Miasma

A Story by tiya

Fiction. But inspired from a true story.

The sun is up, and the town of Miasma wakes to a surprisingly sunny morning after continuous days of monsoon showers. Traffic is back in the lanes, offices have reopened on this Monday morn, chores are undertaken in the households and all seem perfect.

The ‘big’ and busy people single-mindedly hasten into their glorious futures. And noisy groups of children dash to their classes complaining about their disturbed sleep and tremendous workload. Amidst this rush of modern life I watch as one lone boy is seen sweeping the streets. He alone seems undeterred by recession or by the calls into urbanization.

As he pauses in his task to brush a hand across his forehead, I notice his strained and creased face and remember the calamities that have been hitting his home endlessly. Only seventeen years into the world, he is one of the two bread-earners for the family of five, his two brothers barely over five. Though he did attend school in his early years, lack of sufficient funds and his mother’s chronic illness meant he would have to turn to the stone-breakers yard along with his father, at the age of thirteen.

His days at the village school are memorable, what with all the prizes he won in the class and on the field. The daily menial tasks that he mastered at an even earlier age had ensured his physical superiority over the other boys his age. With unprecedented determination and passion he buried himself in his school work, his sole intention, to provide a better future for his siblings.

That, he would say, was what gave my life a meaning. “I felt a self worth. And I believed that I could reach my dream.” There was hope.

On arriving at the senior school in the village to arrange for his further studies, the despaired family realized that it would always remain a dream that was once at arm’s reach. The fees and funds were incredulous to this small-time family. Disappointed teachers visited the parents and begged that the boy return for further studies. “He has a future. And can give you a life too.” One of them proclaimed.

“Educate him, and that will change everything for you, for the better. That boy of yours has immense capabilities and strengths. He needs this.”

The family knew all this to be true. But where can they find the money for all this? Will anybody fund them? Who will feed them? They need a bread-earner now, not in ten years when the boy himself will be too shriveled and weak to work!

And that was the end of education for the young boy.

The time that the twelve-year-old managed to spare from his chores at the fields, were spent in tears over a lost hope. His neck and back aching from the tons of stone that he carried, he would return home with his father counting the meager coins they earned. Returning home, that was a tiny ramshackle hut made of polythene sheets, was greatly looked forward to. After darting into the thin yet reassuring arms of his mother, he would huddle with his family around the dim-lit dinner-table (an upturned sack that served the purpose). No questions asked, the children knew better than to grumble about the gruel that is the only meal they have known. With wise-old village stories and well-known adages the father and mother would entertain the children in an attempt to lighten the mood.

After three years of tireless toiling in the stone-breakers quarry, he had left it to come and work in the town in a black-smith’s stall. But his day began with this chore of sweeping the streets. Not that he is paid, but it’s a habit he had developed.

He is still the starved and troubled young boy he was when he told me his life’s tragedies. But somewhere I can see the spark that has been kindled through all the years of hard work and a still alive dream. He has matured. Yes, he will take the news with strength. I walk up to him. Hearing the soft shuffle of my feet, the boy looks up. He immediately halts and his face lightens up in a smile of familiarity and calm. I take a deep breath as I realize that I am about to wipe that smile.

“Kempa-“ I begin. Seeing my hesitation he takes a step towards me, his smile slightly wavering with doubt and an unknown fear. Oh, my God. I cannot do this. I look away and I feel his smile vanish at that.

“Kempa, there has been an accident in the stone-breakers quarry. Your father-“ I break away not needing to explain further. He was already backing and with a muffled growl he drops the broom, turns and begins to run…. I can only watch.