Princess of Delhi -- The Chasm

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Date Posted: 18:02:02 06/22/02 Sat
Author: SIMF
Subject: Princess of Delhi

Princess of Delhi

Strolling through the dusty streets
Faded sari traipsing regally behind
Ignorant of the mud splashed high
Assaulted by the hot monsoon rains.

From afar she looks like any other
Perhaps a woman of leisure
Enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon
Shopping in the Janpath bazaar.

Seeking a moment�s welcome shade
I rest under Connaught Place arches.
The British had believed a market
In the shape of a horseshoe to be lucky
For shoppers and shopkeepers
Perhaps there was something in that.
Watching passively, I absorbed it all
The variety of life in the circular streets.

Her sudden movement caught my eye.
She seemed young, perhaps very young
Slight of build, loosely plaited hair
A small bundle over her shoulder
She darted in and out of busy crowds.

At first the rickshaw drivers puzzled me
They showed her no respect at all
Almost knocking her down, chasing her
As she frailly moved on with dignity.

She seemed to avoid the local people
But instead approached foreigners
I wondered if she was perhaps a guide
Offering to help them find their way.

They too recoiled as if bitten
By some evil venomous snake
Rather than a helpless teenage girl
Perhaps seeking their help.

As she walked around the circle
She came close to where I stood
Then stepped forward and touched me
Startled I turned to look at her.

Now I understood the others� reactions
I had been warned not to give to beggars
�Will only encourage more� they had said
But she grabbed my hand and gestured.
She was not a �professional beggar�
But clearly starving and desperate.

I looked into her sad, empty eyes
And saw death reflected back at me
Mirrored by the eyes in that bundle
Her dying baby for which she pleaded.

Those people who had rejected her
The baby, and all mankind, had eaten.
Just left Neruli�s ice-cream parlour
Gaily laughing, refreshed, bellies full.
Spent more on one sundae ice-cream
Than she had had all month for chapatti.

I emptied the contents of my purse
Her fragile palms tingling with hope
Then I, not her, turned beggar
For I pleaded with her to take shade
And nurse her tiny infant
Lest it not make it through the night.

She looked at me with tear-streaked face
Two mothers understanding the need.
Her self respect once more intact
The Princess of Delhi walked her streets.

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