The Lost Daughter of India

by Sharon Maas

  Janiki

  ‘Have you had lunch?’ asked Janiki.

  ‘Yes. Well, I went to a restaurant with Gita and had a bite but I couldn’t eat much. I feel sick. But you must be starving – I take it you haven’t eaten? It’s nearly three. Let’s go.’

  They walked down the stairs to the hospital’s entrance lobby. Kamal stopped, and stared. And then he rushed forward.

  ‘Caroline!’ he cried. ‘And, oh my God, Asha! Asha, my sweet, there you are! You’re safe!’ He gathered his daughter into his arms. But Asha pushed him away. She rushed forward, and practically leapt into Janiki’s arms. ‘Janiki, Janiki, Janiki!’

  And they were both laughing and hugging and kissing. Caroline looked at Kamal, rather shyly. ‘Don’t take it personally, Kamal. She needs time. Remember how close she was to Janiki.’

  Kamal nodded, but said nothing.

  Janiki and Asha stopped hugging and Janiki said, ‘Asha, that was very rude of you not to greet your daddy. Come on now and say hello. He’s been so worried about you all this time.’

  And she led Asha back to her father and Kamal held out his arms and Asha, very slowly, smiled at him and said ‘Hello Daddy.’ And they hugged, not in the wild and overjoyed way Kamal had wanted but in a reserved and polite way. And Janiki stroked Kamal’s arm and said, ‘It’s all right, Kamal. It will be all right.’

  And Kamal nodded, though his heart was breaking. And then it was Caroline’s turn to hug everyone.

  ‘Yes,’ she said tiredly. ‘She’s safe. We’re both safe. I’ll tell you the whole story later. Right now I’d like a doctor to see her; she’s got wounds all over her back.’

  ‘You should take her to Dr Ganotra first to be registered for the Safe Haven programme,’ said Janiki. ‘That’s the way it’s done. He has an office here. I’ll take you there. He’s here right now. Come on.’

  * * *

  A while later, she and Kamal left Caroline and Asha in Dr Ganotra’s office and set out once again for the lobby, heading for the postponed meal. On their way down the corridor they passed a woman in a white coat, a stethoscope around her neck. ‘Doctor! Doctor, stop a moment,’ cried Janiki, ‘I’d like you to meet Kamal. He’s the fellow who rescued Ragi. Kamal – this is Dr Pratima Nath-Willard. She’s the one who examined Ragi! She’s fantastic! Got her to talk a little!’

  Dr Nath-Willard was a woman in her late fifties; huge brown eyes assessed Kamal and reflected the warmth of her smile.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Kamal. You’re quite the hero, you know. That girl – she’s been terribly abused. But she’s recovering well, and slowly telling us about her wretched life. You will have to talk to social services, tell them what happened, describe the father and so on – they’ll try and find him to raise charges of child trafficking but most likely nothing will come of it: they won’t find him. She’ll go into care. We have a few good orphanages in Mumbai.’

  ‘What if – what if someone came forward, and wanted to adopt her,’ said Janiki tentatively. ‘Wouldn’t she be better off in a family?’

  ‘Oh, definitely. In particular, she needs to regain her trust in men. She needs a loving father. Desperately. Someone who—’

  Suddenly grasping the subtlety of Janiki’s words, she stopped speaking and looked from her to Kamal.

  ‘Is this’ – nodding at Kamal – ‘Is this your…’

  Kamal and Janiki locked eyes in the pause. Kamal’s eyes asked a question, Janiki’s eyes gave the answer, accompanied by a very slight, almost imperceptible, bobble of her head.

  ‘Fiancé,’ said Kamal. ‘That’s right. And we’d like to submit an expression of interest. Where do we do that?’

  Dr Nath-Willard smiled. ‘The social worker dealing with her case will take down your particulars and she will do the needful,’ she said. ‘Congratulations.’

  Epilogue

  Asha

  So Mom saved me in the end. It all happened so quickly. Suddenly they were all there, all the people I loved: Mom and Dad and Janiki, and even people I didn’t know, but who already seemed to love me, a man I called Wayne Uncle but Mom said he was to be my new dad so I mustn’t call him Uncle. So he said I could call him Wayne, but it’s rude to call an adult by their first name so I called him Wayne Uncle in my mind and just never said it out loud. I didn’t want to be rude. But he was nice. He came from America. He is Mom’s husband. He only stayed a few days then he had to go back to America, to work. But he said he would come back for the wedding, and he did.

  And there was a little girl called Ragi who they said was to be my little sister, and she loved me too; she was a bit scared of everyone except Janiki and she clung to me so I took care of her, and Janiki laughed and said I could be her chinna-amma. And then there was a very big lady who never got up because she can’t walk, and she is called Rani Abishta. I was scared of her but they said she is my great-grandmother. That means she is Dad’s grandmother, and I should call her Daadi. She was scary but very kind to me, feeding me sweets all day, but Mom said I wasn’t to eat so many sweets; it wasn’t healthy. But Daadi still fed me sweets and called me to sit on her lap but I didn’t want to, so she just laughed and fed me some more sweets. Those were the most delicious sweets I ever ate in my whole life. I couldn’t stop eating them. So whenever I could I sneaked away and went to Daadi for sweets, and I took Ragi with me because Ragi liked being with me, and she liked the sweets too.

  We left Bombay soon after my rescue to go to this place where Rani Abishta lived. It was like a palace in the Mahabharata, like Indraprastha, with beautiful gardens and marble buildings and carpets and tapestries and wonderful paintings everywhere. It is Daadi’s home and she said it is my home too. We could all stay there as long as we wanted. And she and Dad spent a lot of time together talking so I was mostly with Mom and Janiki and Ragi. We went for long walks in the gardens and there were mango trees and we could eat mangoes straight from the tree. I took good care of Ragi. She held my hand all the time and Mom and Janiki laughed and said, ‘We cannot separate them. They are sisters.’

  And then there was a wedding in that place. Dad and Janiki got married. It was the most beautiful wedding in the world. Janiki looked so gorgeous in her red sari. She and Dad love each other very much. They walked around the holy fire together and vowed to always love each other. That’s what marriage means, Janiki told me. Janiki said I didn’t have to call her Amma now; she would always be my chinna-amma but I could still call her Janiki because she is my sister as well as my chinna-amma. Wayne Uncle came for the wedding but left again. He works hard.

  After the wedding we came to another place and that is even more beautiful than Daadi’s palace. It is in the Nilgiri Hills in South India, and it is just like living in heaven with lakes and hills and trees and flowers. The place belongs to Dad. It is part of the silk business that Dad owns, a resort for the staff.

  Mom is working with Ragi and me in that heavenly place. She is doing a thing called Therapy, which sounds scary, but it isn’t at all. It’s fun. We paint a lot and make figures out of clay, and we play musical instruments and sing and dance, and act in plays. Doing all these things makes me happy, and it makes Ragi happy too.

  Ragi has a lot of problems, Janiki said. She had an evil dad who did mean things to her and she was very sad inside so we all had to love her very much and that will cure her. Our love will gradually wash away the bad feelings inside her. Our love will make the ugliness she has known melt into the past, so she can have a future. Our love will make her life beautiful. So we all love her as much as we can, and Ragi has learned to smile and love back. And she has even learned to love Dad too, because Dad did Therapy with her. She used to be scared of Dad, but Dad played with her and me and we swam together in the lake, and we sang and made music together. And I no longer think Dad is a god; he’s just Dad and I love him like you’re supposed to love a dad.

  And another good thing happened. Mom has a friend in America who is a journalist. And when Mom told her my story, and abo
ut Ragi, that friend wrote an article and it was published in a big foreign newspaper with photos of me and Ragi. And all the foreigners in America and England and all over the world got all angry and made a huge fuss and so the Indian newspapers also made a big fuss and everyone in America and Europe was outraged. And we were even on American TV! And English and German and Italian TV!

  And then Indians also got outraged and the Indian politicians and lawmakers and police also got outraged and they came to talk to me and Ragi and Daddy and Mom and Gita and Janiki. And everything came to light and they arrested all kinds of people and even Mr Chaudhuri and Mr Rajgopal, and they will go to jail. But not Devaki Aunty because she went to live in Lucknow, Mom said, to start a new life, and Mom didn’t tell the police about her. Because Devaki Aunty helped, and trusted us, and she has a daughter too, Mom said.

  And people sent donations from all over the world to help little girls like Ragi, and in the space of a month Dr Ganotra was able to rescue five more of them. And so many donations came in that he was able to buy another house in the country so that they have a place to go when they are rescued, because Tulasa House is not enough. So you see: even when terrible things happen, good things can result. And now I understand why I never gave up hope.

  We have been here for months now. Because Therapy takes a long time. But sooner or later, Janiki said, the adults have to decide what they want to do and where they want to live.

  ‘We all want to stay together,’ Janiki said. ‘Kamal and I are adopting Ragi so she is our daughter, but you are everyone’s daughter, Caroline’s and Kamal’s and mine, and so we all have to live together, and Wayne too. It’s a bit of a problem, baby, but not a big one. We can buy a big house for us all in America or here in India. A house where two families can live, with a lovely garden, or two houses next to each other. Wayne already has a job in America so probably it will be there. All the rest of us are more flexible and we don’t care; we just want to be with you.’

  So it looks as if we are all going to move to America. To a place called Massachoosits. It’s a lovely place, Mom said, and we’ll have a lovely big house, big enough for all of us, with a porch all around it, and Ragi and I will go to school. But first Ragi has to learn English, but she already can say some words. I am teaching her.

  Janiki loves computers, but she does not have one here. She says she is taking a computer break. But when the break is over she is going to work as a detective. Just like in the stories we used to read together, except she will be a computer detective. She found me through detective work on the computer. She wants to find other stolen girls with the computer. She is going to work with Doctor G, who is the doctor who helped find me. He said I can call him Doctor G because I can’t remember his name; I just remember it starts with G. And Gita’s name also starts with G. She is Janiki’s and Mom’s friend. She showed us some nice places in Bombay – but still we were in a hurry to leave, because of the bad things that happened there. ‘We must put the past behind us,’ Janiki said, and that’s what we’re going to do.

  So now I have two mothers and two fathers and a little sister, and maybe one day some more brothers and sisters, Janiki said. But it just shows that I was wrong when I said I was lost for ever. Bad times are never for ever. Bad times come and bad times go, and when they are with us, we must remember that all will be well by the power of all harmony. And that is the simple truth. And that is why my name is Asha: Hope.

  Letter from Sharon

  First of all, I want to say a huge thank you for choosing The Lost Daughter of India. I hope you enjoyed reading Asha’s story just as much as I loved writing it.

  If you did enjoy it, I would be forever grateful if you’d do two things; firstly, tell others: readers in your family, friends and social media circles. Nothing helps a book as much as word of mouth: simply telling others ‘I loved this book.’ The more the word spreads, the more people will look it up, read the reviews, feel encouraged to buy it. Secondly: write a review. I’d love to hear what you think, and it will also help other readers discover one of my books for the first time.

  On a more personal level, there’s nothing that makes my day as much as a reader’s letter so do please drop me a line, either on my social media pages or through the contact form on my website. I promise to reply!

  This particular book is close to my heart, since it addresses a heartbreaking situation that unfortunately is still alive in today’s world. At this moment, there are children such as Asha and Ragi who are sold into prostitution like pieces of property. They need our awareness; awareness leads to help. Please go on to read my author notes following this letter.

  Last of all, if you’d like to keep up to date with all my latest releases, just sign up here:

  Sharon Maas email sign-up

  Thank you so much for your support – until next time.

  Sharon Maas

  Connect with me:

  @sharon_maas

  sharonmaasauthor

  www.sharonmaas.com

  Author Notes

  Asha, Ragi and the other ‘lost’ girls who appear in The Lost Daughter of India might be fictitious, but they are nevertheless real. I first came into contact with the horrendous plight of such girls in the year 2000, during the research for one of my early novels; like Janiki and Caroline, I walked the streets of Kamathipura, and was able to visit a few brothels and talk to young girls who had been stolen from their homes for the trade.

  In my research I was aided by Dr Gilada, the founder of the People’s Health Organisation in Mumbai. Dr Ganotra of The Lost Girl of India is based on Dr Gilada, and the story he tells of the Nepalese girl Tulasa is taken directly from an interview I did with him back in 2000. Tulasa’s story is true. There are still many Tulasas in Mumbai and other Indian and Asian cities today. Her story is shocking; but sometimes we need to be shocked. However, there is at last some good news. Here is that interview, with an update:

  Saving Tulasa, child sex worker from Nepal

  An Interview with Dr Gilada

  Dr Ishwarprasad Gilada, founder, General-Secretary and driving force behind the People’s Health Organisation in India, has been fighting against the horrors of the Bombay sex trade for the last two decades.

  Sharon: Your crusade against child prostitution in India began with the rescue of Tulasa in 1982; back then, the story made front page headlines in India and Nepal, and opened a viper’s nest of horrors. Who was Tulasa?

  Dr I.G.: Tulasa Thalpa was a twelve-year-old Nepali girl who in 1982 was kidnapped from her village and sold into prostitution in Bombay. She was systematically raped to make her fit for the trade and then forced to entertain an average of eight clients a day. I met her ten months later in the Bombay hospital where I was working at the time. Her tiny body – the body of a child – was completely broken. She was suffering from three types of sexually transmitted diseases (STDs), genital warts and brain tuberculosis, which left her disabled and wheelchair-bound, and finally killed her. The story she told was horrific. The People’s Health Organisation embarked on a full-fledged ‘Save Tulasa’ campaign, and with the support of the media managed to rescue her. We located her father – her mother had died shortly after her disappearance – and sent her home.

  Sharon: You say with the support of the media. Didn’t the police help in the rescue campaign?

  Dr. I.G.: Police collusion with the flesh trade was a crucial point in Tulasa’s revelations. Even today the police and the politicians are in collaboration with the pimps – the profit is huge. Back then, the uproar generated by her story forced the police into action, and in no time thirty-two persons involved were arrested, including the three brothel owners Tulasa had worked for. The police knew exactly what was going on, but only stepped in when forced to do so. It took them eighteen months to ascertain her age and three years to file a charge. And only last January, eighteen years later, did the case finally to come to trial. The police were given a month to produce her in court. Only then did we receive a
message that Tulasa had died two years previously. Meanwhile, her abusers have been running free.

  * * *

  Sharon: After her rescue didn’t she find peace in Nepal?

  Dr I.G.: No. At first there had been an outpouring of sympathy for her – offers of adoption and marriage, an invitation to Switzerland, gifts of money and medicine. None of it came to much. Tulasa was rejected by her father’s second wife, and moved into a home. Her father avoided her to keep the family peace. She was in constant pain, but worst of all was the feeling that nobody loved her, that she had been used and abused and finally discarded like a piece of rubbish.

  Sharon: Is Tulasa’s story typical of child prostitutes in India’s megacities?

  Dr I.G.: Yes. Soon after Tulasa’s rescue the air was abuzz with innumerable stories of girls who were caged and treated like animals in Kamathipura, Bombay’s infamous red light district. They narrated harrowing tales of torture and abuse. The PHO has to date directly rescued more than 130 girls, and more than 3,000 indirectly. The youngest girl we rescued was only eight years old.

  * * *

  Sharon: Has trafficking of children in Bombay improved since Tulasa’s rescue?

  Dr I.G.: Horrifying as it is, Tulasa’s case has had some positive fallout. The episode threw the spotlight on the appalling practice of child prostitution – the public outcry was tremendous. As a result, the governments of India and Nepal signed a treaty for the rescue and repatriation of Nepali girls from Indian brothels. In India the sentence for trafficking minors has been hiked from seven to thirteen years. Child prostitution has been reduced by about 40 per cent.