Strength to Say No (12 page)

I jump out from my hiding place. ‘That's not true! She's lying! For weeks now she's been hitting me every day. She insults me, and she won't give me any food. I'm not even allowed to sleep indoors. Would you like me to show you where I spend my nights?'

My intervention surprised everyone. Silence. My father was embarrassed, and if it weren't for the presence of the men my mother would have strangled me with her bare hands for defying her in this way – and in front of strangers.

‘She's exaggerating. It's her fiery temperament. Sometimes I can't help thinking that she's possessed by demons.'

‘It's you who are raving mad. I work day and night. I go get wood in the forest. I carry water from the river. I agreed to roll cigarettes full-time so that we could have some new income. And in spite of that you keep trying to impose a marriage on me that I don't want to hear about. As long as I don't give in – and I will not give in – you treat me the way a mother-in-law treats her daughter-in-law, and that is like a slave. In front of these gentlemen you dare to assume the role of the kindly and protective mother?'

My mother railed in the face of this affront, made all the worse by the presence of strangers. Before the situation deteriorated further, the deputy minister took matters in hand by ordering me to let the adults speak among themselves. I didn't argue. I knew that they had heard me and that they understood. I obeyed, glad to have told the truth in front of them.

‘Is that the reason you want to marry her off? To have one less mouth to feed?' asked Mr Kundu.

‘Yes, among others,' Baba replied. ‘There is also the price of the dowry. At her age that should work out at about five thousand rupees, but in a few years, when she is older, we will have to lay out much more. I don't have the means to wait for her to finish her schooling. And anyway there is nothing so awful about wanting to get one's children married. I married my wife when she was even younger that Rekha. And it was my father who decided for me.'

‘If your daughter keeps on at school she will find a husband very easily, and your dowry will be minimal …'

‘How's that?'

‘We have a proposition to put to her. We want her to represent the cause of the children in this region. She has the talent and the educational standard. All she needs is some instruction so that she can channel her energy.'

‘But that won't solve the financial problem. You can see for yourselves that we are poor. This mud-brick house is our only fortune. I don't even have a parcel of land to work. Every day we have to find the means to pay for the evening meal and for the next day,' Baba continued, while Ma champed at the bit but didn't dare open her mouth again.

‘I can help you get an allowance from the government. There are funds reserved for families under a certain income threshold called the BPL, or Below Poverty Line. I think that you probably fulfil the criteria. If you agree that Rekha can return to school I will undertake to make the procedure easier. That can be done in a few months,' Mr Kundu said, replacing the strand of hair, aware that he had just for the first time
touched a sensitive point, maybe even convinced my parents, who asked for time to think about it.

Mr Kundu left them until the next day to decide. Atul stressed how I had got behind in my schooling during the previous few weeks. Arjun recalled that it was very possible that, considering my abilities, I could do the syllabus in two or three years instead of the four as anticipated, thus opening the regular programme to me only a few years late. But to do that I must absolutely get back to my studies as soon as possible.

In spite of the late hour the light from the lantern still flickers in the black night. My parents have been talking for quite a while. Dipak joins in the conversation. I am shivering under my sheet, but strain my ears to try to catch a few words. The meeting this morning has triggered a full-on family council with, as so often in these recent times, my case as the main subject. My brother and my father are working on my mother. I hear Baba loud and clear. He pounds his fist on the table. He is in charge of this house; the final decision is his to make. Dipak seems relieved. He welcomes this shift before the situation degenerates to the point of creating serious problems in the family, especially if the officials adopt a less diplomatic approach and the authorities interfere. In India it is never a very good idea to be in trouble with the law or the police, especially if you are poor and vulnerable, but now that is the situation we're in. Ma admits that she also wants only what is best for me.

The next morning my brother handed me my schoolbag. I was both moved and nervous at the idea of going back to school.

The ‘back to school' went better than I could have imagined. No pupil said anything unpleasant. I know that some of them had been instructed by their families not to visit me or talk to me any more. That wasn't so bad compared with what I had been through. The class went along as though nothing had happened. Only a few pupils looked at me curiously, as if they wanted to check that I really was back.

Mr Kundu waits patiently for the end of the school day. When school is out he asks me to follow him into the headmaster's office. Arjun gives up his seat to the deputy minister, who congratulates me on being back where I belong. He repeats all the good points that he remembered from my speech at the museum of natural sciences in Purulia.

‘This business can seem very trying, and I don't doubt that it has been, but believe me this experience will bear good results in a few years. For the time being I need you. Would you agree to make some more speeches like that one in Purulia?'

I answer yes without even thinking about it. The official gets up from his chair, invites Arjun to sit down again, puts his hair in place again and tells me that we will see each other again very soon.

My headmaster holds out two printed sheets of paper to me. ‘Learn this by heart for the end of the week,' he tells me.

The document talks about the rights of children, about the importance of school for our education, about work and the forced marriage of children. I read and reread the pages dozens
of times so as to memorize them perfectly. Certain ideas seem strange to me, but others, especially the risks of pregnancy in young girls, are more familiar. I stay after school, as do other pupils who need help, to catch up on the work I've missed.

Dipak is about to leave for Bangalore. He is carrying a bag over his shoulder in which he has put some clothing. He sold off all his tea-making equipment to pay for his travel. If everything goes well he should arrive in two days in Bangalore, where an acquaintance is ready to welcome him and help him get started. They are going to share the rent until Dipak finds steady work. On the eve of his departure I hug him tight, and he promises to call regularly. On his way he will stop to say goodbye to Josna, Badhari and Debu.

The next morning when I get up he has already gone.

Mr Kundu telephones me to say that there is a training programme coming up soon. It should last four or five days at the very most, and we will be housed on the premises with about fifty other children plus the teaching staff. The meals are provided by the government of Bengal. He wants to make sure that I want to take part in it before contacting my parents.

The atmosphere at home has mellowed a bit. The relationship with Ma is always strained, but I don't ask for anything more. My parents agree that I can join the training session planned by the Department of Labour.

A bus comes to pick us up after school finishes. At the end of the trip, and after several hours on the bus we arrive at an
establishment belonging to the regional government. The girls are on the first floor and the boys are on the ground floor. The dormitory is spacious enough to accommodate everybody. I put my bag down near a window. We are in the middle of a forest, and there is almost no light in the surroundings. For the first time I am going to sleep in my own bed and on a mattress.

There are several dozen of us at the table. They serve us a very hearty dinner with chicken masala, fried vegetables and lentils, all accompanied by rotis. Mr Kundu speaks, and although we are all a bit tired from the hours of travelling we have to introduce ourselves briefly one by one. He explains to us that during these next few days we will have several exercises to do. They all have the aim of developing our leadership skills. He explains that we have been chosen from among hundreds of pupils and that he is counting on us to be up to it.

Around four in the morning we were awakened by the house mother. The first exercise consisted of dividing up into groups of six. The document that I had to learn was written on several blackboards. A teacher took each of the groups. They explained that one among us had to stand with his or her back to the board and recite the text to the others. The others had to verify that there were no errors, and if there was one they had to interrupt – but without correcting the pupil, who had to find and correct the error themselves. We all knew our text by heart, but to reel it off in front of five pairs of eyes scrutinizing the slightest misstep was a more complicated exercise than I had thought. I had to have two tries at it.