Unlawful

She looked around to ensure no one was around; a Rs. 100 note in such a big house was something no one would ever notice. She prayed to God for all that was wrong and how it was possible without such miserable deeds but somehow things were slipping out of hands. Her inner selfishness confronting all that was good in the world. There were so many worse off people trying to make ends meet with honest methods. She never had the best of formal education but all she was ever taught was values and the importance of one’s character when the times were tough. She continued sweeping the floor.

The time had moved on and so had life – the only feeling that had transcended the dimension was that of guilt. What had also remained unchanged was a hidden desire to cheat the world which had been so unfaithful, desperate and desolate. Those occasional saves of a couple of hundred bucks had ensured she had enough to buy a few old books to be officially called ‘literate’. Jobs had switched hands and she was a small-time accountant now. The pay was not good but it was fixed income. With his health gone bad and an obviously unselfish rejuvenated love for the family, the so called husband had visited a couple of times with offers of food, money and shelter. She said no, not the least out of revenge or hatred but for the peace of that inner criminal that she couldn’t share.

Four thousand rupees in a big city was barely enough for the food and shelter but the child was into his 4^th year by now and education was a must. All that she ever wished was to make his life less miserable; to make him an upright law abiding citizen that she couldn’t be. A thief changes masquerades but the hypocrisy of justice is what prevents him from crossing the line to the right. A couple of erroneous entries could fetch her a few hundred extra bucks without being noticed. A private school was what they said made careers.

As the child grew older, all she ever taught him was the value of being honest, the virtue of kindness and the right to fair treatment – the façade called life, she thought. Education was getting expensive while the salary had almost remained stagnant. Her two meals got reduced to one so that the child could get that extra protein in his diet. Lunch had to have a variety of items; the kids had been picking on the boy lately. All that was bearable – one meal a day, an old saree, broken glasses; as long as the lad didn’t have to resort to unlawful means. She knew deep down that it would never happen.

The boy was smart and hardworking as he was empathetic. He was well-informed of the daily struggles that allowed him to study. He was 10, when he asked for a permission to work at a nearby Dhaba on the weekends. Lately, the mother was often ill and medicines were hard to come by. However, the request was greeted with a tight slap on the right cheek, one that almost acted as a steroid to the woman. Working at 10 was child labour, an act so despicable she wouldn’t pardon herself as a mother, ever.

The conversation was never mentioned again. All that crept up were new subjects, marks and future opportunities. The son had taken keen interest in science and had started weekend lab visits, which at times, fetched him some money. He could afford his own books now; all at a tender age of 13.

There was a furore in the neighbourhood. There were sounds of police horns and protest of activists, and amidst all the chaos there was Beethoven's symphony on the phone. A phone, she so treasured, that her son had presented on her birthday. She rarely ever got a call apart from those from the network providers.

The son had been caught, the officer said, working in the Dhaba as were four other kids.

All she was in her eyes was an impostor, and there he stood, incriminated in the eyes of the law... the one thing she thought would be different.