Every day on my way to the office I passed them — a small family — father mother and a small child, may be a year and a half old. They had made the pavement near the car parking area, their space. Nobody seemed to mind. The man appeared to be a cobbler as repairing footwear was his main occupation. They were not local people. May be from one of the nearby states. The woman was either sitting with him, helping him , with the child placed nearby on a small mat. The child was mostly playing with the knick-knacks or gazing at the vehicles and passersby. The woman used to hang out the washed clothes to dry on the compound wall of the play ground near the parking lot.
I often wondered where had she washed the clothes and where they lived. Attempts made to be friendly were met with absolute indifference. On a couple of occasions I gave some old toys to the little child, who accepted them eagerly. The woman only glanced at me and continued with her work.
One day, while passing by, I noticed that there was another child lying next to the little boy who was sitting up and playing. It was a very fair chubby little girl, five or six months old. I wondered where the baby came from. The woman was never pregnant or went anywhere. She took fond care as any doting mother would!
During lunch time one day, I gathered from a colleague that the couple had bought the girl child (for `100) from its mother, a vagabond, who found the child an impediment for eloping with her lover. The mother reportedly wanted to put the child to death but the cobbler couple had taken her custody paying the mother a price. That day onwards I had nothing but admiration and respect for the couple.
I felt like shouting from rooftops to the world: “Look here, when the birth of a girl child is cursed by even the rich and educated, here is a poor couple who took a baby girl into their fold not permitting her mother to gift her to death!” I spoke about them with pride to my friends and colleagues. Months later, I left the city on transfer and returned only after some years. I happened to visit the same office.
I made casual enquiries with the colleague who had given details about the cobbler couple. I was in for a rude shock. It appears that the couple had used the girl child for begging. The angel-like chubby innocent but unkempt looks of the child were an advantage as it evoked the sympathy of people and ensured good returns. The child had reached adolescence. The couple changed their working place to another part of the city. But why did my colleague not report it to the Child Helpline authorities, I asked. He looked at me as though I was crazy.
I was tempted to call up the police or the helpline. But what could I prove? What evidence did I have? Who would listen to me? Once again I felt like shouting from the rooftop — this time it was — “No …Nothing has changed. In India, the girl child will continue to remain at a disadvantaged position for a long time.” The fact remains that many a girl child are crying for mercy.