A new life for Damu

'A new life for Damu'

Unicef/ IETS
Translated into Kannada and Hindi for first generation rural students
16 pages
Paperback
2006

My original story in English:


A new life for Damu


by Aditi De



“Prakash!” whispered Damu through the Karikahalli school window, “I have a wonderful idea for the Makkala Sangha. I have to tell you about it right now. If I don’t, my stomach will burst from keeping it to myself…”

Prakash looked out. He froze. It was right in the middle of a history class on a hot May day.

Then he grinned. It was so much like Damu to spring a surprise like this. But what was his best friend doing there, instead of training with the carpenter as usual? Prakash’s brain began to work extra fast.

“Sir,” he said to Prasad anna, the teacher, “can I go out, please? There’s something creeping up my leg. It may be a scorpion. I can’t sit still…”

Prasad Anna waved him out of the room. “Be sure to return quickly, Prakash,” he called after the skinny figure that vanished among the swaying neem trees.

But Prakash and Damu, both eleven, had other plans. “Remember how the last monsoon made our stream swell?” said Damu. “And Kavitha, who’s so short, almost drowned when she was on her way to school?
 Prakash, we have to get the panchayat to build a footbridge over it before the monsoon sets in. How can we convince them?”

Prakash looked at his best friend with wonder. Damu always had the best ideas at Sangha meetings. The Sangha made it possible for them to ask for compound walls, anganwadis and playgrounds, water and electricity. It made them all feel grown-up. Prakash and Damu were proud that the adults took the Makkala Sangha seriously.
 
And yet, Prakash was puzzled at the grown-ups in Karikahalli. They thought Damu was a bad boy. But he hadn’t always been that way.

Two years ago, Damu's baby sister drowned in the pond while his mother was washing clothes. Ever since then, the boy had changed. He had become very quiet.

He even avoided the other village children, except during Sangha meetings.

Damu couldn’t bear to see his parents quarrel at home. When they did, he couldn’t concentrate on his lessons. He dropped out of school, despite Prasad anna’s efforts to make him stay.

Instead, to avoid toiling in the jowar fields like his Amma and Appa, Damu took lessons from the local carpenter. He worked hard. He ate little. But his sadness made him hang out with some rough youths.  They taught him to smoke ganja, and to drink alcohol to forget his troubles.

Prakash thought to himself, “My best friend is in trouble. What should I do?
Why does his Appa nag him for running into the darkness whenever there’s a quarrel at home? Why doesn’t anybody coax him back to school? Why does nobody else understand that we need to help Damu? He’s as clever as I am…”

At the Makkala Sangha after school, Prakash announced to the nineteen other members, “Damu has a wonderful idea…”

“What is it?” asked Kotramma. “Can it be as adventurous as when we persuaded the beedi-factory owner to set free the ten children who worked for him?”

“Or when we convinced the panchayat that it wasn’t fair to marry Manu, who’s ten like me, to Gauri, who’s four?” recalled Karibasappa.

“Remember how we fought Manu’s father? He’s so rich, yet he wanted a share of Gauri’s Appa’s fields?”

“That was tough,” said Netravathi, tossing her pigtails. “But it was just as difficult to convince Kotramma and Manjula’s parents to send them back to school after they failed the 5th standard exams. They’re doing so well, now that they have a second chance.”

“But listen to Damu’s idea,” interrupted Prakash, the most brilliant student at the Karikahalli school. The others fell silent because Damu was his best friend.

“What happens in Karikahalli every year?” asked Damu, looking at the circle of familiar faces in the schoolroom.

“Wedding feasts! Navaratri!” yelled Shivakumar, who could never have enough of good food.

“Ei! Stop thinking with your tummy!” said Prakash, as the others laughed.

“Exams!” said Kotramma, who loved to bury her head in books.

“No, no, no!” said Damu. “The monsoon. That’s when the Karikahalli stream overflows.
Kavitha, Nethravathi and Gangamma can’t come to class for weeks during the rains because they live on the other bank. Couldn’t we ask the panchayat to build a footbridge over the stream, so that they don’t need to miss school?”

There was silence for a few minutes. Then, Kavitha said, “That’s an amazing idea, Damu. How can we persuade the grown-ups how important this is?”

The children thought and thought about it over the next hour. Then, as dusk cast shadows over the distant fields, they slowly began to trail back home.

“I think Damu’s very clever!” said Kavitha to Nethravathi, as they walked hand in hand. “If only he’d come back to school…”

“That’s true,” Nethravathi agreed. “But he’s been drinking horrible-smelling stuff with all those terrible bullies who cause problems in Karikahalli. How can we get Damu to drop the habit?”

Kavitha was silent. Then she said, “Why don’t we have a Makkala Sangha meeting about drinking and how it can become addictive?”

Over the next three days, Kavitha and Netravathi spoke to Prakash during the tiffin break. The other children wondered what their secret was.

The Makkala Sangha met a week later. Prakash had managed to get Damu to attend. He took a few hours off from his carpentry training and came by.

“Are we going to talk about the bridge today?” asked Damu.

“Maybe. It all depends on what Kavitha chooses as our subject. She’s in charge of today’s meeting,” Prakash said, not wanting to give away any information that might make Damu want to leave.

All eyes were on Kavitha. She took a deep breath, looked at Prakash, then began: “My brother is 19. He works in an areca plantation. My Amma feels that if he didn’t, our family would be in trouble…”

“Trouble?” echoed Kotramma.

“Yes, trouble,” said Kavitha, “because he might have joined that gang of jobless teenagers who roam around the village creating trouble. The ones who tease us when we pass by. Those terrible boys who steal grain and money from the farmers at night…”

“I don’t know why they behave like that,” Karibasappa said, shaking his head.

“Because they have dropped out of school,” said Nethravathi. “But most of all, because they drink cheap alcohol every day…”

“Why do people drink alcohol at all?” asked Shivakumar. “Does it taste as good as fresh coconut water or majjige?”

“My Appa told me not to ever try it,” said Prakash, “because I’d never be able to come first again if I did…” 

“What do you mean?” said Manjula, puzzled by his words.

“Appa took me to Bangalore last summer. On a footpath, I saw a boy our age curled up, fast asleep at 10 in the morning,” explained Prakash. “Appa explained that many children run away from home. They live on railway platforms, park benches, footpaths and all that. When they can’t earn enough to eat or have no one to talk to, they take to ganja or drink alcohol…”

“Then…?” Savithriamma prompted.

“At first, their breath stinks when they talk. Sometimes, they can’t see or hear too well. They often stumble when they try to walk. Or fall and hurt themselves. When they are high from a drink, they can’t think very clearly. So, they could be run over by a truck or drown in a lake,”  said Prakash. “It makes them sleep when the whole world is up with the sun…”

“My appa says that when people drink too much, they don’t eat enough. They often forget important things. They fall sick, too. Their hearts don’t run as they should, their stomachs hurt all the time,” said Karibasappa.

“That’s frightening,” Manjula looked scared.

“My uncle told me about boys and girls who are just four or five years old, who smoke beedies,” Suman said.

“Beedies! That can’t be true,” said Karuna.

“Even in our village, I’ve seen children who smoke the stubs their Ajja’s throw away,” Suman sounded angry. “Some steal beedies from their fathers’ shops! I have heard that beedies are not good for grown-ups. How can they be good for children? Maybe they smoke because they are hungry or sad. Some of them smoke just for fun and don’t know that it is bad for health…”

“Apart from this gang of bad fellows in Karikahalli, do we know anyone else who drinks?” asked Kavitha.

The children looked at each other.

Suddenly, Damu spoke up: “I do. Especially when Prakash has homework to do, and can’t talk to me. Or when Appa and Amma quarrel. Or when the carpenter scolds me when I make a mistake…”

“Is that why you took to alcohol, Damu?” Manjula was puzzled.

“No. I began drinking a little when my baby sister Lakshmi drowned in the pond,” said Damu, blinking hard to check the tears in his eyes. "Whenever I think of her, I need a drink. I sometimes steal a sip from a bottle the carpenter hides behind his tool case. Or I steal some money from Appa’s wallet to get a drink. It helps me to forget…”

There was a long pause. The children didn't know what to say.

“Damu, you could always visit my home and play with my little sister. I can share her with you…” Kavitha said sympathetically.

Manjula said, “My Appa thinks you’re too intelligent to be a carpenter. Maybe you should come back to school, Damu…”

Then it was Prakash’s turn, “You can stay with us when there’s a quarrel in your house. My amma loves you as much as she loves me…”

“The Makkala Sangha really needs you,” said Shivakumar. “We can’t manage without you…”

From that day, Damu spent less time with the village goondas and more with his Sangha friends. Prakash sat with him and helped him catch up with all the portions he had missed in school. He learnt about the Indian Parliament, about men who walked on the moon, even about robots as bright as human children.

Once in a while, Manjula brought Damu basundi from her amma’s kitchen.

Karibasappa spent time listening to him whenever Damu  felt sad.

One day Prakash’s father said, “Damu looks different these days. He looks less tired. He smiles much more. Do you think he’d like to go back to school again?”

Prakash smiled. At the Makkala Sangha meetings, Damu’s ideas were getting better and better. Maybe they would be able to get him back to school soon.

Prakash was sure that Damu had given up drinking. So he was worried when his friend told him, “It’s so hard to get away from the habit, Prakash. Can you help me, please?”

Prakash spoke to his father and mother. They went to Damu’s house and explained to his parents that they should not quarrel in front of him. Sometimes he came to Prakash’s house for the evening meal. And once in a while, he stayed over.

The two friends spent a lot of time with each other.

Within a few weeks, Damu did not need alcohol any more. He returned to school and Prasad anna was especially kind to him.

One day, Damu’s father overheard the Karikahalli panchayat president telling Prasad anna, “That Damu is very intelligent. He and Kavitha convinced me to build a footbridge over the stream. They waded through the water to show me how high it flows during the monsoon. The water actually reached Kavitha’s neck. That’s dangerous! The footbridge will be ready soon. After all, why should our children miss even a day of school?”

Damu’s father was amazed. He was ashamed of the way he had been behaving at home. He made sure there was a quiet corner where Prakash and Damu could study together in the evenings.

Damu did better and better at school. Soon, his marks were as good as Prakash’s.

“I want to make sure that every child in India can go to school,” said Prakash as they sat by the village pond one Sunday.

“That’s good,” replied Damu. “But when I grow up, I want to be the panchayat head. I’ll make sure there are no unhappy children in Karikahalli. And that no other child ever needs to touch alcohol or ganja….”
“You sound like an Ajja,” teased Prakash, with a smile. He knew that his friend would keep his word. In future, there would be happier children in Karikahalli.

Prakash had no doubt about that.