Silchar, Assam
For the past few months, everyone has been talking about him endlessly. He too is always busy running errands for everyone.
He does everyone’s work with a smile, for a very small payment. Work that would normally cost thirty to forty rupees, gets done by him for just ten. Many people feel quite pleased about that. And people like Sanjib Ray make him work by simply glaring at him, without paying a single rupee. That is why everyone makes such a fuss about him because he is “Aruya,” which means a fool.
No one knows the boy’s real name, nor has anyone ever felt the need to find out. At least, that is what Rajat thinks. His name has become Aruya. Every morning, he comes to Rajat’s neighborhood and leaves by evening. “Aruya, come here,” “Aruya, throw away the rubbish,” “Aruya, clean the drain tomorrow morning,” “Aruya, come in the evening, my body feels stiff, give me a massage.” For all these kinds of work, the payment is almost always the same from ten to at most fifty rupees, sometimes with a little extra rudeness or insult thrown in. Who else would do so much for so little? That is why Aruya is in great demand now. Everyone likes him.
Rajat sees everything but says nothing. He knows if he speaks up, people will not take it well. They will say, “He teaches at school, now he’s started lecturing the whole neighborhood.”
That day, when Aruya carried a gas cylinder up to the third floor and got only ten rupees, Poran Babu felt quite self-satisfied, even though every month he pays the delivery boy thirty rupees for the same work. Even if he offers twenty, the delivery boy shows attitude. Because the cylinder ran out early, Poran Babu had to buy one from the black market for nine hundred instead of seven hundred rupees. There was no other way, or his talkative wife would have made his life miserable.
While lifting the cylinder upstairs, Aruya was drenched in sweat, yet he got only ten rupees in the end. Exploitation is such a thing, it never lets go easily.
A few days ago, Rajat gave him fifty rupees for the same work. Aruya had tried to return thirty of it. When Rajat told him to keep it, Aruya looked embarrassed. Later, he kept the money, his face showing deep gratitude. That day, Rajat realized two things. First, Aruya knew the value of labor, that was why he had wanted to return twenty rupees. Second, at least in his heart, he was not a fool. Otherwise, he would not have looked so grateful upon receiving fair or extra pay for his work. Perhaps some helplessness forced him to keep doing such tasks. Rajat decided that one day he would talk to Aruya about it.
Today again, everyone has gathered around Aruya early in the morning in front of Sanjib Ray’s house. Sanjib’s mother keeps saying, “Aruya saved my life. Otherwise, I would have been electrocuted and died. He is not human, he is God.”
Aruya lies curled on the ground, electric wires wrapped around his body. His skin looks pale. God? He was not even considered human by Sanjib, who had suddenly become rich. The incident had happened about an hour ago. Like every other day, Sanjib’s mother had gone out in the morning to pick flowers when a loose electric wire, torn by last night’s storm, touched her. Hearing her scream, Aruya came running. He usually came to the neighborhood at that time.
He ran and pushed the old lady away but could not free himself from the electric shock. Struggling for a few moments, he finally became still. Sanjib’s mother has been crying and telling everyone what happened.
By the time everyone gathered after hearing her cries, it was already too late. The power connection had been cut. Rajat had arrived and called an ambulance at 108. Aruya was unconscious, but there was a strange calm on his face. Sanjib’s mother gently stroked his head with affection, while Sanjib sat on the ground beside him. The same Sanjib who had made him work for free, insulted him for no reason that Aruya had risked his life to save Sanjib’s mother.
If that is not humanity, what is? Was Sanjib thinking of these questions at that moment? Who knows.
After a while, the ambulance arrived. Two men came down with a stretcher. One of them checked Aruya and said, “He is still breathing. If he is lucky, he might live.”
Before closing the ambulance door, one of them asked, “What name should I write for the boy?”
In a trembling voice, Rajat replied, “Aruya.”