She'd travel to Kolkata - home of her ancestors and location of the ScottBioTec Research Institute and this was something she’d be doing alone.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Hot air blasted Kal’s face as she stepped off the plane in Kolkata. In the distance, a grey pall hugged the horizon. It was a sign of pollution hanging over the city. Kal smiled - choking traffic fumes, dusty streets, the odour of cow pats in the town centre because cows are holy to Hindus and wandered everywhere and couldn’t be disturbed, pedal-power rickshaws weaving amongst honking taxis. From poverty to riches, from gold-embossed Buddha statues to dirt, India had it all.
She’d come to India several times since that first trip to Varanasi. As the second generation born overseas, visits were important. Kal remembered approaching the first one with a mixture of duty and curiosity, to find that Varanasi quickly charmed her. It was still her favourite city, with Kolkata her second favourite. Kolkata - with its love of art and successful cinema industry. In this metropolis of four million people, a quarter lived in poverty either in designated slum areas minimally supplied with basic services, or in unofficial squatter districts with no services at all. She remained profoundly impressed by the poorest inhabitants. They exhibited a wonderful ingenuity, being able to repair and fashion articles for everyday use from other people's discards, whether it be bicycle parts, cast-aside utensils or broken down electrical goods. The locals had a deep sense of satisfaction in their everyday lives, so different to the excesses and frequent depression back home. Their love of life and ability to surmount hardships gave the city its alternative name - ‘City of Joy’ - after a celebrated novel which captured the spirit and daily battle for survival in the Kolkata slums.
A clamour of male voices vied for her fare as she exited Kolkata airport. She was surrounded by pressing male bodies as they all shouted to get her attention. Kal elbowed her way through the drivers, who wore eclectic combinations of western fashion - jeans and worn out shirts - teamed with traditional Indian clothing - baggy, pale trousers and long, loose tunics. The insistence in their voices was another characteristic of Indian city life. Kal chose one of the drivers and he grinned at her, showing his blackened teeth.
On the drive into town, the scrawny driver chatted without pause and, of course, the car was an absolute shell with barely any suspension. The windows were permanently down, which meant he had to shout over the noise of the traffic all the way. He dropped her in the city centre and accepted her tip with another dark-toothed grin. Kal checked into a hotel. Then she took an old, battered bus to the suburbs.
***
The ScottBioTec Research Institute consisted of a state-of-the-art hospital and associated children's home. According to the internet, the hospital had two operating theatres and a complement of one hundred and fifty staff members. They ran a clinic, where any disabled child could present themselves for a free assessment. If accepted onto the limb replacement programme, ScottBioTec gave each child a guarantee of housing until age sixteen, in return for participation in the research. Richard Scott tried to keep his critics at bay by offering the children schooling and skills training.
A ten-foot, wire fence surrounded the complex, and the hut beside the security gate housed a guard who was more interested in filling in a crossword than in her arrival. Kal knocked on the window. The Indian sun pounded down, super-heating the metal sill. One touch on that would fry her fingertip. She gave a second rap on the window pane. This time the guard glanced up and pushed open the sash.
“Good afternoon, what is it you want?”
“I'd like to volunteer at the children's home.”
He took in her worn backpack, old T-shirt and dusty trainers.
“Are you a student?”
“Yes and I'm travelling India for a few months.”
The man grunted and pushed a register and pen towards her. “There should be someone in the main office. You can go there and ask.”
The compound was huge. Kal made a thorough recce, before presenting herself at the office building, located at the rear of the property. It turned out the children’s home always needed volunteers, or, at least, that's what the administrative assistant said.
“We have a house mother for each dormitory and they're always in need of help. I'll assign you to the girl's dormitory for ten to eleven-year olds. We split the children into age groups and mostly single sex, though we make exceptions to keep siblings together.”
“Do all the children have artificial limbs?”
“Some have and some are waiting. The children who are actively participating in the research sleep at the hospital and I shall give you the advice I give to all our volunteers and that is, don't ask too many questions because it upsets the children. Now, I'll assign you a room. Please go straight over and meet your house mother.”
Kal walked back across the pounded dirt compound, passing in front of the hospital which was a modern, two storey building - a clean, white edifice sitting stark against the orange-brown earth.
The children's home was a rambling complex of basic, breeze block construction buildings, set amongst stubby bushes and patches of dirt. They must have started out small, and added on dormitories as ScottBioTec expanded. In all, she estimated the home to house around two hundred children.
Kal committed the layout of the dormitories to memory as she searched for block F. The earth path was beaten smooth by the passage of myriad feet, and it meandered from dormitory to dormitory before emerging at a large, oval space which seemed to be the main playground. As she reached it, a bell sounded. Children spilled out of the building in front of her, marking it out as the school, with a row of large open windows running along the side, fitted with fly screens. Like at any school break time in the world, the children shouted and ran and jostled, tumbling down the steps, pushing each other in excitement. In the space of a few seconds, the noise became deafening. Some children headed for the dormitory buildings, others gathered in the open area to play, oblivious to the heat.
Sweat trickled down Kal’s temple and she moved to the shade. Some of the children had artificial limbs, others still had the withered arm or leg they'd been born with. Some used crutches, some not, and all of them played with abandon, shouting and screaming at the tops of their voices.
She walked across the play area. A small, barren looking tree stood on the far side, and a boy, around seven years old, was bent beside it, agitating a branch. The boy wore shorts and a much washed t-shirt and was barefoot. Kal recognised the type of bush – it was liquorice. The boy was twisting off a young twig for himself, then he would chew the end to enjoy the taste. Just as he succeeded in pulling off his prize, a man darted out from behind the school building and seized the boy by the ear.
“Leave him alone, you big bully.” The words shot out before she could stop them.
The man stared at her. He was Indian, late thirties, thin, wearing a long cream tunic and matching traditional trousers and he wore expensive, leather sandals, marking him out as someone on his way up the hierarchy.
“I'm in charge around here and this tree is out of bounds.”
He spoke loudly, puffed up with self-importance. She recognised the type - he had a small amount of power and he wielded it to the full.
“I'm sorry, I didn't know. My name's Kavita and I'm looking for dormitory F.” She forced a modest tone into her voice and glanced back the way she'd come, knowing that block F lay in front of her.
The man gave her a look laden with disapproval.
“I suppose you're a new volunteer. Well, take it from me, we have to teach them the rules, otherwise they get out of hand.” He gave the boy's ear a vicious twist and whether the boy fell or was pushed, Kal wasn’t sure. The muscles in Kal’s arms twitched.
“Dormitory F is that way,” the man said and he gave her a long, rude stare, of the type Indian men reserve for women of Indian appearance dressed in European fashion. It was a mixture of disgust and disdain with an undercurrent of horrif
ied fascination.
The man walked off, aiming a kick at the boy's back. Kal sprang forward, her anger spiking but the boy smartly scooted out of the way. As the man disappeared behind the school building, she bent to help the child from the ground.
“Don’t let him see you’re cross, it’s best not to get on the wrong side of Mr Singh.” said the boy. “I can show you block F if you want.”
“Thanks, and if you want to grab a liquorice stick you'd better make sure he isn't hiding to catch you out.”
“Mr Singh has eyes everywhere.”
“Then you'd better be more clever than Mr Singh.”
The boy grinned. “My name's Ashok. I'll be getting my new leg soon.”
Ashok had a club foot. It hung twisted and useless on his wasted left leg and he used a crutch to support his weight on that side.
“I thought all the children were given shoes? That’s what the woman in the office told me.”
“I’m keeping mine for later so they stay in good condition. Besides, they’re not comfortable.”
The woman in the office had told her that too - that the street kids preferred bare feet.
“I'll take you to my sister, Padma,” Ashok said, “we both live in F block and she's already had her operation. Padma says once I've had mine we'll be out of here.”
“Okay.” She swept up the twig and brushed it clean against her sleeve. “Wait a minute, don’t forget your liquorice.”
Her back tingled. Very likely Mr Singh, out of sight, was watching them both. So for the hell of it, Kal bent to the bush and twisted off a stick for herself.
***
The house mother was a young woman around Kal's age and the two of them were similar – long, jet black hair, dark eyes and a medium dark complexion. Her name was Jasodra. She wore a traditional long, straight tunic, called a shalwar kameez, over jeans and was married and had three children of her own, none of whom had deformities.
“I was lucky they were born whole,” Jasodra said. “Three out of three means I've got good karma.”
“I don't believe in karma, in this life we make our own destiny,” Kal said.
“Oh no, you should open your eyes, Kavita. Karma is the guiding force linking the generations and you've got Indian blood so you can't escape it.”
Kal smiled politely and said nothing. Indian people were renowned for their deeply spiritual beliefs.
“It’s the street children here who are at risk, Kavita. Their families don't have a clean water supply and almost half the children are born with limb deformities. Sometimes the children are abandoned to fend for themselves and then they scavenge from the refuse dump or go into the city to beg.”
“Or come to ScottBioTec.”
“Exactly, we're so lucky this place is here, it gives hope to the children and employment to people like me.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Nine years. I arrived with a basic qualification in child care and I’ve come all the way up to deputy-in-charge. I learned everything I know from the matron.”
Jasodra had an open, sunny face. Her smile disappeared as she spoke about the matron and her eyes slid from Kal’s face.
“I guess I'll meet her later?”
“You'll meet the new matron. She'll give you an orientation tomorrow.”
“Oh, what happened to your mentor?”
Jasodra stonewalled the question. Just pretended it’d never been asked. It was the characteristic, local way of maintaining politeness whilst saying 'that's not your business' and Jasodra continued without missing a beat.
“The children will be coming back from the canteen soon. Then it's an hour of homework before bed so please could you tidy up the study area, Kavita, before they arrive?”
***
After supper, the little boy Ashok and his sister, Padma, had settled themselves in the study area to do their homework. Kal found them practising English spellings and Padma was testing Ashok on his list of twenty words.
“I can do that if you like Padma, whilst you get on with your own studies.”
Since Kal has stuck up for her younger brother, Padma was Kal's firm friend. All afternoon, Ashok and Padma had trailed behind her, chatting non-stop. She’d used their company as an excuse to make a more thorough reconnaissance of the compound and the two children had delighted in pointing out the highlights from their young viewpoint. Age nine, Padma had been born with both a limb deformity of one leg and a hair lip. The two aspects had been operated on by the ScottBioTec medical team. Now Padma gave Kal a lovely smile.
“Please, yes, Ashok needs to work harder on his English and I have some reading for tomorrow. We're studying the Wizard of Oz, do you know it?”
At the end of the homework period, as the children were packing up their things to go to bed, the matron visited the building. Jasodra rang a hand bell and all the children stood up quietly, their hands by their sides, exactly as you do when a head teacher walks in. Kal waited with the children. Everyone listened to the matron’s approaching footsteps and when the woman entered the room, every child seemed to stiffen. On her way around the tables, the matron glanced at one or two open homework books and addressed a remark here and there.
Kal studied the matron. In her forties, stout, with her black hair severely tied back, the woman had an efficient, officious manner. The silk of her sari swished as she moved. Kal judged her to be experienced at her job, someone who believed in dotting the 'i's and crossing all the 't's. Definitely a woman who believed that being systematic gave good results. As she toured the room, she kept her back ram rod straight and her hands clasped in front of her showing off her one extravagance - her bright, red painted nails. It seemed to Kal that a restlessness spurred the woman. She watched the woman's eyes searching this way and that - scanning the children, their faces, their books, then the windows, then the corners of the room. Odd. The matron had a desire to check and re-check, to verify everything was in order.
“Carry on preparing for bed,” said the matron as she exited the room. On her way out, the matron's eyes fell to the electricity sockets, then scanned the door frame, the floorboards.
The children relaxed and a light chatter resumed.
“Does the matron tour all the dormitories before bed time?” Kal asked.
“Yes, all the dormitories, every single day,” Padma said.
“Did the old matron do the same?”
“No, she didn't.”
Jasodra had given her a first clue earlier. Now Kal clocked her second clue. Most likely the matron didn't know what she was checking for. Most probably she was acting on experience and a nagging sixth sense. A sixth sense which gave her a subliminal message that something was wrong, only she couldn't put her finger on what, so she fell back on efficiency and routine and went around to check, like a lioness who senses danger in the environment and feels a need to prowl the perimeter.
Kal helped Ashok pack up his crayons and she dropped her voice slightly lower. “When did the old matron leave?”
Padma seemed a lot older than her nine years, probably because she'd been looking after Ashok for most of her life. Kal hadn’t wanted to ask if they'd been abandoned by their family, though she guessed it was the case. Before they came to ScottBioTec it must have been Padma who'd kept them alive on the streets. Now Padma’s dark brown eyes flicked towards, and then away from, her brother.
“The old matron's been gone seven weeks. Now, Ashok, hurry up and get to the bathroom or you'll be late for lights out.”
Padma hustled her brother out of the room, then she turned to Kal, her eyes wise and knowing far beyond her nine years. A shiver of expectancy ran up Kal’s spine. Certainly she’d been right to come here. She bent down so Padma could whisper in her ear.
“When the others are asleep, come and see me,” Padma said.
And Kal recognised the firm instruction in the little girl's voice.
***
The rough matting of the dormitory pressed into Kal’s
knees as she crouched alongside Padma's bed. Eleven little children lay asleep, and sounds of deep breathing and light snores filled the room. Beyond the mosquito nets, the warm night air carried scents of cinnamon and dust.
“When I first saw you, I knew you were one of Avalokiteshvara's servants,” Padma whispered.
Kal smiled. She’d studied enough Buddhism to understand Padma's view. Avalokiteshvara was a bodhisattva, or an entity of great compassion, who vowed to help all sentient beings, a little like a saint. Buddhism depicted Avalokiteshvara sitting cross-legged on a lotus bloom, with a thousand arms reaching out like a fan around his body. Each hand of the thousand arms contained an eye which saw and recognised the suffering of humanity. Many Indian people spoke of the bodhisattvas as a reality rather than as part of a faith.
“That's why I trust you, because you helped Ashok and showed yourself as one of Avalokiteshvara's servants. I think a deeper force led you to us. You've a purpose to fulfil,” Padma said.
“Uh huh.” Kal liked Padma. The girl had nothing in life and no one, but she had spirit and courage and resourcefulness. Padma was the type of child who would make something of her life against all the odds – Kal felt sure of it.
“There are others here that need help, I've got something important to tell you.” Padma pushed herself up onto one elbow so that she faced Kal.
“Go ahead, I'm listening.”
Kal shielded her torch with her clothing, so that it played a dull yellow light on the side of Padma's bed.
“If you ask anyone, they'll say the old matron left.” Padma paused and licked her bottom lip, her tongue finding the remains of the cleft which had been repaired by the surgeons. “Even if you press, it’s unlikely they’ll tell you she’s supposed to have doused herself in fuel and set alight to herself. That she died from her injuries.”
“Oh no.”
Kal knew self-immolation was sometimes a way out for Indian women. A desperate, last-resort after years of torture and abuse at the hands of their husbands and families-in-law.
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