Muawza

On the outskirts of the city, the dark row of tiny shanties alongside the highway was gearing up for another night. Smoke was emerging from make shift ovens, precariously balancing on them beaten utensils blackened by smoke. Half naked children with hungry bellies scampered around and fought with each other. Some of the dwellers had already laid mats and tattered rugs on the dusty sidewalk to sleep It was just another night in the slum.

Haria turned restlessly on his rug, staring into the dark starry night. With his frail eyes, he could barely see his daughter Lakshmi sleeping beside her and sighed. It was almost a year since his son Krishna had fled home without any trace. His disappearance had shattered all their hopes of better days. Laksmi was almost near marriageable age and this thought was making Haria restless and desperate every passing day. He closed his eyes and tried to catch sleep.

He woke up with frightening sounds of screeching tires and a large thud mixed with screams of people. Besides her, Laxmi also woke up in panic. There was a big commotion not far from where they lay. People were shouting and there was chaos everywhere. A truck had veered off the road and ploughed onto the pavement crushing sleeping people. An old man named Velu had died instantly and a few others were injured. A big crowd had gathered at the site and everyone was screaming. By this time they had caught the scared driver and thrashed him. Soon the police arrived at the scene and took him in custody. The injured were ferried in ambulances leaving behind wailing relatives.

Haria and Lakshmi like most other dwellers could not sleep for the rest of the night. Some children, shaken by the accident, sat in a group silently with sleep laden eyes. Some of them were helping families whose shanties were destroyed by the impact. The women were picking up broken utensils and cursing their fate for the misfortune. A pall of gloom had descended on the slum. Haria and Laksmi huddled on their rugs and waited for the night to end.

Almost 15 days later, a big caravan of cars and police vehicles stopped by the slum. The local MLA in the leading car got down surrounded by his cronies. Everyone from the slum had gathered around to listen to him. After being garlanded, the MLA cleared his throat and announced to the slum dwellers that he was grateful for their support in the last election and that he had been fighting for the rights of the slum dwellers. After a long self praise, he paused and told one of his cronies to fetch Velu’s wife. He touched the feet of the trembling old woman and handed her a piece of paper which he explained it was a Government order for payment of Rs. two Lakhs which was “Muawza” for Velu’s death. He posed pompously with the shaken woman while holding the cheque in her hand and smiled at the photographer. After that he announced to the overwhelmed dwellers that he would take all necessary measures for their safety and also vowed to get a harsh punishment to the errant driver.

Once he left, everyone gathered around Velu’s Shanty to get a glimpse of the cheque. No one had ever known an amount as big as that. Some even congratulated the family for the “windfall” while a woman from the slum praised Velu’s noble soul and that how he had “helped” his family even after his death. Haria too was happy for the family which was one of the poorest in the slum.

             It was another hot and humid night. Life was back to normal in the slum. The folks talked of Velu and also of the Muwaza he had secured for his family. Lying on his rug, Haria thought of Krishna and sighed. He had almost lost his hopes of his return. The highway was busy as usual with trucks and buses zooming past and spewing fumes. Suddenly He was startled with a frightening thought. Excited, he sat up on his bed trembling and pondered. In the darkness around him, he had a faint smile on his lips. He turned his head at Lakshmi’s silhouette and made up his mind. At that very moment, he saw a pair of headlights slowly rolling down on the highway. It looked like a big truck. Haria was ready.

Krishna was ecstatic. Perched on the driving seat of his truck, he could feel the tremble in his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel and thought of his old father and Lakshmi. He could even see their bewildered faces swimming in front of his eyes when they would see him and the gifts he had brought. He had worked hard through the year to make this happen and tonight he would change his family’s fate! The thought of Lakshmi’s wedding and a pucca room with a cot for his father were swelling in his chest. He was almost there. Another few yards, and he could see the outlines of the slum where he had grown up. “Nothing has really changed” he smiled to himself. Tears began rolling down his cheeks when he spotted his shanty just a few yards away. He tried to compose himself and wiped his moist eyes. Then suddenly a shadow jumped from nowhere before his massive truck. He tried to steer away but it was too late. Then he heard the nerve chilling sound of cracking bones beneath the weight of the truck and an agonising cry of death which sounded too familiar.

Amidst the shouts of people, he jumped out of the driver’s cabin and leaned on the blood soaked face of an old man with a sinking heart and weeping eyes. Even in the darkness, he could recognise those dry weathered lips on a wrinkled face which were feebly murmuring: “Muawza, muawza.”