The Writer is Out There.

Christmas 2006

As Christmas drew nearer, my heart shrank in on itself. The Civil Surgeon and the Commissioner were ‘out of town’ and ‘unavailable’. Stalking had little effect. And though the complaint we placed about the Civil Surgeon rang true the Commissioner’s Board’s ears (one very, very odd experience, walking unprepared into an interview with 15 suited men, to pitch our concerns for the kids/ lodge our complaint) they did not act upon it. We had Narayanan and RK accompany us to talk to the Civil Surgeon. We made an official apology for our complaint (not my idea. Still, desperation’s kicking in. When you see evidence of sexual and physical abuse, when people LAUGH at it, you’ll do anything). We withdrew the request to shift Shubahn and Adesh (again, not my idea, but as adult males they were a lot safer than the others) because the evil, evil woman was continuing to refuse, because MH uses the pair as extra (ie. all of the) labour.

I was absent from Mercy Home for a couple of weeks during The Curse Of The Vampyrs’ attack, and then on my first return. Maggie left, the others were traveling, so nobody went. By the time new arrival Cate and I finally get to MH, The Girl Without A Name has bitten through to the bone on her own finger, to cope with the trauma of everything she’s been subjected to.

Still, they do nothing. Why should they. 4 nameless kids, out of sight on the outskirts of town, who have a bed (if they’re lucky, and then they’re rat-infested, shit-coated beds) and food (I guess that’s what you’d call it. God help you if you cannot feed yourself, or get to the courtyard at mealtimes); who cares!

And Christmas draws closer. It’s surprising how much decoration goes on in Gwalior, where Christian input is so small. The M.Theresa’s thing detailed in another post, coupled with a few of our staff getting rather excited at their ‘first real Christmas’ mean we can’t ignore it.

I’ve resigned myself to the fact that Christmas traditions won’t be happening out here. Of course I’ll miss it, but that’s okay. Cate and I are getting the kids to make decorations, despite protests from certain people who don’t see the point. Actually, sneaking the kids into the classroom 2 at a time, all top-secret-mission stylie, is kind of fun. And we have a tree! Not a fir tree, but a tree, with bright streamers and shiny stars  and baubles. And I might’ve lost the battle to get the kids building a mud-man, but they decorated the tree, and we made more mess with the paint and glitter than we ever could with dirt!

I’ve come to terms with the lack of Christmas food. Doesn’t matter.  Not having Christmas Eve stories; I can replay them in my head. Family; we’ll talk on the phone. Presents; actually don’t care. But I can’t no matter what I do, reconcile the idea that after months of argument – after hard evidence that All is Not Right – Lali (she has a name, on official papers, the staff simply never bothered to learn it) and the others will be at Mercy Home. I’ve hoped, I’ve prayed to every possible God there is, I’ve screamed, and cried, and had a crazy moment when I couldn’t stop laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. I even reached back into the realms of childhood after a few too many drinks, and burned over a candle, my letter to Santa, with one, single request: Let us get them out before Christmas.

The most regularly played song on the volunteer floor, is Olivia Olson’s All I Want For Christmas.

But time goes by, their chances and my Christmas spirit are dwindling.

Until, on the 22nd, as I return yet another blue-handed child to class, Megan walks into the building, returned for Christmas. And then, miraculously, we get the call. If we put off our Mercy Home trip today, we can pick up the kids tomorrow, they’re being signed over as we speak.

Saturday holds the stressful shifting, including traumatic shaving after 3 hours of nit-picking has little effect. Megan and I, with terrified bodies pushed against us, cry all the way home.

That night, the four of them are snuggled under blankets, clean blankets. They’ve had their fill of food which isn’t going to kill them. Lali has a bear beside her on the pillow. And nobody will touch them in that way again.