With such high inflation and such a large family, time was passing with great difficulty, and my poor father was dragging the family's burden like a weak ox, working tirelessly. I had a passion for studying, but my parents were unable to afford my education.
When I saw the neighborhood girls going to school, a sigh would escape my heart. One day, while sitting with a book, tears began to flow from my eyes. In my thoughts, I had wandered far away, pondering whether there was ever a sun in my life that would see me going to school. My father, standing at the door of his room, was watching me intently. I quickly wiped my tears away, worried he might misunderstand. When I explained why I was crying, I said, I want to go to school, I want to get an education. You took me out of school after second grade. I keep reading the same books over and over, and I keep thinking that my wish to go to school will never be fulfilled.
He replied, "I wish I had enough resources to educate you. I can barely provide for our daily needs. If you can study at home, I can bring you books from a friend’s son who has completed third grade. He has his old books lying around." I agreed to this as well. My father brought me the books. After finishing my household chores, I would sit down to study them.
My older brother, who had passed eighth grade, would teach me for an hour or half an hour each evening, and I would try to study on my own the rest of the time. With this little bit of help, I began to learn a lot, and gradually, studies became a part of my life. Eventually, the day came
when I was ready for my matriculation exams. My father helped me prepare whenever he found the time. I took the exams and passed with good marks. My happiness knew no bounds. No one in the house was happier than my father. When he saw my dedication and love for education, he rented out our sitting room and enrolled me in college.I became even more serious about my studies, knowing that if I didn't excel in my intermediate exams, I wouldn't be able to continue my education. The college was quite far from our home, but the distance didn't bother me. One day, when I was in second year, after college, I went to the bus stop with some friends. The bus stop was crowded, and the buses were coming in packed. Finally, we managed to get on a bus, squeezing in with difficulty. After two or three stops, I finally found a seat. Just then, an older woman boarded the bus. The women’s seats were full. She was somewhat heavy and was struggling to keep her balance while standing, holding a large bag very carefully. She stood near me and, unable to bear the weight, placed the bag on my lap, saying, "Child, please hold this bag for a while. I am having trouble standing in the moving bus." I took the bag. The bus was crowded, and I could see the woman was in distress. Holding her bag gave me a sense of spiritual satisfaction, knowing I had eased her burden for a while.
At the next stop, a new wave of women boarded. Some got off, but more got on, increasing the crowd. This continued stop after stop, with women boarding and disembarking. When my stop approached, I looked for the woman to return her bag, but I couldn't find her. I was worried. I looked around, even towards the men's section, but she was nowhere to be seen. My stop was near, and I had someone's belongings with me. When I couldn't find her and the bus stopped, I asked the women around me if the bag belonged to any of them, explaining that a passenger had entrusted it to me. No one claimed it. I got off the bus and handed the bag to the conductor, explaining the situation. The conductor took the bag, and I felt relieved as I walked home.
Just a few steps later, the conductor called out, "Hey girl, stop!" The bus was still there, and he came running towards me with the bag. "Take your bag back," he said. I turned around, confused, as he thrust the bag into my hands, accusing me of trying to fool him. "Where is your old lady? Look at what's inside." He opened the bag slightly to show me—a newborn baby wrapped in a white cloth, possibly sedated with some medicine. Its eyes were closed, but it was squirming from the heat. I was stunned. I exclaimed, "By God, this baby isn't mine," but the conductor started making a scene.
"You wanted to get me into trouble. Go fool someone else," he yelled. I tried to explain that it wasn't my bag, but who listens to a small voice in a noisy place? People started gathering around. God knows how terrifying those moments were for me. My mind was in a whirl. My blood seemed to freeze, and I stood there, petrified. Sweat was pouring down my face in streaks. The conductor, like a ringleader, was making a spectacle, and the crowd kept growing, surrounding me like an audience at a show. They were hurling accusations, and their words were piercing my ears. I felt like they were preparing to stone me along with the innocent baby. The noise was deafening, and even the male passengers had gotten off to join the chaos. In such an environment, how could I defend myself, and who would listen? The crowd had found an opportunity to gossip and make all sorts of comments. Their words felt like fiery weapons, attacking me with accusations and questions. It seemed like there wasn't a single wise person in the crowd who could quiet everyone down and speak reasonably.
I had no idea how long I stood in that crowd. My spirit had vanished, and every feeling had frozen except for a deep sense of shame. People were saying, "This is why girls get an education." Just then, two policemen and a lady constable pushed through the crowd and came up to me. As soon as they arrived, they asked for my name and address. My tongue was tied, and tears were streaming down my face. Now I walked ahead, flanked by the police, while people followed us. Our house was just around the corner. We reached home, and in an instant, the news spread through the neighborhood like a bomb—that this unmarried girl was trying to abandon her baby when she was caught, and the police were called.
The women in the neighborhood were standing in shock, unable to believe that such a good girl could do something like this. The police asked the neighbors about my character. Everyone said they had never seen or heard anything bad about me. They testified as good neighbors. Then the police contacted the college. The principal even provided a commendation certificate stating that I was a student of good character. Had the principal not given this certificate, the police might have pinned the baby on me.
Thankfully, there were two people who had been on the bus. They too came along with the crowd, perhaps driven by their conscience. Initially hesitant to testify, they later decided to go to the police station with the officers. They testified that they had been sitting right behind the women's seats. They saw a stout, middle-aged woman board the bus with a bag. She couldn't find a seat and placed the bag in my lap while she held onto the bus pole. Due to the crowd, they didn't notice when and where she got off. However, when I boarded the bus, I only had my books in hand.
This testimony was a turning point for me. Although the police investigation ended there, the scandal could not be erased. I was in such a state that I couldn't even think of going back to college; it was as if I had lost my very self. The psychological impact of that incident lingered for a long time, and I wasn't mentally normal for a considerable period. My father, being wise, showed great compassion, or I might have truly gone mad. He too felt immense shame in front of the whole neighborhood, but he remained strong. Some good people acknowledged his decency, but there are always malicious minds everywhere. They still gossiped, unable to rest. No one can control another's thoughts or put a hand over someone's mouth. This world is indeed a marketplace of disgrace, where good deeds are forgotten, and people are eager to spread evil. A stigma of infamy was unfairly stuck to my forehead.
This incident not only caused me great personal loss but also a significant one—my removal from college, depriving me of higher education, despite being a scholarship holder due to my excellent results. My parents were frightened. The ways of the world are such that honorable people cannot stand against them. My parents decided to get me married, but whenever a proposal came, some ill-wisher from the neighborhood would inform them of the past incident. I was not alone; I had three sisters, and who knew what punishment they were receiving for my supposed crime. Thank God my aunt felt a spark of empathy and, disregarding people's opinions, embraced my mother and took me as her daughter-in-law. Otherwise, I might have remained mired in that swamp of disgrace for the rest of my life.
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