Excerpt from A Place To Call Home
The dust was unforgiving, getting into his eyes, hair and worst of all, his mouth. He could feel a thin layer of it coating his skin as he walked along the road to his spot on the corner. The bottom of his dingy cotton dhoti, almost see-through after countless washes, was covered in a layer of dust from the road. Before the monsoons came to Saharsa, the dust coated everything and everyone. Whatever little he had to eat for the day was covered in dust. He could feel the grit between his teeth as he chewed and then felt it going down his throat as he swallowed.
Spreading his jute bag on the dusty ground, Sookoo sat cross-legged and tried to make himself as comfortable as possible. This would be his position for most of the day. Around him, more and more beggars took up their positions. They
crowded the roadsides, forcing the pedestrians onto the road. Some of them called out to those same passersby, begging for pisa, others for something to eat, others still were so emaciated and weak from hunger, all they could manage was to hold out their hand and hope something fell into their palms.
This was Sookoo’s occupation for most of his twenty-six years. This longevity gave him the prime location on the corner. From there he could watch people coming from every direction. He had seen older beggars pass away from various ailments and even starvation, and each time, as soon as that poor unfortunate’s spot opened up, the other beggars fought to claim it. The more recently you’d turned to begging, the further down the road you sat. Even among beggars there was a hierarchy.
Life for the Dalits, or untouchables as they were known, was a tough one. They were seen by their fellow Indians as the lowest in the hierarchy of castes and were therefore resigned to the most menial jobs: those that no one else wanted to do or felt that they were too good for. They did any job that was seen as ‘unclean’ for the higher castes. They were the road sweepers, garbage collectors and disposers of dead animals. And even then, they were still sometimes seen as not good enough even for these tasks. Many of them had no choice but to become beggars.
Sookoo did not call out to everyone who passed. Instead, he made a careful selection. He watched as each person came closer, and waited until he could make eye contact with someone. Then he knew he had him. With sad eyes, he would beg him for something to eat while rubbing his torso with his left hand. Once the person had met his gaze, he had him hooked. He felt they had to come over but would avert their eyes as they dropped a few coins into his dirty palm.
Sookoo pocketed the few precious coins, knowing that even the smallest amount would help. He would do this from sunrise to sunset, not wanting to miss out on a single person who might look him in the eye, even if it meant the hunger pangs in his stomach would become overwhelming. Sometimes, someone would mercifully toss their half-eaten chapati for him. If it was carelessly thrown, which it so often was, and didn’t land in his hand or lap, a vicious struggle would ensue with the other beggars. Hunger was their constant companion.