been kind to his worshippers.

On the 26th of December 2004, the Indian Ocean tsunami wreaked havoc claiming more than 200,000 lives and Selvan was one among the many hundreds of children that were orphaned by it. The days following the tsunami were the worst ones; he had no place to go to, his frantic search for family and relatives bore no fruit. Fate had cruelly taken away everything from him. The stench of death was everywhere. The first few days there was no shelter or food; slowly some help trickled. The authorities sent him to an orphanage in Nagapattinam not too far from his original home. The inmates of the Mission of Joy orphanage were to become his new family. All the companions he found had gone through the same trauma that he had bore witness to. There he also found Mary, fate had its cruel way. Both of them had lost everything they had, their home, their friends and their family. Their insecurity brought them together and they knew that they had their lives to rebuild. Life at the orphanage was not great, people were caring but there wasn’t a lot of money going around. They were taught at a local school and certain NGO’s had organized empowerment workshops teaching them skills with which they can earn a living.

Present Time:

Selvan looked at his bride and knew that it was a new beginning. Sometimes while he dreams, Selvan can still hear the pleasant chattering of his sisters…….

The Happy Life

“Grandpa tell me a story.....its been so long since i heard a story......”,Adriana asked Sean. “Well, Adriana....i think you have heard all the stories i know of.......I could tell you of my childhood if you want to hear it......but it will be boring i guess.....”,replied Sean. “Don’t worry grandpa.....try me.....”,countered Adriana. “Okay then lad....this.....is my story”......
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I was born high up on the mountains.....in the village of Ochsenberg, high up in the Alps......much higher than where we are right now. My mother kept our small cottage in order while my father was a cheese-maker. You could say that those were the times when the world was still fresh. You could smell the beauty of the earth as god had created it. I only wish you could have seen it as it were then....Adriana. Those were the days my lad, with nothing to do but just live life the way it should be lived. When the sun rose up between the mountains, all the light glistened with the snow and ice on the peaks, like a giant flame. It was the best sight of the world...to wake up and see the heavenly beauty.
I used to occasionally accompany the village goat-herd Johanne on his trek with his goats to the pastures high up in the mountains. The grass was truly greener up the slope. Those treks showed me the beauty of the world....the snow-capped peaks in the distance above you and the distant earth below you. The goats gave the milk for my father’s cheese business. It was a family business for many generations; making cheese was an art and most of the villages in the Swiss alps depended on the precious resource. Honestly i found Johanne’s job better than my father’s. Johanne could travel anywhere along the Alps, see nature in all her glory. But then again my father would have boxed my ear if i became one; cheese-making was the family tradition not goatherding.
Spring was the best time of the year; relief after a cold and dark winter. The thrill of warming yourself against the warm gaze of the sun in the still cool air was exquisite. Its when the flowers in the hidden valleys bloom. The daffodils, the roses and the orchids bloomed in fields full o them....some pretty flowers can only be found on higher slopes; sometimes high up in crevasses on the cliff you can see a rare beauty. On one of my treks i had stumbled on the ‘valley of flowers’, thats what i called it....after a heavy trek up the mountain with pretty much nothing to look at, it was a delight to see expanses of red, blue and green below you. The flowers there bloomed only for a few weeks in the year; they bloom sometime during the middle of spring, when all the snow has been melted away.
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The ‘Valley of Flowers’ is an important place to me lad.....Sean said with a bit of moisture in his eyes.
“Grandpa, I think i remember grandma telling something about that valley..”,said Adriana.
“Well she would now, wouldn’t she.....thats where I asked for her hand in marriage......”
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Your grandma was the daughter of the village alderman; he was the head of the village council. So it took a lot of time for me to get the courage to even talk to her. In your language you could say that we went on ‘dates’. But anyway one thing led to another and one fine day i decided i wanted to marry her. I came up with a good plan, invite her for a trek up on the mountains. She hadn’t seen as much of the mountains as i had and few people in Switzerland knew of the valley; it was a sort of secret kind of thing. So after many hours of trekking, when we finally reached the valley, your grandmother was spell-bound, the flowers were beautiful. Quite the right time to ask the question; when the mind isn’t thinking. She said ‘Yes’ and so we were married that very spring; didn’t take much time convincing the parents. We moved to a cottage midway between her parents and mine; so that we are impartial. It was a good time. Nothing to worry about; we loved each other and that was all that mattered. That’s difficult nowadays with so many things to do. My life was a simple life. I made good old Swiss cheese; the best ones this side of the Alps. I expanded my business, made more cheese, exported some too; the world loved our cheese, but at the heart of hearts i was still more of a goat-herd than a cheese-maker. Life was indeed beautiful. Your grandmother and I used to go hiking a lot; we both loved the mountains. We have together scaled some of the biggest mountains of the Alps; we scaled the Stockhorn on our honeymoon. The view from the top of some of those mountains were beyond words, makes you feel very humble, humans are really inconsequential beings.....
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Sean noticed that his grand-daughter had fallen asleep. He kissed her forehead and tucked her into bed. “Goodnight dear....”, he whispered.
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Sean walked to his balcony and looked up at the moon, whispering, “Oh Elena.... you made my life whole........ the fun times we had........I wish i could join you sooner........”.