7) Which is my home

A small sand hillock on Puri beach, India, with bushes and twittering sea birds. A clear blue sunny sky with a soft breeze and the normal swish swash sound of the sea as it plays with the sand dunes on one end and the constant roar of approaching waves on the other.

A lady, aged around 26 years, stood on the hillock. She wore a summer hat, which she held down with one hand, a colorful frilly top and a flowery skirt that fluttered like the national flag with the wind, now held down by her other hand.

She could see far away on her right a cluster of thatched huts and she could tell that the afternoon meal was being cooked from the wafts that drifted her way. She was hungry and her strong legs carried her well-maintained figure into the midsts of unkempt urchins. They normally milled the lanes and bye-lanes but the summer heat had driven most of the residents indoors. Some mobile vendors were still making a feeble attempt at selling their wares by shouting out what they had to offer. Her presence drew a lot of interest. Very few ladies had entered their village and certainly not in the recent past. Curious children followed her while some begged for alms. She stopped in front of a tea stall that also offered some stale biscuits in 'see through' glass jars. An old man with spectacles stood up to greet her. "What may I do for you Miss?"

Sudden recognition lit up her face. "Are you not Uncle Ropu?"she asked in chaste Oriya, the language of the people of Puri, a beach town in the state of Orissa..

The old man was taken aback. Too many strangers entered the village nowadays. This lady had class. She had good upbringing, dignity, and poise. He tried to recollect whether he had served tea to any lady in his past so many years. He could not recollect. But this was good fortune. A proper lady knew who he was. He held his spectacles with his left hand, brought it closer to his eyes , peered at the lady and said, "Yes, my Lady. That is how I am known in these areas." But there was an unasked question in his tone, "But how is it that you know my name?"

"I am Milly, Milly Majhi, Bhepu and Pichkiri Majhi's daughter. The same daughter who got adopted by the American couple?" she gushed eagerly, her eyes and heart yearning for the tea stall owner's recognition. And Uncle Ropu's expression changed from awe to bewilderment,  and finally to excited happiness.  He yelled for his friends in the neighborhood,"Ooee, Montu Re! Ooee, Nitai Re! Ooee, Mita Re! Bochku, Re! Rush and come over here. You must come and see for yourself who is here."

The evening sun drew down its curtain on this part of the world and saw our Milly surrounded by the neighbors who knew her parents and her brother Muthu. They were listening with interest to her story  an adventurous journey from this world of apparent ignorance and poverty to a world of knowledge and affluence. As she looked into the eyes of her people, she realized that they all would love to exchange places with her today. None of them would ever imagine how much she had wanted to be home  this home! Her memories drifted back to the days when she would rush to the beach for her father to come back with his small fishing boat and net carrying the day's catch with him. Uncle Mani would always be with him. Her father would jump out of his boat as she waved at him from the beach. He would swim the tides and wade through  knee-deep water to embrace her  in his outstretched arms and she, on her part, would rush into his strong arms screaming in delight, "Baba, Baba, Baba, Baba!"

Muthu- her brother, Uncle Mani, Baba, then she and finally Ma would all sit together for their evening meals. She would refuse to eat until her father had put her on his lap and fed her with his own hands. She would nag her mother for those little things that really would not matter today but tears welled up in her eyes as she recollected how her mother took care to meet her silly demands with a mature smile. Her father would not allow her to rub her eyes if they ever smarted. He would take off a piece of cloth which was normally on his shoulder, blow his hot breath into the same and apply it on her eyes. And it brought warm relief. In the wee hours of morning when it was time for her to leave for her  play school (meant for 3 to 4 year old children), he would give her a hot oil massage and throw her into the advancing waves. And Muthu her brother seemed to be always there  by her side. On the days her playmates would deny her little things and she would bawl, her brother would gently wipe her tears away. But Muthu could not speak, he was 12 years old, was born dumb and yet he could express himself in a dignified flurry of arms and finger manipulations. For some time when she had no friends 4 year old Milly had Muthu to teach her a lot many fishing related tricks, and she never thought that anything was wrong with him. She learnt to enter and understand the silent world of the dumb. It was only when her playmates called him names and laughed at him that she learned about his handicap and she became his ambassador. Then there were those days when there would be no catch for days together and there would be shortage of money and hence cutting down of rations. Her father would then scoop her up in his strong sinewy arms, and Muthu and Baba would walk up to their secret hillock with bushes and twittering sea birds. There would be this swish swash sound of the sea as it plays with the sand dunes on one end and the constant roar of approaching waves on the other. And Baba would tell his children many tales including that of the sea princes who got lost in the sea and wanted to go home. And she would curl up and fall asleep in his warm lap. 

Like a magic wand, evil washed her world away. Presto  and her family was gone and she was all alone in this world! And then Mary her foster mother met her on the beach and she got to meet her foster father James Carlson. And then a new home and lots of gifts and lots of good food and a jump in life style. It was heavenly for a long - long time. But the pang grew,  the pangs of wanting to go home after a really good party. It was as if that she was the sea princes her father had told her about  and she had always wanted to come home. Home yes,  but to what?

Memories of a happy past came rushing back one by one, and as she fondly remembered each of them, she wept. She especially wept with the latest information provided by the fishermen folk that her father had escaped from prison after having being arrested for the murder of one Sisir Mahato, a known anti social element. Her gentle father and murder  no way! And if he had committed a sin, why would he escape from prison?