Tragedy in a hut
I
am Rillo Devi. I am the sixth child of a labourer called Deva. My mother used
to work at the house of the village headman. She would work there till late in the
night and would return home with left over foods given by the landlords. She
had to wait till late in night to get even that.
Deva
used to work in the agricultural fields of the landlords of the village but they
were reluctant to pay the wages. He had to struggle a lot to get his daily wages.
Most of the time his children would sleep without food. Deva worked for the
whole day but would return home empty hand. The landlords were cruel and would
not listen to his humble requests to give him his wages which he earned so laboriously.
Whenever
Deva raised the issue of payment of wages with his landlords, he was abused and
forced to accept whatever they would give. Most of the wages earned by him used
to be adjusted against the interest on loan which his grandfather had taken
from the ancestors of the present landlord. Although the generations of Deva
had worked free to repay the loan but
they could not be debt free as the
repayments were always adjusted only against the interests.
Deva
was not in a position to negotiate with the landlord and had to accede to every
demand of the landlord. Once his wife was seriously ill. He wanted money for
her medical treatment but the landlord would not budge. He wanted him to put
thumb impressions on the blank stamp paper which he ultimately did and received
only Rs 20 out of Rs150 loan which was recorded in the document. Rest of the
amount was adjusted against the previous loan and interest thereupon. Deva left
the place with Rs 20 in his hand with burden to pay loan of Rs 150 and interest
ever multiplying
His
in-laws, too, were earning livelihood only by working in the agriculture field
of the landlord of the village. His brothers and sisters numbering six, all
used to leave home early and work similarly. That is how they were alive.
Thus,
the entire village used to work as bonded labour. They were working year after year
just to repay the loan taken by their forefathers. They were not free to select
master by choice. They could not also say ‘No’ to work even when they were ill.
They were just like tools in the hands of the rich.
My
parents married their children here and there so that they get rid of them. All
of them started living separately with their husbands. Hardly anybody had any asset.
Everybody was busy in earning livelihood by working with the village landlords.
The only option was to die of starvation.
When
I came to live with my husband Ramu , there was hardly anything to eat .My
husband looked at me with hope that he would be able to get both time meal from
tomorrow onwards because the newly married were given full support. My husband
knew the price for that.
Thus,
life became easy for my husband after I arrived in his house. But the story was
not to last long. One day while both of us were returning home, my husband was
bite by a cobra. Before anybody could know anything, he became unconscious.
Many persons gathered around. He collapsed before anybody could have understood
anything.
At
the time my husband died, I had one-year son. There was hardly any support. My
landlords offered me both time meal for which I had to stay and work in his
house hold for the whole day and late in the night.
I
was very much upset with the attitude of the landlord. He was a great exploiter.
He was often harsh with me. I did not like these things but had no choice.
Gradually
I started living there itself. I was allotted room on the top floor where
nobody else had the access except the landlord. It went all well till I was young.
I grew older with time. The landlord lost interest in me and would not bother
even for my food and essential requirements.
Thereafter
we shifted to our old hut. But there was no work there. I had to live without
food on many occasions. In that situation my only son, Ramu, came to my rescue.
He started earning from his ancestral profession of barber.
Ramu
was unmarried. I fixed his marriage in a local family. The bride was
hardworking and beautiful. However, the marriage had to be postponed as he suffered
from a paralytic attack about two years ago. He was unable to move out of his hut.
No body helped him to get proper medical treatment. He was just 40 years and
could have recovered if timely treatment was made available but nobody
bothered. So many poor persons fall ill and die without proper medical
treatment. Thus, the case if Ramu was nothing new.
I
was BPL (below poverty line) card holder and was, therefore, entitled for 76
kilograms of grains every month. This month, too, I got the grain but had
to sell it for purchasing medicines for
his ailing son. This left me without food to eat. I had none to help. Hardly
anybody from the village would enquire from them about their condition.
They
were without food several days. Ramu had grown weak. He was unable to walk or talk. He got medicines
for a few days at the cost of food which had to be sold.
I
went to the landlord several times and requested him for help but he did not
help and abused me instead. I had grown very weak and was not in a position to
work. So, I requested him repeatedly but he had no mercy.
One
day a VIP had come to inaugurate a village road. I also heard about it from a
neighbour. I stayed along the roadside for the whole day so that I could meet the
VIP. After waiting for about three hours I saw many policemen forming barricade
along both sides of the village road. That followed arrival of a large number
of cars. The VIP was sitting in the middle. I tried to approach him but was
thrown out by a constable. Thus, my effort to contact the VIP could not
succeed.
The
VIP made a long speech over poverty eradication. He distributed free gifts to
the poor villagers and had also assured full financial help to the needy for
taking medical treatment. I could not guess why my name was not included in the
list of the needy. With my adult son bedridden for months together, I had
absolutely no financial support but that could not draw attention of the agents
of the VIP who made selective approach in selecting the poor and needy persons.
The
VIP meeting was attended among others by several local leaders. The meeting was
followed by sumptuous lunch. There were many items of the menu which the
participants could not even touch. The left-over foods were wasted as the
locals who wanted to have it were not allowed to enter the place in the name of
the security. These food wastes were thrown on the road side after the meeting
was over and the VIPs left the village. This was height of cruelty because the
hungry and poor villagers were denied access to this food waste.
Next
day all the newspapers and television channels reported about generosity of the
VIP and his love for the poor. He was projected as the best leader of the state
who could be the great saviour of the poor and downtrodden.
That
day his ailing son had a sleepless night. He had not been able to eat anything
for several days. I wanted to sell my blanket but nobody was ready to buy even
for a nominal price.
The
only source of income for me was some money I would get on the occasion of
marriage of the villager who used to donate me some money on such occasions but
marriage was not a routine thing to happen. Only once in a while I would get
such chance. So, this income was hardly enough to sustain life.
I
got up early morning as usual to find that Ramu was motionless. He was unable
to respond. I touched his body just to find that he was dead. I started
weeping. Many villagers gathered around. Everybody was talking about us. Even
local leaders who were so much busy that day had time to come to my house and
express sympathy. The matter was soon reported by the press.
There
was a rush of media persons near my hut. Everybody was keen to know the details
so that they could send message to their media houses/newspapers. Next day the
newspaper was filled with the news item: Mother ,82, watches son dies of hunger
“It was a very pathetic story”. Everybody was worried about the tragedy.