123 Tomorrows

by Vaibhav Thakur

  “Nah... you can’t. I told you that,” he said. “However, you can most assuredly take it from me that I can kill you like this.” He snapped his fingers.

  “But you know what—” He walked till his forehead was touching the nozzle of my gun. “—I won’t kill you either. You see—” With one swift movement, his fake beard and ponytail hair fell to the ground. He wasn’t old... or a stranger.

  “—I am you,” he said.

  ###

  FIVE YEARS AGO…

  Location: Shanti Niketan Orphanage

  Date: 12th March 2015

  The 35-year-old dilapidated building of Shanti-Niketan Orphanage still served as a landmark for Bangalore’s residents. Spread in a relative luxury of 6000 square feet, it was a relic of a forgone era amidst the perpetual hubbub of the IT city of India. While the nearby locality brandished glossy corporate buildings and swanky gated complexes, it seemed as if the 21st century had forgotten to touch Shanti Niketan’s dusty verandas and rusty gates.

  The building’s pale paint was covered with green undergrowth and cracks in the walls gave way to plants fighting their way out to the sunshine. A huge banyan tree stood in one of the corners with secondary roots branching downwards giving an impression of several trees huddled around a parental one. Broken and foggy glass windows were covered with old newspapers to withstand the wind. Its thick groves of trees surrounded the lone single-story decrepit structure in the middle of the wilderness. Had it not been for an old sign-board outside, one could have mistaken it for an abandoned forest reserve.

  Currently, in one of the corner rooms, that served as an office-cum-storage, sat Omkar Gupta with a visitor.

  “Do you see that photo, Mr. Shah,” said Omkar Gupta, pointing at a hazy black and white photograph behind him.

  Mr. Shah nodded. He looked at the photograph and then at the clock that was running 10-minutes slow. He shifted uncomfortably in his rickety chair.

  “That photo was taken 35 years ago. That is my wife Shanti and my children– Niket and Nikita.” Omkar Gupta’s eyes glistened.

  “He was six and she was three… she was such a doll. A perfect family where happiness had found its perfect home. I couldn’t have asked for anything more… but a man is fate’s slave. Every year we used to go to their grandparent’s home for vacations. That year they were all very excited. We boarded a government bus and as always, kids wanted the window seat. So, I moved to another place in the bus. How was I to know that that little detail would change my life forever. A drunk truck-driver rammed onto our bus from the side. There was not a single scratch on me, but all three of them died on the spot.”

  He took out his glasses and wiped moisture from his eyes.

  “Carrying your three-year-old daughter’s dead body is the gravest pain that can be inflicted on a father’s heart. I couldn’t take it, this big house haunted me. I hallucinated them to be running around the house, playing hide and seek with me, laughing at me, as if nothing had happened.”

  Omkar Gupta paused to catch his breath. His body felt heavy. And pain made it difficult to talk, but there was something in the strange visitor that he wanted to tell him his story. He laboured on.

  “Alone and depressed, I found solace in alcohol for a while, but the burden of life was way too much to be alleviated by a few drops of slow poison. I often mulled about ending my misery and one day with the intent of executing it, I made my way towards the railway tracks. That is when I saw a small boy trying to soothe his little sister. He made her a rattle with an empty can and gravel, much to the amusement of his sister. They were covered in filth and their clothes were tattered, but those children were god-sent. I brought them home, bathed them, washed their hair, clothed them in Niket and Niketa’s clothes, fed them dinner with my own hands. When I put them to bed, the little girl spoke for the first time. It was a heavenly voice as if God himself was speaking through her ‘Don’t leave us ever, Abba,’ she had said.”

  “It was my destiny. This is how Shantiniketan was born. In last 35 years, thousands of orphans have found a home here. And I found my children in all of them.”

  Mr. Shah listened patiently with a stillness on his face. He slowly took one last sip of tea from his cup, before putting it back on the saucer. “You have done admirable work, Mr. Gupta. And this is the reason I wanted to make a small donation for the kids.” He took out a cheque from his coat pocket and handed it across the table.

  Omkar looked at the cheque and said with a disbelief, “This donation is anything but ‘small’, Mr. Shah. Are you sure you have not added a zero by mistake?”

  “There are no mistakes and there are no co-incidences.”

  “Amen to that. God sends people like you in need. This is the biggest donation Shantiniketan has ever received Mr. Shah. This will provide the children with a year worth of food and clothes.”

  “However,” the man said, picking up the round glass paper-weight from the table. “I do have one special request associated with this donation.”

  “Anything Mr. Shah. Tell me and it will be done.”

  The generous guest toyed with paper-weight in his hand. “There is a boy in this orphanage – his name is Iqbal. Do you know him?”

  “Yes, of course, I know him. He is here since he was left on our doorstep in a bassinet 10-years ago. In fact, I myself picked him up from the basket. There was no letter, as is often the case with these abandoned children, however, there was a small scrap of paper in his bassinet that said ‘Iqbal’. I figured that’s what his parents intended to call him and that’s how he got his name. Anyway, what about him?”

  “I actually got talking to him yesterday. He seems like a bright kid.”

  “He is. Isn’t he? God bless him. Little shy but quite smart for his age that lad. Loves reading; in fact, he has read all the books in our little library twice. Unfortunately, we have limited resources, but I am sure he will make something of himself despite the constraints.”

  “That was my assessment too.” Mr. Shah cleared his throat. “Mr. Gupta, such talent shouldn’t be left to luck. Such minds need proper conditioning especially in their formative years. So, my only request is to have this money spent on Iqbal. Put him into a good school where he can exploit his potential. Get him what he deserves - books and better education. Can you do that?”

  Mr. Gupta looked thoughtfully through the broken glass of the window. It was dusk, and several kids of different ages were playing in the playground. Some were just running around, while others were waiting their turn on a makeshift slide. One of the bigger kids forced himself in front of the queue out of his turn.

  “Mr. Shah – each of these kids is like my own child to me. They are equally dear, and I can’t put one child’s future ahead of others. Though Iqbal has lots of promise, I can’t have him have it all while his brothers and sisters are struggling for a proper meal on the table. Yes, they will be poorer without your donation, but at least they will be equally poor.”

  Omkar Gupta’s extended the cheque back to Mr. Shah.

  “No, that’s fine Mr. Omkar.” Mr. Shah took a deep sigh. “I understand. You can keep the money and use as you see fit. I am still content knowing that a part of that cheque goes to Iqbal.”

  “If you really want those things for Iqbal then there are adoption options…”

  “That’s not an option for someone in my job, Mr. Omkar.” Mr. Shah stood up and picked up his hat. “I’ll take your leave now,” he said.

  “God bless you, Mr. Shah,” Omkar Gupta said, sincerely.

  Mr. Shah adjusted his hat. “Thank you, mister Gupta,” he said before opening the wooden door.

  Once the stranger has left, Omkar Gupta stared at the empty chair for a while. With shaking hands, he picked up the cheque again and examined it closely. Convinced that his ailing eyes had not misread the numbers, he called out for his attendant.

  Gopal came almost immediately. “Yes, sir.”

  “I thought I should share this good news with you first
, Gopal,” he said.

  “What is it, sir? I don’t remember seeing you this happy in a long time,” said Gopal, wiping his hands on a piece of cloth that always rested on his shoulders.

  “Of course, there is a reason to be happy. Take a look...” he passed on the cheque to him.

  “Wh... What!” Gopal’s eyes widened.

  “Yes, Gopal. God finds ways to help those in need.”

  “You are absolutely right sir.”

  “Deposit that cheque in bank. And to celebrate... make something special for the kids today… don’t forget the sweets. It has been long since my kids had a nice cashew barfi.” Omkar Gupta emptied his pocket and handed money to Gopal.

  “You just read my mind, sir,” Gopal said, putting the currency in the pocket of his stained kurta. “I will make the preparations right away.”

  Omkar Gupta gave a nod of approval. “Gopal – can I ask you one more thing?”

  “Anything, sir,” Gopal said.

  “How are the kids? I know I haven’t met them in a while, but I don’t want them to see me in this pain. It’s better if they focus on their studies instead of worrying about me.”

  “There is nothing to worry about at all sir,” Gopal said with a smile on his face. “Kids are happy, and they pray daily for your health. They are grateful for what they have.”

  “Gopal,” Omkar Gupta said, putting his hand on Gopal’s shoulder, “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  “I just wish to be of some service to you and those kids, sir. They are special and as long as I’m here I’ll make sure that they’re properly taken care of.”

  “God bless you, Gopal.”

  “Have a good night, sir,” Gopal said turning out of the room with a hand feeling the crisp notes in the pocket and a wicked grin on his face.

  ###

  Young Iqbal dreaded this time of the day. The descending night amongst the thick trees at the orphanage, and the dull light of dust-covered low-powered bulbs filtering through the cobwebs, filled his heart with a distinct melancholy. Lately, evenings had become much gloomier ever since the Omkar Abba had stopped visiting due to his health and left everything to Gopal.

  He swallowed down a wordless dinner and completed his daily duties as quickly as he could and rushed towards the dorm area. He kept his gaze low and held his science book tightly by his side. Most of the other kids were still at dinner and that gave him a half hour window to help his friend.

  Once he reached the sleeping area, his eyes darted past the rows of three-tiered bunk-beds to other end of the long room. His heart filled with pity and fear at the sight Sunil, bound to the beds as if crucified. His wrists were bruised from the coarse rope and his eyes were half closed with exhaustion. It had been eight hours for him in that punishment. For a second, Iqbal considered turning back. If anyone found out that he was with Sunil, he would be sharing the same fate.

  He did a double take. A dim chatter of kids could be heard from the kitchen. It’d be some time before they’d start trickling into the dorm. Iqbal hurried to Sunil and sat on the lowest rung of the opposite bed.

  “I told you. You should have given that share to Jaggu bhai. Have you seen the size of that guy? But no, you don’t ever listen to me,” he whispered to Sunil.

  Sunil opened his eyes and looked at Iqbal. His thin face seemed even thinner than usual. His Adam's apple moved as he swallowed. “What are you doing here?” he said.

  “Shhh... talk quietly,” Iqbal said putting a finger on his lips. “I am trying to keep you alive.”

  Iqbal pressed his water bottle and against Sunil’s mouth. Then, he took out a couple of slices of crumpled bread from his dirty pockets. “There.”

  He brought his hand closer to Sunil’s mouth which he attacked like a hungry dog. He had not eaten since morning and hunger made the crudest and half burnt dry roti taste like a culinary delicacy. His mouth searched for more and finding none, ended up licking Iqbal’s hands slobbering it with saliva.

  Iqbal felt pity for his friend. But Sunil was himself to blame for his situation.

  “Do you have more...” Sunil said meekly.

  “No, I don’t,” Iqbal said wiping his hands on his pants. “And had you not tried to become a hero in front of everyone, you at least would’ve got your dinner. Jaggu is not a kid, Sunil, he is a sixteen-year-old gangster. And he has those two other henchmen, Dara and Bura always with him. We can’t fight him, Sunil. Take my advice, once he comes for night patrol, apologise to him and things will go back to the way they were before.”

  Sunil managed to sneak out a laugh through his pain and looked at Iqbal with fierce reddened eyes.

  “We can fight him,” he said grimly. Iqbal wondered how Sunil was still able to speak even after such a punishment. “They are three and we are thirty. What makes you think we can’t? If we can find courage to stand against them together, they won’t be able to run their little racket going for long. Everyone is just scared of him and his louts—”

  They were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Iqbal quickly jumped over to his bed as the door creaked open. A small bespectacled kid walked in, straightway walked past them without looking and went to the toilet filling the room with the sharp stench of urine as he opened the door.

  Once he had relieved himself and left the room to the two of them again, Sunil lifted his head and spoke with firmness. “Iqbal, I want you to know this. I didn’t fight for a stupid lunch or a loaf of bread, lord Shiva knows my will to sustain my hunger for many nights and many days. I fought for something more, I fought for self-respect. For us orphans, there is nothing that belongs to us except our self-respect. The day we lose it, that is when we truly become orphans.

  “There was a reason I had to fight. In front of everyone. I knew I’d lose, but at least others will see it and they will know that they have a choice. They have a choice between giving up their self-respect or stand-up against Jaggu. We have to realize that the real problem is not him or the likes of him, Iqbal, the problem is us.

  “If we don’t retaliate now, he will go on to dominate us even more. He will get bolder and we’ll soon be nothing more than his slaves.”

  “This is foolishness, these big ideas are good for people who can afford it. We are orphans, Sunil. And none of these whimpering babies will stand with you. It simply won’t work,” Iqbal said.

  “It did. Here you are, talking to me, feeding me; despite his orders. This is the beginning - one after another we will gather everyone, Iqbal, you’ll see.”

  Iqbal knew that Sunil’s words bore truth but what could he do? Things in an orphanage were never easy. There was always a competition for everything. All kids scrambling to survive with whatever little they could lay their hands on. But it was still better than nothing. He didn’t want to lose what he had – it was just easier to give in a few things than inviting trouble.

  Though he convinced himself, his mind wandered to those sparse memories where Abba would spend time with small children. He even remembered sitting on his shoulder and how Abba played horsey for him, hopping and jumping across Shantiniketan; he was so happy; Abba had even hugged him afterward. Those were the only few days that came as close to having a family.

  But that was long back. Nowadays, Abba was mostly sick and rarely came to Shantiniketan. He had left everything to Gopal for whom Shantiniketan was his private money-making zoo.

  The end-of-the-day bell snapped Iqbal out of his thoughts. Soon, several kids of different ages began pouring into the dorm. Some of them gave a quick glance at Sunil and looked away promptly before sneaking into their beds and clearing out the aisle.

  At last, Jaggu dada and his two cronies, Dara and Bura entered, laughing loudly. All the kids sank deeper in their beds as if to make themselves invisible.

  Jaggu dada was a hulk for his age with a face to match. He towered above everyone else and didn't try to hide his bulging muscles and knife that was tucked on the side. He chewed on the last shreds of meat
on a chicken bone with his yellow teeth and his fat double chin gave an impression of a bulldog. That analogy worked well for him in other ways too.

  “Oh, my my, such a nice bunch of kids you are. Already in your bed?” he said mischievously looking from left to right. “I thought this was our free time, time to have some fun. Let’s have a little chat. Should we?”

  Silence.

  “Okay, first of all, let me tell you that I am deeply hurt by what happened today at lunchtime. At Shantiniketan, such things are not expected of you. We only have each other in this difficult world, and we should be looking out for each other, right? I consider myself to be a big brother to all of you, I provide you with any help you need, I bring order and discipline to this orphanage, I give you protection and security and in exchange, you provide me with some basic needs. Was that too much to ask from my family?”

  Silence again.

  “I hope this won’t happen again. Don’t you agree, my little brother?” he pointed the knife at a small kid near him.

  The kid nodded nervously.

  “See. My brother agrees. We are a family and we should live as one. We’ll take care of each other; good kids will get rewarded and naughty ones will get punished.”

  He slowly moved towards Sunil and a quiet fell in the dorm.

  “There is someone who was punished today,” he said in a casual tone taking another bite from chicken leg. “Brother Dara and Bura, can you please untie our brother Sunil and get him to the center of the room.”

  Something in Jaggu’s tone alarmed Iqbal. He shuddered to think if worst was yet to come for Sunil. As everyone watched, Dara and Bura swiftly walked towards Sunil and cut his ropes. With sheer exhaustion Sunil collapsed to the ground; Dara grabbed his arm and brought him to his feet. Meanwhile, Bura spotted something on the floor and picked it up. A devilish grin flashed on his face.

  “Look Jaggu dada, what I found,” he said raising a small bread crumb like a trophy. “Someone’s been feeding him.”