Shamili

All I can do is just watch as she breathes… She looked peaceful in her sleep.

She was tired after the days duties had been completed. Shamili always put in effort without complaining or crying. She never once threw tantrums when asked to work longer.

I watched helplessly as Shamili slept on a hungry stomach, yet again. I really wanted to feed her and myself, but I was short of money. The only money I had made today has been taken away my by Mr Rawther, the local police constable.

To forget my hunger pangs I tried to divert my mind by thinking of better days. One such day was the day I had met Shamili. It was a Sunday in summer – I remember even after all these years, because in those days, my brothers and I would always go on Sundays to the forests that bordered our village to pick mangoes during the summers.

On this particular visit as we picked mangoes we saw a group of monkeys foraging among the trees. It was a fairly common sight and we pressed on with our task as quickly as we could lest the mangrove caretaker see and catch us for a sound thrashing.

The good thing about bad luck is that it is always followed by something good, or so I believed. Shamili was the good thing and the bad thing was that the caretaker of the grove presently came into the grove. And with the country made gun that he carried he shot at the monkeys. And then he was headed towards us.

With a loud chatter all the monkeys dispersed and we saw that one monkey alone fell to the ground. The caretaker’s country bullet had hit a monkey and on looking closely we noticed that clinging to it was a baby monkey.

We jumped down the tree and I don’t know why, but I risked getting caught by the caretaker to grab the baby monkey, and run for my life into the village. We were all orphans growing up on the fringes. We ate what we could find, begged sometimes, and even stole when the situation permitted and sometimes warranted. So I don’t know why I did that act of charity at that time of danger. But then as my mother would always say – everything happened for good.

My brothers disowned the monkey immediately after we reached our pipes. We lived in huge drainage pipes that the people had laid out for some work but was never put to use. They said I was stupid to have even brought the lousy animal along. It was up to me to do something about the baby monkey. I, in a moment of tenderness and defiance against my brother’s decision, decided to keep her. And I named her Shamili, in honour of my mother, long gone now, and who always said that everything happened for good. Thus began a journey that has been on for 7 years now.

A cold gush of wind blows and I am back to the current reality. The fire has gone out and the cold is bone chilling. I light the fire and again feel the pang of hunger gnawing at my stomach. I watched sadly as Shamili’s small tummy moved up and down as she breathed. I saw a man walking out of a building and lighting up a cigarette. A bidi would have been nice, to warm my chilled breath. With fantasies of that sort I was transported back to my memories…

I moved out of Nandapuram in a few days after the monkey incident. Nandapuram was where I was born and grew after both my parents had died in the quarries in an explosion.  It was the only place I knew other than Thekkakulam, the nearby town where all the action happened. Thekkakulam was where one got to eat at the big hotels and see the movies in the talkies.

With no support from my brothers and the constant fear of getting caught by the police for my petty thefts I decided to leave Nandapuram for good.

I moved into Thekkakulam and started my new life there along with Shamili. I roamed the streets and did petty odd jobs for a living. Shamili sometimes felt like a burden. She drew attention which didn’t allow me to pick pockets. She also required food which meant I had two mouths to feed.

 I, once on my roaming session in the city, chanced upon a circus and managed to sneak inside through a hole in the tent. I was amazed to see the animals obey their masters like as if they understood them. An idea formed in my head. I met the manager of the circus and asked him to take Shamili in for an amount. Money was what I needed and had thought of Shamili as a burden. Both issues were sorted if this worked. The manager bought her for Rs 5 – it would keep my stomach filled for a few days..

I left and went back to living my life on the streets. Thekkakulam was worse than Nandapuram. Nobody wanted the help of a young adolescent boy in their establishments. Stealing was out of question as the people were extremely alert and the police had a reputation of being very nasty. It was not as easy as it had seemed initially.

I had no-one to talk to and nothing to keep busy. I started feeling lonely and depressed. I realized at that moment that Shamili was family and that I missed her. I decided to get her back. Because when she was there life was better. I didn’t have the money to buy her back and desperately wanted her back. I decided to steal her and headed to the circus.

I didn’t have to steal Shamili. The calm and quiet Shamili had turned into a monster at the circus. She was known to have an extreme temper and used every opportunity to cause damage and hurt people. She could not be used in the show for fear of her causing injury to the audience. The Manager asked to take me her away, without a price even. He mumbled, as I turned to leave, about the torn tents and the bitten trainers. I smiled at Shamili.

On that evening that I took her back; as we sat on the pavement wondering what to do for dinner, Shamili started dancing to the tunes of a nearby café. The circus had apparently taught her a few things. A few passers-by stopped and threw coins in appreciation for the dancing monkey. And that was what we did for a living henceforth. While I cajoled and called out and tempted people to see the cute and pretty Shamili dancing, she danced and entertained the crowds.

And life has been going on this way. The same streets of Thekkakulam, the same Mr Rawther who deprived us of our dinner many a  day, the same passers-by who sometimes threw coins and are now bored by Shamili and me. Yes, business has been dull, but we were there for each other, Shamili and I. And that is a thought that always calms me.

The man who had come out to light the cigarette walked past me and I was awoken from my trance of the old memories.

His wallet was dangerously sticking out of his pocket and it looked like it would fall out any moment. I decided to get Shamili dinner. She deserved it.