Where Angels Prey

by Ramesh S Arunachalam

  Priya shakes her head in amazement.

  “I’m really intrigued now. I am no economist but I’ve read enough to know that equity investments in other sectors were less than encouraging during the years of the global financial crisis. Is it the huge numbers of poor alone that make it attractive?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t discount the fact that Indian microfinance institutions offered better commercial returns than their peers in all other industries and also in all other countries.”

  Bob makes a quick mental note to append that to his pitch. That should be enough to convince his editor!

  CHAPTER 4

  GANDHIPURA, WARANGAL DISTRICT, 12 SEPTEMBER 2010

  Mylaram Kallava is tired of fighting. She has been fighting for longer than she can remember.

  As she waits outside the maternity ward of the Gandhipura town hospital, she desperately prays for good fortune—something she hasn’t had in more than three decades!

  Her father was one of the victims of a hooch tragedy that had claimed her village when Mylaram was hardly ten. She is the third of her mother’s six children. The last one was born after her father’s death and had been scorned by her family and villagers alike for having claimed her father’s life even before her birth. Mylaram could not, for the life of her, make the connection, but then who cared! As if fearing lifelong scorn, the little girl had allowed pneumonia to consume her when she was hardly four.

  Mylaram’s mother had almost died giving birth to her last child. She never recovered enough to work thereafter. The responsibility of the family fell on her maternal uncle, who had a family and children of his own.

  Mylaram would always remember the large measures of abuse that her aunt served her and her siblings, along with the meagre quantity of food. The lady could hardly be blamed, when she was expected to stretch food hardly enough for four to fill more than a dozen stomachs. Education was a luxury simply out of their reach. Mylaram’s brothers were sent off to work as agricultural labourers when they were hardly fourteen and twelve.

  When Mylaram was sixteen, she fell in love with a man from a neighbouring village. That he was already married and an alcoholic hardly seemed to matter. To Mylaram, he represented an escape from the beggarly existence they led at their uncle’s home. She eloped with Balaiah and exchanged garlands with him at a nearby temple.

  Once the initial euphoria faded, Mylaram discovered that her husband was a lazy good-for-nothing who viewed her as nothing more than a source of income. He lorded over both his wives, affording them equal time to pay obeisance to him.

  Mylaram’s family pretty much washed their hands off her, post her elopement. She worked as an agricultural labourer to support herself and her husband—whenever he deigned to spend time with her. But things changed with the birth of her second child. While her first pregnancy had been fairly easy and she had continued to work almost right up to the hour, things changed drastically with the second. There was hardly any interval between the two pregnancies. Worse still, lack of nourishment and proper prenatal care resulted in Mylaram becoming severely anaemic. The doctors at the government health centre told her it was a miracle that the mother and baby had survived. They compelled her to undergo family planning surgery since another pregnancy would most certainly prove fatal. Mylaram was deeply upset since she feared that it would make her husband find himself another woman. She learnt after a few months that he had, in fact, had a third woman tucked away for more than a year!

  Mylaram’s ill-health made it impossible for her to perform arduous physical labour. With no education and no special skills to earn a living, she took to selling peanuts and other snacks at the bus terminal five kilometres away from her home. She would walk the distance and back, until she managed to buy a second-hand bicycle from her neighbour. Desperate to give her two daughters the benefit of the education she’d never had, Mylaram enrolled them in an English-medium school on the outskirts of her village. Her earnings were hardly enough to meet these expenses but Mylaram did not let that discourage her. She borrowed heavily from neighbours and informal moneylenders in the hope that her daughters would eventually find good jobs and help her settle all the debts.

  Mylaram was convinced that her luck had turned with the arrival of Ramulamma. The lady was related to the village panchayat president. She had acquired an almost goddess-like status in the eyes of the poor village women, when she told them that she worked for DevEx, an organization that was committed to wiping out their sufferings and exploitation at the hands of informal moneylenders or sahukars. Most of the villagers were illiterate and had no means of understanding the accounting methods of the sahukars. All they knew was that they seemed to be making payments all their lives and yet the principal loan amount hardly diminished. They would be told that those payments were hardly enough to meet the interest. Ramulamma told them that the moneylenders charged them exorbitant and usurious rates of interest that were prohibited under law. The organization she represented had been formed for the primary purpose of reaching out to poor rural folk and meeting their credit and other financial needs. They were going to help them with credit, train them to set up business enterprises and help them save. In short, there was an implicit promise of a golden future. Mylaram was among the first batch of women to join the organization and avail of their credit facilities. Her first loan went towards buying a pushcart that would help her transport her wares to the bus terminal and back. She took a second loan to set up a small mobile eatery. She was immensely gratified by the response to the eatery and the resultant spurt in income. She was now emboldened to take a loan to gift somewhat high-end phones to her daughters. The two girls had not had an easy life and Mylaram did not want their youth to be as harsh and barren as hers had been.

  While Mylaram dreamt of her daughters getting a good education and well-paying jobs, her older daughter decided to take a leaf out of her book. She fell in love with a man who was as much of a good-for-nothing as her father. Thankfully, he was not already married. But his reputation, as well as the fact that he belonged to a different caste, did not exactly endear him to Mylaram. Faced with stiff opposition, her daughter, like her, eloped with her lover.

  After much screaming and chest-beating, Mylaram had taken her daughter back a year later, when she was three months pregnant and her husband had taken off for parts unknown. Much as she resented the girl for her actions, she could hardly abandon her to fate. Besides, Mylaram desperately needed a helping hand at home.

  Her second daughter had been falling ill once too often. She was unable to attend classes regularly and could not help with the business either. Visits to the village primary health centre and even the local tantric had not yielded any results. The girl continued to suffer from acute abdominal pain.

  Mylaram now had to divide her time between her business and ferrying her younger daughter around to various hospitals. Finally, the girl was diagnosed with an infected appendix and advised surgery. The nearest government hospital was more than seventy kilometres away. This forced Mylaram to take her daughter to a private hospital closer to home. Faced with huge medical expenses, Mylaram was grateful when Ramulamma recommended her case and got her an emergency loan to cover them.

  The surgery was successful and Mylaram was able to bring her daughter home a week later. The girl was weak and ill and needed constant care. Mylaram’s older daughter was a huge support. It was the monsoon season and Mylaram had to contend with a leaking roof. She already had two loans running concurrently with DevEx. It was then that Ramulamma introduced her and the other women to Sarasakka, a representative of another organization like hers called SAMMAAN Microfinance. They were kind enough to lend Mylaram money to cover the medical expenses and then gave her a second loan for house repairs. While Mylaram was grateful for all the money she got, she was now struggling to repay the instalments every month. And while they had been very kind to begin with, the organizational representatives, including Ramulakka, were now beginning to talk tough. Since the loa
ns were issued on a group guarantee basis, she was also under severe pressure from her peers. She was behind her repayment schedule by more than three months and was now desperately hoping for some good fortune to help her repay the loans.

  Despite Mylaram’s hopes, ill luck had refused to leave her side. One day her older daughter complained of acute abdominal pain. Fearing complications in her pregnancy, the local midwife advised Mylaram to take her to the town hospital.

  It is outside the maternity ward of that very hospital that Mylaram now waits. Scared, she continues to pray for good news.

  A nurse exits the ward and calls out to her.

  Mylaram rushes to her side and looks at her fearfully.

  “Your daughter has survived but the baby is lost. The foetus was not properly formed, though. You can take your daughter home the day after.”

  The nurse turns on her heel and goes back in, leaving Mylaram unsure of what to feel. Is she supposed to celebrate her daughter being alive, grieve over the lost child or be grateful that it did not survive to live a deformed life?

  The nurse returns with a chit in hand.

  “You need to pay Rs 5,000 before we can discharge your daughter.”

  Mylaram is stunned. She had not thought of this part at all. While she was already hard-pressed for money to meet loan repayments, here was an additional expense!

  A tired Mylaram takes a bus back home in the evening. As she walks forlornly towards her hut, she is stopped in her tracks by a few women, who are her fellow group1 members.

  “What happened to Kala?” asks one of the women.

  “She survived but the baby is gone,” answers Mylaram, mournfully.

  “That is sad. But maybe it is better not to have the offspring of a son of a bitch who has dumped her this way!” observes another woman.

  “How can we hold the father’s crimes against the child? She is devastated for the child was still her flesh and blood!”

  Mylaram starts to walk away when one of the women holds her by the arm.

  “The loan recovery agents will be here the day after.”

  Mylaram looks tired and defeated.

  “I don’t have the money to repay them.”

  “You can’t do that! My daughter’s wedding will be ruined then!”

  Mylaram looks at her in alarm.

  “What are you saying?”

  “Mylaram, you know the loan terms as well as we do. One of us defaults on her repayment and all of us suffer!”

  Mylaram feels her head begin to spin.

  “If my loan does not come through, my daughter’s wedding will be stalled. We will be shamed before the whole world and will have no other option but to kill ourselves. And our deaths will be on you!”

  The woman speaks in a tone that is a mix of a curse and a plea.

  Mylaram does not know what to say. She nods her head slowly and walks back home.

  Her younger daughter is waiting.

  “Mother, is Akka alright?”

  Mylaram nods her head before curling up in a corner. She cannot cope with questions.

  The next day she collects whatever little cash she has, puts together anything of value in the house and takes it to the scrap shop in town.

  She begs and pleads with the scrap dealer to give her a good deal. Lady luck finally shines on her, or maybe the scrap dealer is just in a charitable mood. Mylaram gets enough to meet the hospital expenses and some more.

  She goes to the hospital, gets her daughter discharged and brings her back home.

  That night, she cooks a good meal and feeds her daughters with her own hands. Then, she goes to sleep, hugging them both.

  The next morning, the loan recovery agents from DevEx arrive in the village.

  They are just in time to see her hanging from the very roof that they had lent her money to repair.

  CHAPTER 5

  NEW YORK, 20 SEPTEMBER 2010

  “The number you are calling is either switched off or cannot be reached at the moment.” Bob swears loudly. He has been getting the same response over the last couple of days. Where the hell isChandresh ?

  Chandresh had been the first person Bob had called after the editor gave his nod for the story. A former special correspondent with one of India’s leading national dailies, Chandresh specialized in offbeat development stories. Bob had first made his acquaintance while working on a report on the phenomenon of farmer suicides in India. One of his classmates from Columbia, a scion of one of India’s leading publishing families, had introduced him to Chandresh. The two had kept in touch ever since, sharing stories and gossip that came to their notice and which they thought might be relevant to the other.

  Just then, Bob’s phone rings and he picks it up eagerly, hoping it is Chandresh.

  The call is from Mayank Sharma. Bob’s irritation fades when he hears his voice.

  “Hey Mayank, what’s up man?”

  “Hi Bob, all set to fly out to India?”

  “Yeah, working on last minute details. Was just trying to reach a local contact.”

  “Hope the paper I forwarded to you was useful!”

  “It really was, Mayank. Helped me put together a basic framework for the article.”

  “Glad I could help. I have some more good news for you. Prasad Kamineni is addressing a gathering at the Cramer Institute for Research on Inclusive Growth (CIRIG) in Boston on Friday. I have an invite for you, in case you’d like to go.”

  “Mayank, I owe you big on this one! I’ll see you there on Friday.”

  “Will make sure to collect when James Jordin needs a puff piece!”

  Mayank laughs before hanging up.

  The apartment door opens and Priya enters. Her sharp eye spots the look of contained excitement on Bob’s face.

  “Got through to Chandresh?”

  “Not yet. But I am going to meeting your manavalu on Friday!”

  The cabbie who drives Bob from the Boston airport to the CIRIG office in the central business district turns out to be Indian. A turbaned gentleman, he introduces himself as Sardar Kanwal Singh. The man is quite garrulous for so early in the day. “I am from Punjab,” he announces rather proudly, before quickly clarifying that it is the one in India. “Did you know there is a Punjab in Pakistan too?”

  Bob nods and tells him he has read a lot on Indian history.

  “Then you must know about the Partition?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “My father lost his parents and brothers on a train, while they were trying to flee Pakistan.”

  “I am really sorry to hear that.”

  “My father’s brother was a baby. Three months old! Heartless bastards.”

  Bob sighs and nods in commiseration.

  “Terrible what happened to the twin towers.”

  Bob senses the direction in which the conversation is going.

  “How much longer before we get there?”

  “Sir, please take a look at the GPS. I am following the correct route with the least traffic. It won’t take much longer. I am a very honest man. I would not bring disrepute to my country in a foreign land.”

  Bob assures the man that he does not doubt his integrity.

  “So, what do you do?”

  “What do you think?”

  “A banker?”

  The man’s tone reveals that he does not look at bankers favourably. Pretty much in sync with the national sentiment, Bob thinks to himself as he chuckles.

  “No, I am a journalist.”

  Sardar Kanwal Singh is intrigued.

  “Digging for a scam?”

  “For a change, I am going to report on the rich who are investing to improve the lives of the poor!”

  The man has no comeback for that.

  With hardly a week left before his departure to India, the trip to Boston had been a bit of a squeeze, but Bob was not going to pass on an opportunity to hobnob with some of the biggest names in inclusive finance, all gathered under one roof. On entering the hall, the guests are handed out
booklets on SAMMAAN Microfinance Limited, which include a brief write-up on the founder, Prasad Kamineni. Bob idly leafs through one as he waits for the event to begin.

  SAMMAAN Microfinance empowers the poor to become economically self-reliant by providing financial services in a sustainable manner. Launched in 1994, SAMMAAN Microfinance is one of the fastest growing microfinance institutions in the world, having provided over $800 million (INR 3,200 crore) as loans and has maintained loans outstanding of $423 million (INR 1,692 crore) to over 2 million women members in the poorest regions of India. Borrowers take loans for income-generating activities including livestock rearing, agriculture, trade (fruit/vegetable vending), production (basket and carpet weaving, pottery) and businesses like spas, beauty parlours, game parlours and photography. SAMMAAN also offers very low interest loans for emergencies and life and health insurance to its members. Its NGO wing, SAMMAAN Foundation, runs the Pro-Poor Programme. SAMMAAN currently has 900 microfinance branches in 19 states across India, and aims to reach 7,000,000 members by end of 2010. In the last year alone, SAMMAAN Microfinance has achieved nearly 392% growth, with 99.98% on-time repayment rate.

  The founder of SAMMAAN, Prasad Kamineni, has dedicated much of his professional life to addressing India’s development and growth, right from the grass-roots. Prior to launching SAMMAAN, Prasad worked on a research project on gender, microfinance and family dynamics in India, Bangladesh and Nepal. He has also worked as a field level supervisor with Madhya Bharath Vikas Sanstha, an NGO working in the area of rural enterprise development. He has written extensively in world class publications including the Cramer Economic Review. He holds a BA in Economics from St Stephen’s College, New Delhi, an MA in Development Economics from Oxford and a PhD from the University of Michigan, where his dissertation focused on bottom of the pyramid strategies. He also has experience working in the formal financial sector in his brief career with Grantham FinCorp, a leading investment firm on Wall Street.