At the gate, I saw a child, not even two years old. She was sobbing and looked lost. I picked her up and walked amidst the women on the lawn, asking if the child was theirs or if they'd seen anybody looking for one. Nobody claimed the child. The child continued to sob, and we attracted the attention of a group of portly women. "I'd just leave her here if I were you," said one. Another suggested I entrust her with the park chowkidar. Most were of the opinion that the terrified toddler would somehow find her way back home. Having heard horror stories of children being snatched and forced into begging or worse, sex trafficking, I renewed my efforts to find the girl's parents.
Just then, I heard more sobbing. This time it was not from the snivelling toddler holding my hand, but from behind a bush. It was another child, barely three years old, who was also lost. "Do you know her," I asked pointing to the girl. He stared mutely at me, tears rolling down his cheeks. With two crying toddlers with me, I soon became quite the cynosure of the public gaze.
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People militantly came forward to stand behind me, but in unanimous agreement that the responsibility of the two lost children was mine alone. Just as I was about to call the child helpline 1098, I saw a woman who was hunting for something, peeping behind bushes and so on. "Have you lost a child," I asked. She nodded. Just then the little boy saw her and ran to her, crying even louder. The mother ruffled his hair rather absentmindedly. "Have you lost another child," I asked again. She asked, "Have you found another one?" I coaxed out the tiny girl, who had decided by then to attach herself to the back of my knees.
How could she be so careless, the women scolded. To lose one child was bad enough, but two! The woman listened but didn't look interested. She muttered that it wasn't easy to control children. "I was feeding the baby when my girl ran off. My boy went looking for her," she explained. That was when I noticed the ragged little baby, less than a year old, in a sling on her back. "It must be tough to have three children under four years of age," I commiserated. "I wasn't feeding this one," she said, and pointed to a bundle on a faraway park bench. A newborn lay there, fast asleep.
"Haven't you heard of family planning," asked the crowd. "I have, but my husband hasn't," she said wryly. "And it's not his fault either. After a long day as a manual labourer, he needs something to do... and I'm always around." Murmurs of outrage went up in the crowd. Surrounded by people so ready to pass judgement on her plight, the woman balked. She picked up the newborn, held her children's hands and began walking away. I told her I wanted to help. She didn't need it, she said. "When the fourth child came along, my parents wisely decided to gift us a small television. Now my husband comes home and is riveted to the small screen - so I don't think I'll get pregnant again soon."