Rasgulla

“Mihi!”

“Mihidana!”

“How many times have I asked you not to call me that?” Mihi looked at his cousin.

“Dear dear Rasgulla. What are you so angry for? You look like a Laddu now that you have gained 10 kilos,” taunted Mihi's cousin, Arshul.

Mihi shook his head.

No, they won’t understand, he told himself.

His dark past was in the past. The village head had listened to his story and ten years ago, had pardoned him.

But Mihi was burdened by his past.

Had he recovered?

No.

Would he ever recover?

It made him shaky to even think of those days.

When he had arrived in the village, shuddering with fear and trusting no one, Meena had fed him heartily at first.

Then Meena had adopted him.

“In two years you will become a handsome boy! I promise to feed you and turn you into a rasgulla.”

He had cried.

He couldn’t believe he had been pardoned.

He didn’t know however, what the future had in store for him.

Because eight years later, after he Did begin to look like a rasgulla, that man came.

It was dark. He had gone to get groceries – a short walk from home, when someone pulled him into the shadows and said, “If you tell anyone about this, they will die. And so will you.”

Mihi wanted to shout out for help.

But the man pressed his hand to his mouth.

“You will die Now if you shout!” he whispered.

Slowly the man removed his hand from his mouth.

Meet me at the graveyard at 9 p.m. sharp. Tell no one.

Mihi had told no one.

As he was walking to the designated rendezvous, he shuddered. He had to find a way out of whatever the man wanted him to do.

He just didn’t know how.

Yet.

Surely he could think of something?

“So we meet again, Mihi,” a guy flashed him a smile.

“Dheeraj da,” Mihi said, shocked.

The guy who had saved him from the streets only to plunge him into a black market business.

The guy whom he had thought of as his saviour, his angel.

Why?

Because after three days of begging on the streets in Mumbai and getting nothing, Dheeraj da had given him food. New clothes.

Mihi had happily consented to work for him.

At first, the blackmarketing racket consisted of trafficking exotic birds. Then, as the days went by and he became an expert at handling prices, he was introduced to drug and woman trafficking.

When he was only ten years old, he trafficked Mihu, a girl of fifteen years old from the slums of Mumbai.

Mihu… no other girl compared to her. She was soft-spoken, a graceful dancer with a calm demeanour.

Mihu…loved him like a brother and he was more than happy to fulfill the role of a brother.

One night, as Mihu danced in front of many, a guy decided to buy her.

The next day, Mihi was given an order to sell her for a good price.

Mihi had protested, for the first time in his life.

For the first time in his life, he was struck by Dheeraj.

Mihu shouted in protest.

On knowing the reason, she agreed to sell herself.

“I hope that one day we can see each other again and share a hearty meal together,” Mihu said, heartbroken, as she looked at Mihi. Heartbroken at their plight. Heartbroken at the thought of what might or might not be done to her after being sold off.

Mihi looked on at her as she was carried off, as Mihu silenced him with a single glare.

‘Don’t make this even worse than it has to be,’ she seemed to tell him.

Dheeraj, after thrashing him, said to him, “You raise your voice against us again, you won’t be given food for three days. Be grateful to us for what you have!”

Mihi had kept his face hidden as tears rolled down his cheeks. The pain from the thrashing did not hurt as much his heart and conscience did.

One day, he gathered enough courage to leave.

Leave the first place where he had been accepted. The first place that had needed him, only to use him. He knew he was a disposable pawn, but here he had felt like he belonged.

When the village elder in the village where he had run to found him, he was pardoned and was sent for adoption.

After he was adopted, he thought surely now he would be able to live happily.

But things did not seem to go as according to plans.

Was fate so cruel?

Dheeraj laughed and said, “Found you, didn’t we?”

“Tell you what, do this job and you will get money enough to spend a lifetime. It is true you won’t be able to live here anymore, but if you do this, consider yourself free from us. Free from all expectations.”

“I don’t believe you,” Mihi said darkly.

“We need a scapegoat. And that has to be you. You will allow us to traffick guns across the village – guns modelled inside things which are made to be children’s toys. You have to demonstrate that they are fully functioning children’s toys. Don’t get caught. If you do, it will be on you. If you don’t, we will pay you enough to, like I said, spend a lifetime alone,” Dheeraj said.

“What if I don’t?” Mihi whispered.

Mihu’s hands were tied. She had a bruise on her cheeks- she had been hit. As Dheeraj pulled her to the ground, she moaned in pain.

“If you don’t, she dies. And trust me when I say this, she is no longer needed.”

Mihi’s lips trembled.

He nodded.

“Okay.”

***

What he hadn’t said out loud…

He was ready.

He was twenty years old now, no longer a hungry child. Some of his fellow peers had found their calling as lords in the black marketing business, like Dheeraj had, but Mihi was of a more conscientious lot.

He understood little of patriotism. Where were the country’s patriots when he was on the roads starving?

But he understood family. Love. Bonds.

Like his sister Mihu. His adoptive mother, Meena.

And they believed in him.

He would drive the truck carrying the guns and explosives and when asked at the border as to what he was carrying, he would demonstrate them as children’s toys. At least that was Their plan.

Mihi drove the truck to the Nihar Lake.

Here he was stopped by the police.

He was prepared.

He was going to confess, when he saw Dheeraj looking at him from afar, in plain clothes.

Mihi wasn’t the sentimental lot.

He knew he could die.

But he also knew his mother and sister would choose to die.

As he was about to say something, Meena jumped in front of him.

“Toys. He is bringing toys to Nilgunj for Christmas!”

“10.10.10!” Someone shouted. The date, number, location.

Suddenly the police opened fire.

The police shot 10 metres away, at a gang of ten. Dheeraj was a part of the gang.

They couldn’t escape, this time.

Meena hurled Mihi out of the truck.

Mihi was expecting to be hit when he was suddenly hugged.

“Don’t you know how I would have felt if I were to be childless because of this?” She cried out loud.

Mihi was dumbstruck.

“How…” he trailed off.

Mihu smiled from afar. “I performed at her house the other day. In front of other businessmen. She was there too, serving drinks when I saw your picture at her house and I told her everything.”

Her eyes watered.

“She was prepared to die for you. You should know how lucky you are,” Mihu said.

Meena dragged Mihu out of her hiding place and said, “Today you will have an old dream fulfilled.”

Saying this, she led the both of them to the kitchen where a splendid meal for two waited in the dining area.

She made them sit facing each other as she served them their meals.

“You are now truly brother and sister. I am taking Mihu into my care as well.”

Mihi never shared his rasgullas.

But today, he almost force-fed the two sweets – one to his sister, one to his mother.

For his cousin, he bought Mihidana from the little he had earned driving villagers to and fro.

Happily, he watched his childhood terror go into captivity.

Moreover, he decided to open a school for the children without homes, searching them out from slums or the streets, so they would not suffer like he had.

After twenty years of this and that, he had found peace.

Mihi looked up where God must be and smiled.