Geetanjali Krishna: A bird in her cage

PEOPLE LIKE THEM

We all know bonded labour and slavery exist. But not in the metros, I'd imagined, where people are more educated and aware. Then I heard about Manju. Her employer, a Delhi-based government official, has convinced her she was sold to them eleven years ago, that it's now her fate to work for them as long as she lives. Here's her story. I've told it as plainly as I can, for adjectives will only trivialise it.

Manju comes from a family of landless labourers in a Chattisgarh village. The village isn't yet electrified, has only one telephone and its economy still works on an ancient barter system. Young people migrate from there in droves, searching for jobs. Manju also came to Delhi with her uncle, who found her a job with a government official. But soon, her employers told her that she'd been sold to them for Rs 35,000.

"Your family is so poor, they've sold your sisters to brothels," they said repeatedly, implying that a similar fate awaited her if she tried to return home. Illiterate Manju had nobody to turn to, and she was scared to death. Her employers lashed out at her for the smallest mistake, yet kept her on her feet from five in the morning till midnight. They even got rid of their gardener because they suspected he was sorry for her. And guess who got to do his work in the garden? Manju, of course.

Seven years of this sort of abuse, and Manju became completely brainwashed. She'd learnt that abject compliance kept the abuse at bay.

One day, her parents, worried as they'd not heard from her for so long, came to Delhi to meet her. Manju's employers refused to let them in. Smelling a rat, her parents asked the police to accompany them. Her employers protested that they treated their domestic help like their daughter. And Manju herself stated she didn't want to return to her parents.

Meanwhile, neighbours in the government colony mutely witnessed the daily scoldings, even beatings, that Manju received. Amongst each other, they whispered about the time when she needed stitches on her forehead. Or the time when she had taken too long to have a bath, and they'd ruthlessly cut her waist-length hair off in punishment. But none dared complain, for Manju's employer was in the vigilance department and was well known for her vindictiveness. Enter Sunita, Manju's younger sister, who was also sent to Delhi in search of a good job and her lost sister. Contrary to what Manju had been told, she'd never even seen a brothel, let alone worked in one.

The first dozen times she went to meet Manju, nobody opened the door for her. Then once, she saw

Manju putting out clothes to dry and was aghast. Her once lustrous hair was rough and dry, her clothes were in tatters and she looked starved.

Sunita tried to speak to her in their own language, but Manju said she'd forgotten it. She repeated that she wanted to stay with her employers, but her body language and eyes told another story.

Sunita asked for my help, so I spoke to a lawyer and some social workers. But they all say they can do nothing till Manju herself says she wants to be rescued. I called one of Manju's neighbours who told me what I've told you. But since they'd illegally sub-let a government flat, they couldn't afford to complain on Manju's behalf. "But you must help her," she said, "for Manju reminds me of a bird in a cage, just that birds have mercifully shorter lives..."