Born Behind Bars

by Padma Venkatraman

“Get out of here before I throttle you, you low-caste brat!”

  “Ai! You leave him alone.” The girl is right by me, yelling back at the man. “You touch him and I’ll—”

  “What’ll you do? Call the police?” The man sneers. “You riffraff. Think you can enter a temple stinking like garbage!”

  “You do know you’d have to lay your hands on his low-caste body to throttle him, right?” The girl takes my arm and steers me away while the parrot screeches at the man.

  “Thanks,” I say once we’re down the street. I’m glad she’s still holding my arm because I feel like I’ll collapse if she lets me go. “You saved my life again.”

  “Not really. He’s the kind of upper-caste snob who’d rather die than touch a low-caste person. But still, I wouldn’t do something like that again, because he wouldn’t mind whacking you with a stick.”

  28

  Caste

  So why’d you tell me to wash up in the temple’s courtyard if I shouldn’t?” I ask the girl. I’m wondering if maybe she’s a mixed-up person—some good, some not so good.

  “I was joking!” she says. “I thought you knew better than to use a temple’s water faucet! Didn’t they teach you anything in jail?”

  “My teacher taught me a lot. I can sing in different languages, and I know about rivers and butterflies and caterpillars . . .”

  “I mean, anything useful?”

  “It is useful, what I learned!”

  “Know how to get food? Know how to get from one place to another? Know a single important thing about surviving?”

  “I know you’re brave,” I blurt out. “That’s good. Amma said being brave and kind are the most important things in life.”

  “You’re getting better with the compliments.” Her eyes dance, but then she gets all serious. “Do you understand what being low-caste means?”

  “Sure. Low-caste means your family cleans bathrooms or does other jobs no one wants. All of us in our cell were low-caste.”

  “Yes. But now that you’re out in the world, you’re going to meet high-caste people. Some of them will call you an untouchable. They don’t want you anywhere near them if they can help it. And they don’t want me either, because I’m Roma.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Roma are my people. We have traveled all over the country, hunting and selling beadwork and leather or telling people’s fortunes. But wherever we go, people act half fascinated, half scared of us.”

  “How do people even know your caste?”

  “They judge by how I dress and look and speak. I’d fit in easier if I bought a longer skirt and took off my beads and wore my hair differently. But I’m proud of my people. I don’t want to hide my caste, do you?”

  “Not sure which low caste I even belong to.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Kabir.”

  “What kind of name is that! I can’t even tell your religion by that name, never mind your caste. Are you a Muslim Kabir or a Hindu Kabir?”

  “My mother was Hindu and my father was Muslim. So maybe I’m neither one? Or both.”

  “Better to be both. That way, if you’re surrounded by Hindus, say you’re Hindu, and if you’re surrounded by Muslims, say you’re one of them.”

  “Okay. Anyway, what’s your name?”

  “You’re the first person to ask me my name in about a year.” She gives me a big smile. “But I’m fine with that—it’s harder to track me down when I’m nameless. Right, Jay?”

  “Right, right, right!” the parrot chimes in.

  “So, are you going to tell me your name?” I ask.

  “Sure. My name is Rani, because it means ‘queen.’ I chose the name myself.”

  “You named yourself?”

  “Yes, so that I could start fresh. I picked a name that shows I can conquer every problem that comes my way.”

  Rani isn’t dressed like a queen, but she holds herself up as proud and tall as I imagine real queens do. I don’t know a whole lot about castes and subcastes, but whatever the topmost one is, she looks like she could belong to it.

  29

  Making Plans

  Your parrot is amazing,” I tell Rani. “Does he understand everything we say?”

  “I’m not sure how much he understands.” She strokes the top of his head. “He can’t carry on a conversation or anything. But parrots can be trained to say lots of human words. He’s not the only talking parrot in the world.”

  “Well, they must be pretty smart if they can speak our language but we can’t speak theirs. You’re lucky to have him, Rani.”

  “I am, for sure. But with other things I’m not so lucky. Seems like we both have bad stuff in our lives we want to leave behind, right?”

  “I didn’t want to leave anything behind.” I ignore the parrot’s echoes of right, right. “I only got out of jail so I can go back.”

  “That makes no sense, Kabir.”

  “I mean I want to go back to free my mother.”

  “How d’you plan to do that?” Rani doesn’t sound mean, just curious.

  “I—I don’t have a plan yet, since I just got out of jail. But I’m hoping I can figure out a way to free Amma somehow.”

  “D’you know anyone who could help?”

  “My father wanted to. He went to Dubai to make money so he could hire us a lawyer.”

  “So why didn’t he rescue you, then?”

  “We don’t know. He suddenly stopped writing letters a few years ago. But Amma said he was a good man, so if I could just find him . . .”

  “Hmmm.” Rani chews on her lip. “Kabir, let me tell you something I learned the hard way. Hoping for small stuff you can control is okay. But pinning your hopes on another person is usually a waste of time. Especially if that person is someone who needs to be found.”

  Rani may know a lot about living in the outside world. But I know a lot about living inside my head—and to keep going, I need to keep hoping I can find my father and free Amma.

  But as I struggle to keep up with Rani’s brisk pace, I start thinking I need to do more than hope.

  Rani asked what my plans are, and I need to start making some.

  She’s right that it’ll be hard to find my father. But I know my grandparents live in Bengaluru, so I could try to find them first. Surely my grandparents will help me find Appa, and then he’ll pay to get a lawyer to get Amma out of jail.

  I can just imagine Amma walking out of that gray building, me holding one of her hands and my father holding the other.

  I’m never going to lose hope in that.

  30

  Sweet and Salty Water

  I hear a faint whooshing, like a breeze getting stronger and stronger, as we walk along. I keep looking at the sky to see if a storm is coming, until Rani says, “Watch where you’re going!” She catches my elbow as I almost stumble into a hole in the sidewalk. “Why’re you staring at the sky? Never seen it before?”

  “No. I mean, I’ve never seen so much of it!” I spread my arms out wide and take a moment to enjoy how pretty the sky looks without anything blocking my view. “So much space . . . But it sounds like we might get a storm, doesn’t it? Even though the sky is clear?”

  “Storm? Oh! You mean the sound of the ocean! I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen the ocean, have you?”

  “No,” I say. “Just in pictures.”

  “Well, you’re about to see it for real now. The sky, the beach, and the sea.”

  We turn onto a large road, and Jay whistles happily. “Here we are,” Rani says.

  I can’t take my eyes off the blue stripe of water in the distance. The closer we get, the more incredible it looks. Water tumbling and rolling along, all the way to the edge of the earth. More water than if a thousand taps had been turned on.

  In the photos Bedi Ma’am showed us, th
e ocean looked so peaceful. But this real ocean is a giant snake that never stops hissing.

  Rani races ahead, but when I step onto the beach, my feet sink into the sand.

  “You scared the sand will swallow your feet, boy?” a man calls out from a fruit stall he’s setting up. He chuckles but continues in a kind tone, “Relax. It’s not going to hurt you.”

  Maybe not, but it’s strange how the sand keeps shifting under me. I grab a handful and then let it fall through my fingers. It feels so cool and dry, so different from the dirt in the jail yard.

  “Come on, Kabir,” Rani calls out. I wave to the man and trudge through the sand.

  “Want to take a dip?” Rani asks when I join her. She puts her shoulder bag on the sand and sets Jay down on it. Then she takes off her raggedy skirt and runs right into the swooshing ocean in the long, frayed T-shirt she’s wearing.

  After leaving my slippers next to Rani’s things, I stick a toe into the water. It sucks at my feet, but at least the wet sand is firm.

  I take another step and then another. I’m in as far as my knees when the sea knocks me off balance with a sudden jerk, sneaking up on me like a bully in the schoolyard. I plop down on my bottom so I’m in water almost to my neck.

  “Here.” Rani reaches out a hand. “Hold on to me. The waves are just playing with you, Kabir. It’s not that rough here today.”

  Holding on to Rani, who’s as firm as a tree rooted in the ground, I feel safer, because the waves feel plenty rough. But I know I won’t get far in this outside world if I’m always clinging to someone. So after a bit, I let go of her and stand on my own two feet.

  “That’s right!” Rani encourages. “It’s fun, isn’t it?”

  Slowly, I get used to the rhythm of the waves and feel brave enough to splash some water on my neck. I scrub at the caked rubbish so hard it feels like my skin is flaking off, but I’m glad to be getting cleaner.

  Bedi Ma’am said seawater is salty. Maybe it tastes as good as it feels. As another wave skips up, I gulp in a thirsty mouthful.

  Rani laughs as I gag and spit it out. “Didn’t you know not to drink seawater?”

  “I—I thought salty water would taste nice, since food usually tastes better with salt,” I sputter.

  “Never mind,” Rani says kindly. “I bet you’re hungry. How about we go home and I make you a meal with just the right amount of salt?”

  “Thanks,” I mumble. I’m glad Rani is still willing to keep me around, although she must be amazed by my silliness.

  31

  My Self

  On the way back to Rani’s, we stop at a kiosk shop run by a charity, where a kind woman lets me choose a dry T-shirt. I can’t believe it’s free, because Bedi Ma’am said I’d have to pay for everything outside. But Rani says you can usually find a few generous people giving away their old clothes.

  Next, we visit a public bathroom. I try to walk right in, but Rani stops me. “Only women go into this one. See?” She points at a picture of a woman and then at another doorway, above which I see a picture of a man. “That’s where you go.”

  “Oh, sorry. I see now.” My brain is already bursting with all the new stuff I’ve learned, and it’s only been one day.

  Inside, there’s a huge mirror—and the best one I’ve ever seen. I yelp when I see my reflection. Not just my face and messy hair, but also my broomstick neck and scrawny body and arms.

  I can’t stop staring at my reflection. I wave and make faces at myself. I smile and get a great big smile back.

  “You okay in there?” Rani calls.

  “Yes! Yes, I’m fine,” I answer.

  “You took a while,” Rani says when I come out. “I don’t spend a minute longer in there than I must.”

  “There was this mirror, and it was fun to wave at myself,” I say. “Plus this bathroom smells as good as jasmine compared to the one in jail.”

  “You’re easy to please.” She grins. “Now let’s go home.”

  “Is it much farther? I’ve already walked more today than I probably did my whole entire life.”

  “No—we’re almost there.” She points ahead. “I live in a tree behind that old estate.”

  “You live in a tree? Is that because of the parrot?”

  Rani laughs. “I live in a tree because it’s beautiful—and it doesn’t have a mouth, so it can’t shout at me to go away.”

  “Go’way!” Jay calls out. “Go’way, punk!”

  “Don’t tell me to go away.” Rani strokes his bright green back. “I’m the one who looks after you, remember?”

  But Jay continues on merrily, adding a string of curse words I recognize from jail.

  “Where did he learn that?” I ask.

  “From the man who raised him,” she says. “I used to call him Grandfather, though he wasn’t really family. He had a kind heart but a pretty foul mouth.”

  “I know how that goes,” I say quietly, and my chest squeezes up because her words make me think of Grandma Knife, and that reminds me how far away I am from not only Amma, but also Grandma Knife and Aunty Cloud and Bedi Ma’am and Malli—who are the closest thing I have to family.

  32

  The Tree Home

  Rani’s tree is a huge, shaggy banyan tree with roots hanging down from its branches.

  It’s right behind an empty mansion. “People think the house is haunted,” she says. “So no one bothers me here.”

  I’m not sure what haunted means, but I don’t ask, because I’m sure it’s nothing good from the way she says it. It’s scary enough with just the two of us being outside now that it’s getting dark.

  Rani takes a cage out of her bag. Jay hops off her shoulder and onto her wrist.

  She feeds him some seeds and then says, “Sleep well, pretty bird.”

  “Pretty bird,” he says, fluffing up his feathers before waddling into the cage. “Pretty birrrd.”

  Rani scampers up the trunk, climbing one-handed. She hangs the cage on a branch. Jay sticks his head behind his wing.

  When Rani gets back on the ground, she takes some matches and things out of her bag. She starts a fire inside a ring of stones and cooks something in a large tin can. When it boils, she takes it off the fire, pours half of it into a smaller can, and gives it to me. It’s some kind of stew. I’m so hungry that I hardly chew as I gulp it down and ask for seconds.

  “You have a voice like a sparrow but a stomach like a hawk! Here’s more. Glad you like it—squirrel stew is my specialty.”

  “Squirrel?”

  “What were you expecting, Prince of Pickiness? Lamb kebab?”

  I can feel the stew sloshing around in my stomach. All of a sudden it gushes up, and I clench my lips, but it’s like trying to hold back an ocean. I retch and vomit like I’m a tap that can’t turn off.

  “Ai!” Rani glares at me. “I spent hours trapping and skinning and cooking that squirrel, and you not only eat most of it, but then you throw it all up!”

  “I—I’m sorry.” I lean against the knobby tree trunk for support. I lie a little so I don’t hurt her feelings. “It tasted good—I probably threw up because of all that seawater I swallowed. And how fast I ate.”

  I dig in my pockets for the money she gave me earlier. The rupee notes are clumped together and damp. “Here. Take this for the food I wasted. If you separate the notes, they’ll dry out, I think.” I hold them out to her.

  “If that’s how much you pay for a meal you can’t stomach, I wonder what you’d give for one that you find tasty?” Rani pokes at the dying embers of her fire with a stick. “I’m joking. Keep the money. Sorry I got so annoyed.”

  Looking at Rani, I can see that her anger that swelled up as fast as an ocean wave disappeared just as quickly.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat, and I start scuffing dirt over the scattered vomit. “Sorry I messed up your place too.”
<
br />   “Yes, and such a shame, since my maid polished the floor today. But don’t worry—we’ll be sleeping on the fourth floor, where the air is fresh. I keep the windows open, and the sea breeze blows in through my balcony.” Rani’s smile sparkles in the moonlight. “Tomorrow, you can buy something to eat with your money. It’ll be fun.”

  Tomorrow! “You mean you don’t want me to get lost now?”

  “Not right away.” Her teasing tone doesn’t match the kindness in her eyes. “I’m quite happy being alone, because I’m not really alone—I have Jay. But if you want to stay, we’ll let you. You clearly need our help.”

  33

  Outside the Box

  Come on.” Rani starts climbing her tree. “It’s bedtime.”

  “You sleep up there? Aren’t you scared you’ll fall?” I feel giddy looking up at Jay’s cage, swaying above my head.

  “Better in a tree than a room. I could never sleep all shut up like a toy in a box.”

  “A room isn’t a box.”

  “Yes it is. Anyway, I find the biggest branch and tie myself to the trunk with a rope so I don’t fall off. Up here, I’m safe from stray dogs and cats—and humans.”

  She points at footholds I don’t see. I try following her instructions, but my hands slip and my feet slip and I don’t get very far.

  “You’re kind of weak.” Her brows knot together. “But we’ll get you in shape soon, don’t worry. Tonight, though, why don’t you sleep on the ground. Just make sure the jackals don’t swallow you up.”

  I can tell she’s joking, but sleep doesn’t come easily as I lie all alone beneath the tree. The ground is rougher than the floor in jail. I wiggle around, trying to find a place that doesn’t have twigs poking into my back.

  The night is full of weird sounds too. Jail wasn’t quiet, but at least I knew where the noises came from. And my skin prickles when a breeze wafts over me. Even though part of me knows that fresh air is better than a hot, stuffy cell, I wish I were back there. I wish I were with Amma.