Dreams…..
The rain drops fell, the earth reeked of heat and the dust stemmed his breath. The heat was stifling in the room, yet he did not heed it, he could not heed it, he SHOULD not heed it. The sound of laughter breaks the feeble concentration with which he was doing his chores. He peeps, but is extremely cautious because he knows what can happen if he is caught doing so. The seconds blend into minutes and minutes into hours. The grandfather clock strikes regularly and day becomes night.
Stale food, long hours of work and a mat on a cold floor to sleep on. His worldly possessions include the sixty rupees in his small box and the two sets of clothes which don’t fit him anymore.. He gets up earlier than the rest of the house, he sleeps after most have been visited by their favourite dreams.
He works, but he dreams.
His hands are entitled to hold the broom, wash the vessels, scrub the clothes but never to hold a book!!! Never do they use a paintbrush, never are they allowed to be treated as seven year old fingers.
He works, but he dreams.
The days melt, the seasons whither, the years fly. His shoulders broaden, his workload increases manifold. He takes it all without a complaint, he takes the abuse, the accusations, the disgrace..He takes it all with a sturdy face and a strong heart. His fingers ache to do justice, his tongue aches to be let free. He remains silent, he works, but he dreams…
His sixty rupees grows into a respectable amount, his courage increases every time he lays his eyes upon the rising sun. But tongues do babble, his intentions are laid bare to his employers. But still he works and he dreams..
The clock strikes twelve, his eyes finally shut due to the exhaustion they are exposed to.. The clock strikes six and his eyes awaken out of habit rather than intention. But, his box is gone, his money non-existent.. Years of dreaming lost, everything he has lived for has been rendered useless!!! He takes a few minutes to regain control. He starts his daily chores.
He still works, but he doesn’t dream anymore.
Next door the home-maker slips the little box into the cupboard where he can never lay hands on them..
