The Head Is No Longer Bowed

The little imp fell on her brother's hand, beside herself with laughter, 'You should have seen him, Bhai! He looked so weird carrying the bag in such a funny way...tied to the far end of a stick. And guess what, such a delicious aroma of freshly fried pakoras wafted from the bag. I wanted to snatch it from him and gobble them all up', she prattled on.

Her brother-elder to her by a good ten years- listened stoically. He seemed to be debating something in his mind. 'Say something naa, bhai', She shook him. 'No, it's not funny, Chumki. He carried the bag this way because he is not supposed to touch the food meant for the landlords. He's belongs to a low caste, just like...'. He spoke slowly as if still not sure how much to tell his happy-go-lucky sister. But Chumki was not one to accept half hearted responses. 'Just like whom?' she prodded him. 'Listen little sister, we all belong to the low caste. We are called untouchables and that is the reason why we are not allowed to live on that side of the village, fetch water from their well or even touch anything that belongs to them.'

'Oh that's so wrong!' she cried in horror, 'Is that why that old uncle was so severely admonished by the landlord with the rotund belly. He questioned him for being late and called him a stupid oaf. Petrified, that uncle immediately groveled before him, asking for forgiveness. I felt so sad and angry on seeing him humiliated like that. The landlord didn't even consider the uncle's age before calling him names'.

'Yes Chumki, it's atrocious the way they demean us. And the other day you were asking me to call you Suman but I had declined, you know why? Because our names are our identity in this partisan society, the moment people hear our names they know the caste we belong to; even the name of our street gives away our lowly background making them snigger in disgust.’

‘Is that why the teachers don’t let us sit with the other students? Just today I was told to sit on the floor near the wall because…’ Chumki fell silent. Her pensive demeanor gave away the little girl’s anxiety. This was too shocking a revelation for the normally chirpy girl.

Well...yes my sister. I have borne such injustice and oppression too. This discrimination and exploitation by the rich and powerful upper caste people has been going on in the name of God’s will since time immemorial. It's the destiny we are born with!' the young man shook his head dejectedly.

'But this destiny is unacceptable to me, bhai. Why should we be denigrated as if we are not humans like them? Can God really be so unfair to us? And for how long? Can't we change our destiny?’ Chumki was agitated and wanted answers to her never ending questions.

'We can, my dear. By getting education and then excelling in studies. Because when we do better than our fellow students-even those from the upper castes- it makes them want to befriend us. Education is what bridges the social divide and begets us acceptance in the society. Social equality opens for us the door to progress and prosperity. Always remember Chumki, with only education you will be able to walk with your head held high', the brother-brimming with unbelievable levels of wisdom-patted her tousled hair fondly.

For a change, the girl was quiet. She just nodded her head as if still assimilating what she had heard.

Then she sprang to her feet suddenly and hugged her brother,’ Thank you brother! Now I know what I have to do’.

'Twenty five  years later', the next frame on the screen read as the camera panned away from the humble village tenement to a swanky college building.

A bespectacled, middle aged professor entered a classroom. The students stood up and greeted her warmly. 'Today we're going to discuss how literature reflects the socio-political narrative of that era', the professor switched on the projector and turned towards the screen. The class listened to her attentively as she began her lecture.

'The Head Is No Longer Bowed', the last frame read as the film ended and lights in the auditorium slowly came on.

'Please put your hands together for Ms Carol C, the writer-director-producer of Chumki, the Best Short Film of the Year. The auditorium reverberated with thunderous applause as a bespectacled woman strode up the stage with firm steps.

Carol had been invited to the annual summit organized by a leading newspaper which screened her winning film as a precursor to the discussion on it. As she greeted the audience and eased herself into the chair the host asked,'Congratulations Carol! Tell me how did you think of having this rustic girl as the protagonist? She has not heard of caste and gender discrimination yet once she realizes it she is furious at the unequal and unjust treatment they are meted out. She's so young yet she knows her mind. She so stunningly assertive and strong-willed. How did you visualize and create such a powerful character as Chumki?'

She smiled, 'Thank you! I didn't create Chumki. She created me. Carol C. is the Chumki you see in the film, the Chumki who refused to take discrimination, injustice and abuse lying down. She is Carol Chumki whose head is never bowed before anyone now'.