Selvel and his mother

It is in a hotel room near the bus terminus in Cochin that the police officer begins

hitting Selvel's mother. First, it is a slap, which is followed by a punch to the

stomach. She is lying on the narrow bed, her eyes tightly shut, and shakes her head

from side to side. "Please let my son go," she says.

"No, he must watch," the officer shouts. His body trembling with fear, standing on

bare feet, next to the bed, Selvel watches, with unblinking eyes, as the officer, on

bent knees, parts his mother's legs. In the summer heat, perspiration drips from the

officer's face as he grunts and heaves forward. Selvel sits down on the floor, turns his

back towards the bed and puts two fingers in his ears.

Tears roll down his face.

Every evening, Selvel and his mother go to the bus terminus. As soon as a bus arrives,

in a squeal of brakes and belching black smoke, Selvel and his mother rush towards

the entrance. As the passengers mill around, bags on shoulders, children in arms, waiting

to get in, his mother deftly picks Selvel up, and he leans forward in the melee to

pick pockets.

Most of the time, he picks the purse cleanly. Then she puts him down, and he runs

swiftly towards the exit of the terminus and keeps going. Later, he takes out the money

and throws away the purse. His mother would meet him at a restaurant and they would

have a cup of tea.

"Your father and I used to do this job together," his mother had once told him.

Selvel's father abandoned her when he was two years old. At four, his mother taught

him how to pick pockets -- 'use only the fore and middle fingers' -- and now at seven

he is adept at the job.

But this evening, a police officer has spotted him taking a purse and blocks his

path. Grabbing the boy's right arm, he beckons the mother. They go to a deserted

section of the terminus. Selvel gives him the purse. The officer takes out the money --

800 rupees -- and shoves it hurriedly into his shirt pocket. Then he indicates to

Selvel's mother, who is only 28, that he wants her. Selvel hears his mother say, "Why

don't you do it to your mother?"

The officer's eyes enlarge in shock and Selvel can see the rage erupting in it. The

officer pulls out his revolver, presses the barrel against his mother's forehead and

says, with clenched teeth, "I will blow you to bits. Just follow me." And they had

headed silently towards the 'Blue Star' hotel.

In the room, Selvel wipes his eyes, and gets an idea. He rummages in the officer's khaki

trousers, which is lying on the floor. Then the boy hides under the bed.

Finally, the officer gets dressed, pulls off the saree, and tells Selvel’s mother, "I

have to leave now, because it is my wife's birthday. But I want to see you here

tomorrow, so, I am taking away the saree."

Then he steps out in his gleaming black leather shoes and bangs the door shut.

Selvel comes out from under the bed and watches his mother wrap herself with the

white counterpane. "Without a saree, we cannot leave," she says.

Selvel sits beside his mother, smiles for the first time, and says, softly, "Amma, I

can buy you one." Then he shows her the officer's black purse. His mother tousles

his hair and smiles, "You are like your father: once a pickpocket, always a

pickpocket."

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

I don't normally approve of Thievery, but in this case, I believe it was warranted. People have to do what's necessary to survive.

[Shelina Shariff-Zia]

Great story. Really shows the brutality of the policeman that he would do this to a woman and even take away her sari. You can't help rooting for the thieves...