My first hand account………
Raghbir Singh Brar
Faridkot
While the grain market Kotkpaura is considered to be one of the largest markets in the state,like,maybe all, it also has a sad tale of poverty to tell.
The herds of the small children,boys and girls,apart from the women, are seen roaming around in the market all day and night to lift some produce so that they can douse the fire of appetite burning their stomach.
The intolerable,vulgar comments by the labourers,sometimes beatings by the farmers and abusive language of the Chaudhris of the ahartis is not strange to them.
Their needs have made them strong enough to tolerate this all, as at least they have to survive.They always, in all season, give the farmers, Choudharis of the ahartias and others sleepless nights. But beneath it, there is an unfathomable desire to survive.
“Hey ! Monalisa, run away from here,” the young labourer unloading my trolley shouts at the two girls, who must have barely stepped into their teenage years.
The two little girls,with the Sajjlies and brooms, stand awakwards.They could hardly sweep less than one kg of dirty grains trapped in the cracks of the flour of the market.They continue to do so unless another shouts at them.
“What does poverty not make a man do,it does not matter,they are sweeping the scattered grains,’ I ask the boy unloading my trolley not to speak like this.
“No uncle, we do not ask them anything,but they steal our produce from filled bags,” he replies.
The little girls,bare feet,with dirty clothes,one can not imagine how long ago they might have washed themselves,start moving away after another labourer passed lewd comments on them.
”You are too small, otherwise I would have told you how to steal the produce from here,” he passes the comment unabashedly.
The girl who was called Monalisa by his fellow, does not resist, but her fellow looks resisting his remarks and she seems to answer in the same way, something which fades away in the chaos of the grain market.They move away.
The young boy, who sarcastically addressed the little black girl as Monalisa, must have got an idea from the title minted by the so called lap dog media to pamper a Banjara girl in Maha kumbh recently.
Otherwise,he must not have even a remote idea of the world famous Italian painter, Leonardo De Vince, who made the”Monalisa” immortal in his paintings.
In the afternoon,there was chaos chaos.First, as I was very tired,I did not go to the scene.But when a lot of people gathered there, I rushed to the spot.
A girl,with salwar –Kameej, swollen lips and scattered hair walked out of the crowd.
“Look, this girl is an expert in stealing the produce. She fills up the grains into the sack and then does not leave it at all whatsoever happens. When a farmer tries to snatch the sack, she bitterly bites him. So nobody touches her here,’ tells my neighbourhood farmer.
“She should have been beaten more,taught a lesson,” some voices came out of the crowd.
“They have beaten her. Snatched the stolen produce, but she has badly bitten two men bleeding them. She has also smashed their phone,” the others say.
The curious journalist awakened within me. I follow the girl to see what she does.
She walks up to a nearby shop and buys a packet of snacks,sits on the filled jute bags as if an alive person turned dead as a statue, I guess that she must be somewhat mentally retarted. She does not cry or weep.Motionless,she sits for long on the gunny bags.
Like this so many little boys and girls, more often girls, can be seen here and there only to steal the produce.
The women usually request the farmers to allow them to clean the left out uncleaned produce.
I am loading my small trolley myself with the left out of the cleaned produce. Two women approach me.”Uncle we load it. Leave us whatsoever you want,”they implore.
I had to do it unwillingly.
I try my best to guard the produce,sweep each grain, but they say”God will give you more, We need it, I again sit silently approving their request as then my ahartia and choudhry disapprove of my produce because of a few grains of karnal bunt.
I calculate my loss is much bigger against their petty request for survival and also sit with my heart sinking down allowing them to sweep the grains.
Scene three.
Two women had earned some leftover produce, which they needed to clean in the air. But an arrogant Jatt warned them of burning their chaff with gains as when they flyied it into the air, the dust settled on him.
Mukesh, a 31 years old migrant labourer is very alive to the situation. Noting that I was sympathetic with them, he says”Uncle,look, our children, Bahu-Betian are getting insulted allegedly for stealing a handful of grains. You know they have to appease their appetite.They have nothing to eat,what else do they do if not steal.Our governments do nothing against it.”
“We have a more poor population in Bihar.The number of the rich people is small. We do not get sufficient work and poverty drives our people here.
A nursery to prepare criminals is also here.
Two years ago, I was driving to thresh my Jhar(uncleaned produce left over after selling the best cleaned paddy) for cleaning.Many boys jump on to the trolley and steal it.When I stop, they run away. When I was getting the produce threshed at the premises of the grain market, some boys again came and stole all my broken rice in front of me. When I loaded the cleaned produce, one of the migrants threw an infant in front of my tractor to stop me. I stop and four boys with sacks again jump on the trolley. They again fill up their sacks and when I stop agains , they run down the trolley.
They can be seen doing this with most of the people. Even they jump onto the trucks when they slow down due to traffic jams on Moga road and search the whole truck. If something is there to steal, they throw it down and again alight from the trucks when they slow down.
This is my real India where the richness and poverty go hand in hand and play hide and seek. It goes on.
