by Unknown
Jara fell to the ground, grabbing at the food. The next kick was aimed at his chin. "Bastard! I just bathed and will now have to bathe again," shouted one Priest as he kicked Jara repeatedly. The other Priests kept away as they did not wish to touch either the Untouchable or the angry Priest, who was now polluted by the boy. Jara was sure he was going to die. His only thought was to eat as much as possible before they killed him. When he raised his head to see what was happening, he was astonished to see his assailant go flying through the air, hit the deity, and collapse in a heap. A huge Brahmin was standing nearby. He grabbed the whip from the Head Priest's hand and Jara braced for it to connect with his scrawny body. He closed his eyes in fear. He heard the whip crack and a scream pierced his ears but he did not feel any pain. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He could hardly believe what he was seeing.
"How is it now, you scoundrel? How do you feel? Hitting a small boy, eh? Which scriptures tell you to do that, you dogs?"
The huge Brahmin obviously knew how to use the whip. He swung it with terrific effect and perfect aim. The Priests were running here and there, trying to escape the assault. Jara found that his mad saviour had locked the door of the temple and trapped the Priests inside. Jara and a grinning Shiva were the only witnesses to the assault.
"Kripa, you will rot in hell! You are hurting Brahmins... sin... sin." The Head Priest tried uttering a curse between his agonized cries. He was bleeding all over and purple rashes were breaking out on his paunch and back.
Kripa laughed loudly and kept lashing the hapless Priests. He only stopped when they stopped whining and blabbering. Satisfied, Kripa threw the lash at the Head Priest and said, "If you run to that fool Dhaumya, or that woman Kunti, to complain, I will come again. Next time I will not take so much time, for instead of a whip, I will use my sword. Have you understood, you idiots, or do you want me to say it in poetic Sanskrit?"
The Priests did not dare open their mouths. Kripa saw Jara looking wistfully at the crushed sweets on the ground. He picked the boy up and kicked open the temple doors. He put the boy down only when he reached the Banyan tree he usually sat under. "Are you a fool to take those sweets from the temple?" he asked Jara incredulously.
"I am hungry," Jara stated with touching simplicity.
Kripa felt tears fill his eyes for the first time in many years. "Come, I will buy you food," he said, and crossed the street towards a vendor selling ripe yellow mangoes and home-cooked food.
Jara followed. When they reached the vendor, Kripa searched through the folds of his dhoti and cursed. He had no money on him, having lost everything in the previous day's play. He called out to a rich merchant who was passing by, "Hey, can't you see a Brahmin standing here? Why do you not offer me anything?"
The Vaishya looked at Kripa apologetically and fumbled with the strings of his cloth purse, drawing out a few coins. He bowed to the insulted Brahmin and handed over the money. Kripa blessed the merchant, who went away with a pleased expression.
"Don't look at me like that." Kripa winked at the Nishada, handing over some money to the food vendor. "I do not do it often. I earn my food through my own labours. Today I did not have the luxury of showing you that resolve. You are too hungry. Every principle is broken one day or another and if it is for the right cause, there is nothing wrong in that. Your hunger is right enough for me. Perplexed? Do not bother, just eat."
Jara ate silently as Kripa looked at him. Kripa was feeling pleased. He had wanted to beat up the temple Priests for quite some time now and he was grateful the boy had provided him with the opportunity.
Jara marvelled at how easy it was to get food here. You only had to ask and it was given. He also observed that one could exchange coins for food. That night, while Kripa slept, Jara fumbled in the folds of the Brahmin's waistcloth for coins and then ran away to the poorer parts of the city with his loot. He did not feel any remorse or guilt at his action. Thereafter, the coins gave him food and he ate well until they ran out. When he had none left, he started asking people for food but found it was difficult to get them to part with their money. Something else was required to coax them. Kripa had used his sacred thread, but Jara did not have that option. Instead, he began using a knife to threaten people. Sometimes he succeeded, at other times he was beaten up. But he took it all in his stride. It was all part of life. He began earning notoriety in the neighbourhood. Like a fox, he crawled into his hiding place under a small bridge during the day. Nights were for prowling, scavenging and hunting. The beast that was born when Ekalavya thrashed him, was now fully grown and learning to survive in the urban jungle.
Jara never forgot the beating he received from the Priests, so he was particularly vicious when his victims were Brahmins. It was inevitable that his notoriety reached the ears of the lord of the underworld - Durjaya. He had special need of such boys. So Jara was sucked into Durjaya's world with ease. Jara was excited by his new life. No one asked him his caste. There were people here of all castes and creeds and there was a strange equality and honour among them. Money was plentiful and so was food.
There were other gangs sprouting up in other slums of the great city. Often, gang wars broke out between them. The gangs played a deadly cat-and-mouse game in the dark alleys of Hastinapura. The city police sometimes joined in the fun. But the others were small timers. Durjaya knew he owed his strength to the support from across the border and the pleasure of the Gandhara Prince. He was careful not to squander such support. He cultivated competition among his young men and girls, to motivate them in their adventurous life of crime. But Jara would nevertheless have ended life as an unidentified corpse in the gutters of the city soon, had fate not intervened. His destiny was not to be a martyr in a gang war at the age of seventeen. The Gods had other plans for him. They would not let him die so easily and end his suffering so quickly.
Five years had passed since Jara had stolen from Kripa. He was a young man now, full of the vigour of life. He was also an assistant leader in the gang of teenage boys who broke into people's homes in the dead of night and robbed them. A lad in his early twenties called Daya was the leader of their group. Durjaya used a beautiful girl as bait, to create a stiff rivalry between Jara and Daya. She flirted with them both and egged them on to perform daredevil feats. The boys competed with each other in cruelty and crime to please the girl and their boss. Daya seemed to hold the edge and it made Jara burn with jealousy and anger. He wanted to prove himself.
Jara had kept a Brahmin's house under surveillance for the past few days. The house was close to the fort and that added an element of risk. It was both fun and adventurous to loot a house so near the guarded precincts of the fort. The Brahmin seemed to be a singer and many rich people visited him on most days to hear him sing. He did not seem particularly prosperous, but that could have been because he wished to hide his wealth. If he was not wealthy, how could he afford to feed those who visited him? Some days there would be a crowd at his door and on other days, no one. Jara waited for the monsoon as it would be easier to act under the cover of rain. No one would hear his victims scream.
Ten days after the rains broke and the drains of Hastinapura were overflowing, Jara revealed his plan to his gang members. Daya remained unimpressed. He had learnt that real wealth lay not with the Brahmins or Kshatriyas, but the merchant Vaishyas. He had marked a rich silk merchant's mansion as that night's target and did not wish to hear about Jara's harebrained scheme to loot some singer. The girl they both wanted giggled, and Jara threw his wine tumbler to the floor with great violence. He would show them, these grinning nitwits. The gang left together for the city in the dead of night but Jara slipped away when they neared the singer's house. Daya shook his head and continued on his way.
Jara gritted his teeth at the mockery gleaming in his rival's eyes. It was raining heavily when he jumped the small wall that separated the house from the street. Somewhere a dog howled and thunder clapped in the sky. He walked around the house, trying each window and door lightly to gain entry
. When he found them all bolted, he decided to clamber onto the thatched roof and jump in. It was a slippery climb in the rain and his progress was slow. Twice, in the lighting, he saw the silhouettes of the guards on the fort walls. He moved towards what he thought was the kitchen and made a hole in the thatch to peer in. He could hear whispers coming from the dining room and see a faint glow of light. Jara cursed. He had expected the household to be sound asleep. He could not wait much longer as the guards might see him. He slowly crawled through the hole in the roof and jumped down, landing softly on all fours.
Krishna, you are the only food we need. Your compassion feeds my hungry stomach and those of my wife and children. How we rejoice in your play, and lose ourselves in your ways, Achyuta, Madhava... Something in the voice of the singer arrested Jara for a moment. He had drawn his knife and could see shadows moving in the room beyond the kitchen.
"Enough of your prayers! The children are hungry and have not eaten anything since yesterday. What use is your Krishna if he cannot even give us food?" A woman's voice rose in irritation and Jara flinched. They had not eaten in two days? And he of all people had come to loot this house? Jara was shocked.
A child, barely four years old, walked into the kitchen. Jara tried to move deeper into the shadows, but the child saw him and giggled. He did not know what to do. He tried to hide the knife he held. Had he not heard about the hunger in the Brahmin's home, the beast in him would not have hesitated to plunge the blade into the soft body of the girl. But he knew what hunger was, he knew its pain. He could not kill anyone who was hungry.
"Bhavani, come here and eat," the woman called. When the little girl did not move, the mother came into the kitchen. She was shocked to find a man with a knife there and stood frozen. Recovering in a flash, she grabbed the little girl and screamed. Outside, the rain lashed down in unmitigated fury, rattling the doors and windows of the old house. The woman ran with Bhavani towards her two boys and threw her protective arms around them all. The boys were twins, younger than Bhavani, about three years old. The woman huddled in a corner with her children, her teeth chattering in fear.
The Brahmin looked up and saw Jara, who tightened his grip on his knife, ready to use it if required. "Krishna, you have come..." he cried. There was no fear in his voice. It was ecstatic, almost rapturous. Jara was perplexed. Had he come to a mad man's house? The Brahmin danced around Jara and fell at his feet. "I knew you would come one day, my Lord, my beloved," he exclaimed joyfully. Then he turned to his wife. "See who has come! Bring the plantain leaf. Give my Krishna food! Woman, what are you doing there? Have you forgotten your duties to our guest?"
Jara stood like a statue, his brain numb. The Brahmin shouted to his wife again. She looked at Jara's knife. He was embarrassed by the hatred in her eyes. He threw the weapon to the floor. The hint of a smile played on her pale lips and he felt ashamed to have barged into her house with the intention of harming them. The Brahmin was still prancing around excitedly, trying to arrange seating and a tumbler of water for his guest. Never in Jara's life had anyone shown such happiness at seeing him. People had kicked, lashed, shouted, stoned, and punched him, but never had anyone considered him a human being, let alone a God. Jara had only the faintest knowledge of Krishna, who was becoming known as a god man. He knew many people had started worshipping him as a miracle worker and an avatar of Lord Vishnu. In the slums, people needed magic to escape the mundane harshness of life. Krishna was magic.
"I know your mischief, Krishna. You are acting as if I have not recognized you. Please accept my hospitality and offerings, Lord..." The Brahmin grabbed Jara's hands and made him sit on the floor. He placed the plantain leaf before him and started serving a sticky porridge. "Eat, my Krishna..." the Brahmin urged and then broke into a song of rapture.
The melodious voice soothed the burning mind of the Nishada. The song was about Krishna's compassion, about how the Lord tests his devotees. It was about the hidden Krishna in every soul, in every living and non-living thing, and how he blossoms in love and acts of kindness. The words were about bliss in nothing and infinite happiness in everything. Jara did not possess the knowledge to understand the meaning of the words. It made no sense to his brain but touched his heart, and he broke into sobs. "Swami, I am not your Krishna. I am just an Untouchable," he managed to say between sobs. He expected to be beaten or screamed at. If the Brahmin had done any such thing, the beast that lay dormant in the Nishada's heart would have reached for the knife.
Instead, the Brahmin said softly, "You are neither touchable nor untouchable. You are what you are. You are Brahma, you are Vishnu, and you are Maheshwara. You are my father, my son, my mother, and my brother. You have come to my humble abode to share my food. You are my guest and my God. Please eat, my Krishna." He poured the entire contents of the porridge pot onto the plantain leaf before the Untouchable.
Jara was unable to see clearly through the tears, which flooded his eyes, but he picked up the porridge. It oozed through his fingers. He suddenly felt ravenous and attacked the food, licking the leaf clean.
The mad Brahmin broke into another song. When he finished, he touched his head to the floor in obeisance before Jara and said, "I am blessed, my Lord. First, you came as food in front of a hungry man. Then you have come as a man hungry for food." He turned to his wife and told her to get water for their guest to wash his hands.
The woman put down her sleeping twins on the ground and walked towards the kitchen. As she opened the door, a cold wind rushed in and the lamp flickered. She waited outside with a pitcher of water. Jara looked at the twins and shuddered. They looked emaciated and pale. As he moved outside to wash his hands, little Bhavani followed him. He saw her looking wistfully at the empty porridge pot. With a start he realised he had eaten the family's dinner and they would now go hungry. The woman gave him a derisive smile.
"Mother, I am sorry..." At a loss for words, Jara could not look at her.
"We are used to his insanity," the woman said, her lips twisting in either pain or a glimmer of amusement.
"I thought you were rich. I have seen many wealthy men visiting this house. That is why..." Jara could not complete his words.
"So you came to rob us. If you had just asked him, he would have given you whatever you wanted... not that we have much."
The little girl came to stand near her mother. The woman picked her up and planted kisses on her cheek. The child smiled angelically. "He sees Krishna everywhere. He has talent and sings well. On good days, people flock to hear him and the room is stacked with presents in cash and kind. Anyone else would have become rich by now. But he says the gifts are not his, but his God's, and he has no claim on them. Whatever he earns, he gives away the same day. He considers it an affront to his God to believe in the future and save for it. He says that he who has made us will provide. By the evening, everything is dispersed to whoever comes to our gate. All kinds of lazy men, beggars, saints, noblemen, women, and charlatans, flock here to get their share. He sees his Krishna in every soul and does not care if his family goes hungry. This is my fate - to see my children go hungry while my husband feeds strangers and thieves..." She stopped suddenly.
"Mother, forgive me. I came to loot you." Jara saw the little girl's thumb go into her mouth and the mother tenderly kiss her. The food rumbled in his stomach. He saw that a puddle had formed on the kitchen floor from the dripping hole in the roof through which he had entered. They could hear the Brahmin chanting his God's name from the other room. Jara's eyes met those of the woman. He felt like weeping. "Mother, you will not go hungry tonight. I will come with food," he said, not knowing what else to say. The woman just smiled. The girl had slipped into peaceful slumber.
Jara hesitated a moment longer and then turned on his heel and walked out into the wet night. The streetlights had died long ago in the rain and it was dark and damp in the streets. Except for the gurgling of the storm water drains, the night was silent. He did not know where he could get food at this time of night. He k
ept wondering what made people so crazy that they gave away everything. Earlier, he was used to men beating him up if he asked for food. Now he had become the person beating others up. The lashes he had suffered from the temple Priest still hurt, at least in his mind. He did not understand the world. Life confused the ignorant Nishada. Could people be so savage, yet so kind at the same time? It was easy and convenient to believe that those who were different were evil. He had developed a deep hatred for all Brahmins after the incident in the temple. But crazy men like the singer tonight, shook the foundations of his hatred and confused him. He kept walking aimlessly.
Jara saw a butcher's shop with a ram tied to the leg of a charpoy standing in the thatched verandah in front of it. The shop was closed and the butcher was snoring loudly on the charpoy. Here was food! 'I could repay my debt to the mad Brahmin and be done with all these mushy feelings,' thought the Nishada. He felt indebted to the mad man and feared he would lose the ego and hatred he had accumulated over the years. He wanted to return to the world of crime and adventure. Jara untied the ram and walked away. It took him a while to locate the house but he eventually walked through the front gate with a spring in his step. He was the giver now and not a sneaking thief. A strange sensation of happiness filled his heart. The first understanding of the joy of giving entered his dark heart and the Brahmin who gave away everything began to seem less crazy.