As the train accelerated, my heart quickened to match its frantic rhythm. The world outside morphed into a chaotic blur of colours and shapes, reflecting the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind.
Why was I still wearing the hospital bracelet when I was found? Was I snatched from the safety of the hospital? How did I find myself in the train carriage where Abbu discovered me? Could my mother have been robbed of me right after leaving the hospital, or worse, did she willingly abandon me?
When I asked these same questions, Abbu shook his head. He was convinced I was not abandoned. Why? Because of how carefully I was swaddled in the blanket, and how someone had left a kitten beside me – the one I had lovingly named Maau. Once pristine white, it was now almost black, its fur matted and worn. Only its blue eyes peered from a lovingly hand-stitched face.
He said it didn’t seem like abandonment as much as it seemed like an accident. His words, for once, seemed hollow. What could be so important, that my caring and loving parents had carefully abandoned me?
Careful abandonment! Quite an oxymoron, isn’t it? How can they ever go together? You care for something, you cherish it. You don’t abandon it.
The thought stung, every time. And every time, it was followed by a wave of more thoughts. Why didn’t Abbu, after finding me, hand me over to the authorities? Had he tried to find my parents? I never had the courage to ask him – for that would have hurt Abbu. He loved me and took care of all my needs. And that should have been enough.
It was enough, until he revealed to me just before my twelfth birthday the truth about where I was found. I craved answers. So this was my quest.
And that quest had brought me here, to seek the truth – to Vishnupur. This was where the hospital stood – the one named in the bracelet.
I wondered if my mother was from there. Or was it my father? Would they still be there? How would I recognise them? Would they recognise me?
Or worse, would they refuse to recognise me?
I could feel the colour rise in my cheeks as these thoughts shrouded my mind.
As I stepped off the train station platform, my heart thudded in my chest like a drumbeat, and the air felt thick with tension. Vendors hawked their wares around me, their loud voices mingling with the conversations of people nearby – an onslaught to my senses. In the distance, I heard the wail of the train departing after leaving me there. The world around me felt new and unfamiliar.
I took a deep breath and started walking.
The streets led to a small market of household products and gradually transformed into a narrow pathway flanked by what appeared to be paddy fields on both sides. The evening was approaching, and the path looked increasingly desolate. Reaching a crossroads, I had to decide – take this right or the next?
Just then I spotted a boy. He was shorter than me, dressed in overalls and a peculiar hat. On closer inspection, I realised the hat was crafted from solar panels. Wires came out of it and connected to an old battery-powered toy car. Could he have devised a solar-operated car? It was incredible.
“Could you tell me the way to Vishnupur village?” I asked, looking at the car. Up close, the car looked even more battered than my bracelet.
“Are you lost? Aren’t you too young to be travelling alone?” he asked as he looked around me, perhaps searching for an adult.
“Not lost.” I clarified. “Just don’t know my way to Vishnupur. And aren’t you too old to be playing with this?”
The boy grinned. “Yes. But not too old to devise them.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “Good point.”
“Wait till you meet the people there!” he exclaimed, a mischievous smile lighting up his face. His infectious energy had me intrigued by this inventor. As we parted ways, I wondered if I was ready to meet the people there.
I shrugged. What had to be done, had to be done.
Following his directions, I soon reached what seemed like the edge of a village. Mud huts lined both sides of the path with cow dung-cakes thrown on their sides. The front of each house was decorated with colourful drawings of small stick figures portraying village life – a bullock cart full of hay, a woman with a pot on her head, children playing under trees.
Very soon the mud houses gave way to cemented ones, and as I moved along, the houses became grander, their lawns more sprawling, and the noise more intense. More people bustled about, making my palms sweaty with nervousness.
Excerpted with permission from Muniya’s Quest, Mandira Shah, Talking Cub.
