Born Behind Bars

by Padma Venkatraman

  Instead, he just issues a command. “Follow me, boy.”

  Wishing he’d called me nephew or even Kabir, I say, “Yes, Uncle.”

  People walk by us as we move along the sidewalk—women, children, and more men than I’ve met my whole life in jail. On the street, it’s mostly men, too, driving vehicles of all kinds. My body feels like it’s in a dream, like it half belongs to someone else.

  My mind is brimful of questions, but I keep them from sloshing out of me because my uncle growls no to the first two things I ask: Please, can I meet my father soon? and Uncle, do you have children?

  When he takes my hand to help me cross the road, where a motorbike nearly runs into us, his grip feels like I imagine handcuffs feel: cold, hard, unbreakable.

  But his grip protected me. If it wasn’t for him, I’d have been run over.

  Maybe he’s like Grandma Knife. Edgy and sharp, but with kindness somewhere inside him, ready to slip out when I need it.

  20

  House

  Uncle speaks only when we turn onto a shady avenue lined with trees. “You’re not to say a word to anyone about where you came from. If they ask, you say you’re my nephew. From the village.”

  “Of course!” Why wouldn’t I say that? I am his nephew!

  “Don’t forget. You’re mine now,” my uncle says, grinning in a way that feels all wrong. It feels wrong that he speaks in Tamil too. If he’s family, he should know Kannada. Why hasn’t he spoken to me in Kannada?

  “This is the house where I work,” my uncle says. He stops by a walled compound. A guard opens the tall white gate to let us in.

  Sunlight glints off the huge glass windows, and bright flowers dot the gardens. So this is the house where my parents met and fell in love. It’s even prettier than I imagined. Full of color. Full of living things—unlike the empty grounds I’m used to. It’s nicer than my best dreams.

  Through an open door at the back of the house, I see a kitchen. The tile floor is so clean it sparkles—the opposite of the jail kitchen, which had a two-fingers-thick layer of grime.

  A woman is stirring something on a stove. I can’t help staring at her sari—bright as the garden flowers. Amma must have worn colorful saris, too, when she was a maid, instead of the plain uniform of old shirts and long skirts that all the women wear in jail.

  The woman turns as if she feels my eyes on her. “We have a visitor!” Her face lights up with a warm smile. “What’s your name, young man?”

  “Kabir.” I smile back.

  “My nephew.” Uncle gives me a little shove. “Move along, boy.”

  But the woman comes to the door and asks, “Where’re you visiting from, Kabir? Had a long journey?”

  I hesitate for a second. I know I’m not supposed to go blabbing about being from jail, so I just say, “Didn’t come from very far away, ma’am.”

  “Please call me Aunty. It’s so nice to see a young face! Shall I fix you a snack?”

  I glance uneasily at my uncle. “Not now,” he says firmly. “We have things to do.”

  “All right. Come back later, Kabir. You look like you could use some fattening up.”

  “Thank you, Aunty,” I tell her. I wish I could stay, but my uncle steers me down a path that curves behind the great house and leads to a small building.

  “Will I work here too, sir?” I ask as I follow him.

  “Enough with the questions, boy. Shut up like you did on the way here. They like quiet children where you’re going, so hush your mouth.”

  Something about the way uncle says where you’re going makes me think he’s sending me away, someplace far from here.

  And that place doesn’t sound nice, like it might be my father’s or grandparents’ home.

  He doesn’t say one word about my father. He doesn’t act like he even knows my father. But if he doesn’t, then why did he take me in at all?

  21

  Locks

  These are the servants’ quarters, and this is my room,” Uncle says, leading me into a room a little larger than my old cell, with a bed and a great big window and a ceiling fan. But somehow the room feels just as unfriendly. “Well, are you hungry?”

  “Yes, Uncle.”

  “I’ll bring you some food. But wash up first.” He shows me into a small bathroom where there’s a bar of green soap.

  I take my time in there, and though I miss Amma already, a part of me can’t help but be glad that I don’t need to hurry. No one here is yelling at me about wasting water. And the tap water is nice and clear, not brown.

  When I’m all clean and back in the room, my uncle brings me rice and yellow lentils. The food is warm and spicy and salted just right, better than anything I’ve ever tasted, except for Bedi Ma’am’s treats.

  When I’m done, Uncle says, “I have to go to work now, but you stay here and be quiet. Understand? No talking to anyone. You want to take a nap, pull out the mattress that’s under the bed. Don’t touch my bed.”

  “Thank you for the food, Uncle.”

  “Wouldn’t look good if you fainted from hunger.”

  He locks me in the room, and I can’t escape the feeling I’ve moved into a different kind of prison. One that’s miles away from Amma’s soft voice.

  22

  Unquiet

  It’s not easy to nap, though my head is tired from all the noise not just in this outside world, but also inside me, where my heart is yammering with fear and confusion.

  I’ve never been in a room on my own for this long.

  Amma, Amma, Amma, I whisper, over and over.

  I search for her in my heart. I try to listen to her voice in my head.

  For the first time, imagining doesn’t help. Imagining she’s nearby just reminds me she’s far away.

  I lie down and gaze out the large window, at the rounded treetops. It’s calming to watch the leaves flutter when the breeze tickles them. My eyes feel heavy, and I can’t keep them open.

  By the time I wake, sunlight is slanting through the trees, making their shadows lean and long.

  I forget where I am for a moment, and then Grandma Knife’s warning echoes inside my head. This outside world is full of people I mustn’t trust. But how can I trust myself to do anything in this strange world, filled with things I’ve never touched or smelled before?

  I hear the familiar sound of a key turning the lock. Uncle enters. “Here,” he says, tossing a brand-new shirt and pair of shorts at me. “Put these on after you eat.”

  “Thank you, Uncle,” I say. I pick up the clothes. They don’t have an old-new smell. They feel new-new! Did someone tell him it was my birthday recently?

  He has brought me more food too—fluffy rice and spicy vegetable curry.

  “Thank you, Uncle! Thank you!” Maybe he is kind, after all, my uncle. Just not friendly.

  When I’ve eaten and changed, he says, “Let’s go.”

  Where? I know better than to ask.

  We hurry along noisy, dusty streets that get twistier and dirtier as we move along, leaving the house far behind.

  23

  Snake Man

  We enter a small, dingy room where a man is lighting a bidi, smoke snaking out of his lips.

  “This is the boy,” my uncle says.

  Snake Man’s eyes sweep over me.

  “He’s quiet and obedient,” my uncle says. “He’ll be able to put fireworks together or sew buttons or whatever it is you want him to do.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say. “I’m willing to work hard so I can get ahead.”

  “Good.” Snake Man gives me a twisted smile. “Now, you go wait in the kitchen. I need to discuss something with your uncle.”

  He pulls the flimsy door half shut behind me. I sit on the floor of the grimy kitchen, where I can still hear everything the men say, since they aren’t bothering to speak that softly.


  “Where’d you get him?” Snake Man asks.

  “His father used to work where I work. Police came one day asking for a man called Khan and didn’t bother to check when I said I was his father’s cousin. I have the same last name and figured that was enough.”

  What! He’s not really my uncle?

  Snake Man laughs the way Mrs. Snake did whenever Aunty Cloud stumbled and stubbed her toes.

  They begin haggling over a price like I’ve seen the women in jail do when someone has been able to smuggle in a thing from outside that everyone else wants. What’s my fake uncle selling?

  The answer strikes me like a whip when the men finally settle on a price.

  My “uncle” is selling me.

  24

  Hot Coffee

  Bring him to me, day after tomorrow,” I hear Snake Man saying.

  “Why not take him now?” Fake Uncle grumbles. “It’s too risky, me keeping him there!”

  “What’s risky about having your nephew from the village visit? You want your money, you’ll get it when you bring him back—or give him to me now for a quarter of the price.”

  “All right, all right,” Fake Uncle says. He opens the kitchen door. “Let’s go, Kabir.”

  I get up off the floor and follow him, back into the streets.

  Fake Uncle whistles happily, gripping my shoulder as tight as an eagle I saw on TV once, holding on to a squirming mouse.

  Except I’m not squirming, because then he’d know I want to escape and he’d get angry. Maybe beat me so much I would limp, just like Aunty Cloud did when the guards punished her for no reason.

  Fake Uncle is no better than those guards. Actually, he’s worse.

  I keep my mouth shut, pretending I heard nothing. But my thoughts aren’t silent. They’re shouting, Get away. Soon!

  Maybe I can sneak out of his room when he’s asleep—but what if he locks us in and keeps the key close to him?

  We pass by a roadside café. Men stand outside, gossiping and sipping hot drinks.

  Fake Uncle stops and orders coffee for himself.

  If you need to chuck a stone at someone, do it. Grandma Knife’s words come back to me. What would she do if she were here?

  When the waiter puts a cup of frothy coffee on the counter, Fake Uncle lets go of me. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of the bittersweet scent.

  I may never get another chance.

  For a second, it’s like I’ve split into two, watching one me cheer on another me as I snatch up the cup of steaming hot coffee and fling it in Fake Uncle’s face.

  Leaving his screams of pain and rage behind, I race out of the shop and away down the street.

  25

  Parrot Girl

  I run as fast as I can and turn a sharp corner. Halfway down an alley, I see a white cow nosing through a huge hill of trash. It’s frightening to see a real live animal, but I run toward it, away from Fake Uncle.

  A girl with a parrot on her shoulder is strolling toward me. She stops and stares as I close my eyes and dive headfirst into the hill of muck, hoping it’ll keep me safe.

  I try not to think of all the rotten garbage and who-knows-what-else that’s oozing into my nostrils and onto my lips, because I have no choice.

  “Hey, girl! Did you see a boy running?” Fake Uncle shouts. His words reach me through the layers of garbage.

  “Sure,” the girl says. “Yeah.”

  My heart is hammering so hard, I feel like it’s going to shatter my chest. What will he do after he pulls me out of this disgusting rubbish heap?

  The girl goes on, “I’ve seen lots of boys. I’ve seen lots of girls too!”

  “Give me a straight answer or I’ll tear out your tongue!” Fake Uncle says.

  “Go ahead, sir! Tearing out my tongue will definitely help me tell you what you want to know.”

  “Will twenty rupees loosen your tongue?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Here! Take this! Which way did he go?”

  Did I run from a man who wants to sell me, into the arms of a girl who’s going to sell the secret of my hiding place?

  “He went that way—see that bus stop down the street?”

  “There’s no one at the bus stop!”

  “That’s because people don’t stand at bus stops waiting forever,” the girl says. “A bus just came by—number 19, I think. You want to find the boy, you better chase him on something other than your feet. He’ll be well on his way to the other side of Chennai by now.”

  26

  Lost

  I’m not sure how long I stay still as a stone with rubbish slithering over me.

  “Hey, boy! You getting nice and cozy in there? C’mon out,” the girl says. “He’s gone.”

  I crawl out and try to wipe the slime off my eyelids and lips, but my hands and shirt are just as slimy.

  “Here!” The girl drops her bag and grabs my chin and wipes my face clean enough so I can see her bright teeth and tangled mass of hair that looks like rusty wire. I guess she’s twelve or thirteen—a bit older than me.

  “You nearly jabbed my eye,” I say, and my voice comes out whinier than I intend. “But, um, thanks!”

  “Saved his life, and look what I get. Criticism! What do you think of that, Jay?”

  I look around, wondering who Jay is, and see she’s talking to the parrot riding on her shoulder. I marvel at its bright green body, curved pink beak, the pink rings around its neck, and its beady eyes. It gazes back at me. Can it really understand her?

  “I am grateful you saved my life. But you did poke me kind of hard.”

  “I thought you’d gone off to sleep in there and needed waking up.” She grins. “Anyway, here’s your money, Prince of Complainers.”

  “Money?”

  “That bully flung some money at me, hoping I’d tell on you. Here,” she commands, “take it.”

  Confused, I extend my palms. They’re shaking so much I can hardly keep hold of the money she drops into them.

  “Okay! Now get lost.”

  “I can’t get lost,” I say. “I mean, I’m already lost.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard that expression before?” Her eyebrows shoot way up. “Get lost just means ‘go away.’ Where did you come from, the moon?”

  “Jail.” The word pops out of my mouth before I can stop it.

  “Jail? You?” She lets her parrot hop onto her wrist and looks at it instead of me. “This little pipsqueak is trying to frighten us, but he has got a lot to learn about lying. Isn’t that right, Jay?”

  “Rrrright!” It takes me a minute to realize that the parrot is speaking. It has the weirdest voice I’ve ever heard.

  I’m astonished it’s saying a word that I can understand. And I’m hurt the girl thinks I lied.

  “I did come from jail,” I say. “I never lie. And I’m pretty sure you’re too brave to get frightened.”

  “Now he’s trying to butter us up, I think.” A twinkle pierces her eyes like stars peeping out of the night sky. “Why’d they stick you in jail?”

  “I was born there.”

  “Oh! Your mother is the bad one?”

  “No! She’s not one bit bad. Some liar accused her of stealing a necklace, and they slammed her behind bars and didn’t even try to prove she’d committed a crime.”

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have accused your mother. That’s terrible.” The girl pauses, then continues, “Anyway. You better get going.”

  “Where?”

  “Why’re you asking me? Do I look like your mother?”

  “You don’t look anything like her.” My mother’s face swims into my mind. I miss her so much, it stabs me right in my chest. “Amma’s beautiful.”

  “How nice! I saved you, and now you call me ugly?”

  “No, no! I didn’t mean that! I just meant
you don’t look like my mother. Amma is really beautiful when I close my eyes, because her voice is so kind. You’re beautiful when my eyes are open, though your voice is kind of mean.”

  “You should have stopped right after telling me I was beautiful,” the girl says. “Even so, what do you think, Jay? Maybe we should let him stay with us, just for tonight?”

  She’s going to let the parrot decide?

  Thankfully, Jay shrieks, “Yes, yes, yes!”

  27

  Cast Out

  So,” the girl asks as I fall into step beside her, “how’d you escape from jail? Who was the guy chasing you?”

  It spills out of me quickly, the whole story of what happened since they released me.

  “Such a strange world we live in,” she says when I finish. “They lock up nice mothers. But guys who buy and sell kids get to roam free.”

  I notice passersby wrinkling their noses as they try to avoid getting close to me on the crowded sidewalk. “I need to clean off,” I say. “Isn’t there anywhere nearby I can wash?”

  “Why don’t you try that temple?” She points to a small temple a few feet away with a water tap in the courtyard, where people are rinsing their feet. I run toward it, gazing at the brightly painted sculptures of many-armed gods and goddesses decorating the roof.

  “Wait!” she yells. “Don’t be silly! Come back!”

  What’s silly about washing when you’re covered in filth? I splash cool water on my face and arms. It feels so good, when suddenly something hard—a pebble!—thuds against my flesh. A man is looking at me the way the guards looked at Mouse Girl when they shoved her in, like I’m the rubbish that’s sticking to my skin.