When the girls come out to play.....

Cold, bitter cold. Biting the skin cold. The wind, a knife, the night Antartic. He wondered ‘Why are we walking in this weather’. He didn’t say it. His companion wasn’t in any mood to talk. In the freezing cold she inexplicably wore a thin flowing dress, no sleeves, no stockings. She was thin to the point of emaciation, she looked like a starving child. But, she wore garish make up, deep raven kohl, amateurishly dabbed rouge, blood red lipstick, smeared, slovenly, strangely innocent. Difficult to recognize her in this get up.

She was immaculately dressed every day, with a minimum of cosmetics. He tried to talk ‘Where are we going? Its cold and dark, and..’ She shssed him imperiously. Her eyes flickered hungrily. She was looking for someone, something. He was decidedly uncomfortable. Crowds thronged the roads, she didn’t look. Just kept on walking. ‘Where were they going?’’ And why?’

No answer. They were in the thick of the city’s sleaziest district. He tightened his grip on his revolver. The perks of being part of the elite squad of the police department. It didn’t give him much joy. He thought idly ‘Wonder where she has hidden the gun?’. In those clothes, it would be tough to hide a hairclip, forget a gun.

.But he knew her reputation. Tough, harder than a bed of nails, a professional ‘killer’, the specialist. He shuddered ‘Very unpleasant, no, very dangerous.’ .He longed to be home, warm ,fed ,rested. with his family. Instead he was walking in the cold with her, hating it and cursing her. She never paused, just kept on walking. He ventured ‘Shall we stop awhile, have a coffee with a topping? Its fricking cold.”. “No, we cant risk a moments delay’, her words were icicles.

This is demented, he thought. We are walking to what destination? She hadn’t told him, just ordered him to be there. No explanations, no concern, no feelings, hardly human. They called her ‘Madame Stalin, Hitler, Saddam, Osama, the iron lady, even De Sade’, but never to her face. Too scared. Sh** bricks if she looked at them, and wet their trousers if she raised an eyebrow in a question.

She stopped. In front of a brightly lit Irani ‘beer bar’, two white men were standing. Both 40ish.both grey haired, both staring. She motioned him to ‘evaporate’ .He did. Walked away nonchantly, as if he didn’t know her, but stood behind a pillar. She knew he was there. One of the men walked to her. She transformed into a girl child, innocent, but with a degree of artifice. She played with the straps on her dress. A not quite wide eyed innocent. She knew they liked the look .these bloody m***** f******,goras.

The ‘gora’ asked ‘What’s your name ,pretty child ?’She blushed, mumbled convincingly. ‘Mary’ she whispered. He laughed. The name seemed to delight the man, he gestured to his companion ‘Mary, no less, lets take Mary into heaven, The mother of Jesus…’.His companion looked stern. ‘We are good Christians, Franz, we will take her ,help her, look after her, find a good ,moral, Catholic family to adopt her…..’.He stopped. His friend and fellow partner in crime was laughing ‘Mary, Mary…..where does your garden grow? Please show us’

She looked disconcerted. ‘Sorry sir, I don’t know what the sahib is saying..’. The kinder man took her hand ‘Lets go. I am sure you are hungry’. She beseeched with her plaintive eyes ‘Let me please the sahib first’. The ‘gora’ thought. Made up his mind, they bundled her into a taxi, and drove away. He jumped into another taxi, and said these famous movie lines ‘Follow that cab’

It stopped in front of a grey stone building ‘St.Luke’s home for Children’. All three alighted. Walked in. Rows of undernourished, brutalized, dehumanized children stared. She nearly threw up. Her years in the police and this line, stood her in good stead. The older ‘gora’ smiled ,a leering, sick smile, as disgusting as unwanted vomit, ‘Do you fancy any of these to join us, little girl’ She fidgeted, she looked coy, she smiled bashfully. And pointed at a sallow, thin 9 year old, with big, hazel eyes, and unkempt matted black hair. ‘I like him’ she stammered.

The ‘gora’ yanked him out. ‘Come ,boy, we want you’. The child stuttered, his face was white, his eyes drowned his expressions, but he followed. Better this than a caning or worse. The ‘gora’ stared unbuttoning his shirt, asking ‘What would you like to drink Mary? ACoke, a Limca?’

The reply shocked him ‘A scotch, thank you, no soda ,only ice’. He turned around. She was facing them with the gun, her eyes were deadly slits. He came in ‘You are under arrest for trafficking in minors.’ Before they could say a word, she had them in handcuffs. She smiled. A wide smile. A cruel smile. A merciless smile.’ Bastards. Scum, these are kids. Were you never a kid? And if you were would you have liked to be f*****? No, fine, then let me see how you enjoy it in jail .For there you guys will be. Even the most hardened criminals hate you filthy, dirty, sick paedophiles. And I will personally see you get the worst cell’.

One of the ‘goras’ tried to say something. She hit hard, blood dripped from his mouth.’ don’t talk to me ever, unless you want your family jewels, tawdry as they are, shot’. A hand plucked at he sleeve. The little boy ‘Thank you ,Aunty’.

Next morning, they returned the little boy, now washed, clean, fed, wearing his 6 year old son’s shorts and tee, home.

Home was a dingy one room tenement in Virar.A faded, thin young woman opened the door. Her red rimmed eyes lit up. She hugged the boy, kissed him again, and again. Finally she turned to the strangers who had brought her Raju back.’ Thank you, sahib, Madam. I was so scared since he went missing.’ He nodded.

M’aam Hitler sharply rebuked the woman’ Take better care’.
Abruptly she paused on her way out. Turning to the boy, she ruffled his hair, bent and kissed him on the cheek.’ Bye, look after yourself’. They walked away, then drove. He stole a glance at her face. Was that a tear? She noticed, put on her dark glasses.’ Lets go.’

‘’I saved him. My nephew, my brothers little boy, and his widow knew nothing.’ she thought..
A smile flickered.’ Dad, I did it. Your blood will survive’’




-Jayashree Tawadey.