Crops failed, hopes lost, nothing to lose, nothing to gain.
Tall trees, rugged ropes – easy to tie, difficult to hang.
Next day, two people found – same tree, same place.
No cot under the tree, no person found asleep.
Like the withered branches of an ancient oak,
They hung, their silent slumber spoke.
People blamed, families shamed, children mistreated –
All for society’s faults, so deeply seated.
Months passed, and all was forgotten.
The two girls, now burden to a village that fought.
Exasperation birthed desperation,
The goal became their silent expulsion.
“Who will wed them?” everyone asked,
So, to the police, the girls were led.
Handed over, passed like fate,
This time to a home behind a gate.
Tin roofs, stone walls,
Wrinkled mausi brooming the lawns,
A small steel cupboard with their names,
That is all they had to their sakes.
Months spent with fifty like them,
Studying together, sleeping together,
Eating food without having to child labour,
The dawn of fate turning into their favour.
A year later, they had ambitions,
A runner was born, a dancer was made.
In lives so small, with no one to fetch,
How did they have the courage so big?
After all, they were the children of farmers who tried,
Even though the earth had dried,
Alas, the state had failed in saving their lives.
The time has come where this cycle breaks.
This is the story, whispered in grace,
Of hope reborn in an orphanage.
This poem is inspired by my work at Anand Balgram, an orphan shelter home in Sanskriti Samvardhan Mandal in Sagroli village of Nanded district in Maharashtra. The village falls under the Marathwada region that is infamously known for droughts. One day, I was sent some graphic pictures of a farmer couple who had ended their lives. The children were in need of help. That day and the days that followed have stayed with me ever since.
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