Change of heart

 I was born and raised in a joint Hindu family. I lived in a community of both Hindu and Muslims. My father had a few Muslim friends but my mother had none. She had witnessed the massacre that happened during the Partition of India in the year 1947. She still   carried those scares.

  I was only two at that time and had not started walking yet. I used to sit on the ledge of a big window on the third floor of our house, all day long. I enjoyed watching vendors coming to the lane and selling different things. Aloo lelo …pyaz leloo, tamatr leloo, ice cream ice cream vanilla, mango, orange,chocolate…...     The most fascinating thing  for me was the transaction. How do they know how much money to take for how much stuff. I noticed vendors using weights of  different sizes for different items. So magic lies in weights oh! I wish I could touch those shinning magical weights. But Alas! I could not walk.
    That day my cousin Sharda was distributing mangoes to the children of the house.  There were twenty four children in the house and so were the mangoes  one and only one mango for each child. When Sharda had given all mangoes  she was still left with one— she called every one, harshi, Sudha, Rakesh Ravi, Nina Nina Nina No answer  . And so I was discovered to be missing.
    Everyone started to panic and to look for me around the house.  
    In fact, that was the day I had decided to walk out. I wanted to touch the magical weights.   The desire of touching the weights was so strong that I did not realize how I climbed down two stairs and landed into the street. But there was no vendor to be seen . All I could see was a goat chasing a hen and the hen is running towards me. Oh! I tried to move few steps away from the approaching hen. I felt a pebble on the dirt road bore into the sole of my foot. Ouch! I am not wearing shoes and I am all alone on the street. I started crying.   Suddenly, I saw a man coming towards me. He was wearing a white kurta pajama and had a long beard. I looked up he does not look like my father. I got scared, he came closer and said, ‘ beti, don’t be scared. I am Maulviji,   I read  prayers in the mosque over there. He took me in his arms and took me to his house. His wife Shabana came out hearing my cry. As soon as she saw me, his wife took me into her lap and began to soothe me with her beautiful voice. I looked at her she looked like my mother so I stopped crying.  She wore  a white kameez and a green dupatta. With a spoon she fed me sevai, a sweet milky dessert that she must have cooked for the upcoming Eid festival.
    A little while later, Maulviji carried me back to the street from where he found me. There, I saw my father, who was frantically searching for me.  Maulviji asked me, “Beti do you know him?"
    "Yes," I said, running towards my father.
A smile spread across my father’s worry-stricken face. It seemed that he was so happy to see me walking that he forgot the whole business of my going missing and that the family was worried sick looking for me.

 .   When he walked into the house, my mother still angry asked my father, where did you found her?

My Father, “ on The street”

Alone?

No with Maulviji

That Maulvi

Yes That Maulvi and his wife Shabana took care of her when she was crying alone on the street

She was with Shabana

Yes”

That was the moment when my mother had a change of heart. She realized that no religion is above humanity. Love conquers all religion.

   (  Lesson Slowly, her outlook towards Muslims changed. The Maulviji's wife, Shabana and my mother became friends. Though she refrained from eating meat, my mother tasted the sweetness of their sevai, and the next Eid, she cooked them herself, sending a batch to Shabana Aunty in my hands. That day my mother discovered a new meaning of religion—love for her
fellow human beings.)

Written By Neena Wahi Tellabrated and edited by Jo Rander Performed on 15^th November2018 @ Central Square Branch Library

 Performed Again in December 2018 for Subdrift Boston @ 372 Harvard Street Cambridge.