Lalu Mia

The train pulled into the platform quite some time ago. I'm a second-class passenger. I've never had any desire to travel first class. It always seemed like a waste of money. Now I understand what a troublesome affair this is. So many people, so many people—it's astounding to even think about. I feel like it would have been better to let a few extra hundred rupees fly out of my pocket than to remain in this hellish crowd. And then there's all this luggage. By "all this," I mean a heavy trunk, if nothing else.

By now the compartment has emptied out considerably. I have to get off. But then I worry—where are the coolies? Are there any railway coolies around? Among all these people, they've surely all moved ahead by now, loaded down. Suddenly I heard: "Need a coolie, sir?"

I looked up to see a boy. He appeared to be thirteen or fourteen years old. I said: "Go on, go on, you won't do. I need a railway coolie. A little squirt like you won't be able to handle my work."

It seemed like the boy was stammering, trying to say something. But looking at my expression, he didn't dare say anything more. Slowly lowering his eyes, the boy went to stand at one side of the platform. It's just my nature—I flare up suddenly. These days I have to be a bit more stern, otherwise no one wants to work.

The compartment was now completely empty. I stood there alone. My mood filled with irritation. I should have asked someone to come to the station. Absent-mindedly, my eyes fell on the boy again. His complexion was dusky. Just looking at his face, I could see that the vitality of youth seemed unable to touch this boy. Even before reaching manhood, there was already a hint of middle age in his eyes and face. Suddenly I felt pity. I called him over. I asked, "What do you say, can you handle this?"

"I can, sir." He gave a brief reply.

I said, "But its weight is probably more than yours." In a slightly worried voice he said, "If you help me lift it, I can manage, sir. Where are you taking it? Won't you put it in a rickshaw?"

I replied, "No, the shop is very close by. Right next to the mosque."
He moved forward to lift the load. I asked again, "How much will you charge? You didn't say."

"You give me what's fair, sir," he replied humbly.

I had to help lift the load onto his head myself. I couldn't find anyone else around. I had to exert myself quite a bit. Though perhaps that was due to being out of practice. Even after I placed it on his head, there wasn't much visible change in him. Walking along, I asked, "What's your name?"

"Lalu Mia," Lalu replied with a little smile. Actually, the mosque wasn't really that close. And I didn't usually walk down the street because of my 'prestige.' Now I'm walking because business is slow. I learned many things about him as we talked. Where he lives, who lives with him, how he spends his days, and many other such things.

I'm not sure you'll want to hear this. Many of you might even think about where this boy in his half-dirty clothes, wearing only a single vest even in this bitter cold, with disheveled hair, must live—certainly in some slum.

He told me about his fatherless siblings and mother. He's the pillar of the household, while his three other siblings are very young. His father isn't dead, but has married elsewhere. Among the siblings, only he knows this much; the others don't even know that. Mother doesn't want to say anything. The household barely survives. What work can he really do? And he's an illegal coolie at that. Mother also earns something. But what does that amount to in these days of high prices!

The boy set down the load. Only now did I see that he was exhausted. He was breathing heavily. The pain-stricken eyes of his siblings floated before my eyes. I couldn't bear it. When I handed him a fifty-taka note, he said, "I don't have change, sir." I said, "You don't need change. Take it all."
His face lit up. He was about to leave. This is my iron and steel shop. I'm the owner, but someone else is the manager. It was lunchtime then, and there was rice for the employees. I asked him, "Will you eat rice?"

His eyes answered that no one at home had eaten yet. Some thought came to my mind. I said, "Come back in the evening." The boy left.

A few days ago, an employee at the shop had resigned. The position is still vacant. Although the manager had said that his brother from the countryside could come to work after the winter rice harvest was over, I didn't like that idea. I gave Lalu the job right there. I told him he would just hold the anvil when hammering the iron.
I saw Lalu looking at me with bright, speechless eyes. My press business is becoming profitable again. I'm quite busy. I've almost forgotten about Lalu in this past month. My private car has just become operational again. In between, I went one day and saw Lalu standing with the heavy hammer. The manager was standing in front, and a young man was holding the anvil. Lalu was ready to strike with the hammer.
I left from there. Lalu floated before my eyes. I couldn't imagine such a small boy wielding a hammer. I felt like giving the manager a good scolding. But why should I care so much about one boy? The employees know I'm very strict. Why should I be so soft for him? At the very least, I have to try to maintain my dignity.

I thought perhaps a report would come that Lalu had left. That he couldn't handle such heavy work. What would I say then? But no report came within two weeks. And I couldn't manage to go to the shop voluntarily just for him.

At month's end I went to the iron shop to do the monthly accounts. I gather all the employees together to do accounts and pay their wages. Today everyone seemed somewhat indifferent. Although several people had come to stand in front of the chair, among them I saw Lalu was also standing. He seemed very worried, with an indifferent look in his eyes. At one point I saw employee Rafiq. When everyone had gathered, Rafiq said, "Sir, Lalu wants leave."
I said in surprise, "What do you mean?"
Now the manager answered in a rather sharp voice, "Lalu can't do the work, we'll have to let him go."

I then saw Lalu standing speechless, looking at the school-going students on the road. I still wasn't fully alert. So I said, "Suddenly?" The manager said, "Don't you see, he's always so listless! And how much strength does he really have!"

Maintaining my gravity, I said, "Let him stay for now. We need new people too." Instantly the elated opponent replied, "Why? My brother has already come!"
The matter became clear. I thought it might be best to dismiss the manager.