Voiceless

The showers had just ceased. The city felt slight relief from the severe afternoon heat. I set out for my evening jog. Although the traffic was heavy with people rushing home from work, there were no pedestrians on the sidewalk.

I was passing by a bus shelter. There was a dark figure lying under the shade, probably to escape from the rain. I dared to take a peek through the corner of my eye. ‘It’ had a long hair like a woman’s. I couldn’t make out the dress. It was a dirty rag thrown over the body. I couldn’t stand the smell. I rushed away and took a deep breath of fresh air.

We were in our college when we heard about the home for the destitute and made a visit. We were a group of youngsters and we made it a point to visit the place regularly. We helped in cooking and cleaning (even the toilets). Spending an afternoon with these mentally challenged people became a revelation for us. Frankly, many a times they exhibited more ‘innocent’ intelligence than a normal man. It was not that easy for us. Many of us took time to adjust to the way of life there. Everything from water to food wastes were precious and had to be conserved and recycled. But these were good lessons for comparatively well-off people.

The institute was run by a nun, who was ousted by the church for bearing a different vision from that of the church. But despite being ex-communicated she always wore a nun’s dress. She managed this institute of 40-60 inmates all by herself. She received very little donation. The only thing in abundance was these challenged people. The taxi-drivers and policemen dumped all the unwanted on the pavements to this place.

The left-over food from marriages was ‘donated’ to seek the divine blessings in exchange. She got very little physical help too. A few youngsters like us visited once in a while and helped out in cooking, bathing and cleaning. The nun was not getting any younger and suffered from various ailments. To be frank her mental health was also affected due to the continuous strain.

The inmates in better shape than others managed to help the nun. An old lady, very much weak in health, did the chores very silently. Then there was this lady good in slicing vegetables. But she had this problem of stealing unknowingly. She used to slice the vegetables and hide them. So the nun had to keep an eye on her. There was a young woman with a young son and baby daughter. They were abandoned by the father. She did no help in the household activities despite being in perfect physical condition. But the little boy and baby girl spread love all around.

I still remember the day. It was vacation time in college. The news in the front page caught my eye. The police had busted some racket somewhere. I love these spicy stories. But the feeling turned to horror when I came to know that police raided our destitute home. The story was that some political activists surrounded the place alleging that a sex mafia was working behind the scenes. Police raided the place and found a man and woman in suspicious circumstances. They also found an air-gun, condoms and a few sleazy magazines. All the inmates were thrown out and the nun arrested. To make the matters worse some of the deceased inmates were buried in the compound.

We were too ashamed that we had worked for such a group and were silent for some days. Then some secret inquiries were made. That was a time when the property prices were shooting up. The institute had a good amount of land surrounding it. The nun had leased out the space from someone and he wanted to evict them. This person played the dirty game and since he had the money anything would have been possible. The nun was too old and not in the best shape, physically or mentally, to watch out for the vultures.

We never know what happened to the nun or inmates. Many might have died, many may be still begging, a few would have moved out to similar places and a few woman would have turned to prostitution. What would have happened to those kids? Is the nun still in jail? No one bothered to enquire. Has the institution given way to some multi-storied apartment.

The next day also I found the same figure, but this time it was standing on my way. ‘It’ was half naked. I tried to bypass ‘it’ without looking. But still I involuntarily stole a peek. ‘It’ was flat chested and hence it had to be man. But still the hair was plaited like a girl’s. The smell made me retch. I ran away. But then I realized, it was not the smell but the conscious that hurted the most.