"Sonagachi song"
RAJU Tamang, a thin, wiry boy with greasy black hair who always wore fake
designer sunglasses, accompanied Radhika and Rohan on the gruelling trek from
Silchar to Kolkata.
The bus journey lasted two nights and one day and Raju’s role was crucial. He
was to make sure that his precious cargo reached its new destination. With her
compliant nature, Radhika was far too lucrative a trafficking commodity to risk
losing along the way.
But far from complaining, Radhika savoured every second of the tiresome
journey. Resigned once more to her terrible fate, she held Rohan so close that he
could hardly breathe. It felt good to drink in the milky softness of his skin and
run her fingers through his glossy black hair.
For the two nights they travelled together, Radhika stayed awake just so she
could watch her tiny son breathing. She knew his innocence was slowly slipping
away thanks to the terrible vortex of crime that the pair had been sucked into.
But here, asleep in her arms, Rohan was the same sweet child she had given
birth to on the floor of a clay house in March 2004. And in her dreams, she was
the same perfect mother who vowed always to protect her child against all the
odds.
The screech of a decrepit set of brakes jolted Radhika out of her deep
thoughts. The bus had reached its destination and before she knew it her time
with Rohan was over. Raju rushed them off the bus and was hastily arranging a
taxi to pack his prized packages into before they could blink.
Radhika comments, ‘This time I asked no questions and revealed no emotion.
I had a good idea of what fate had in store for Rohan but I could not bring
myself to think of being separated from him again. In just 48 hours, he had begun to know me as his mother once more. If we were ripped apart again, it
might break us [this time].’
After another gruelling two-hour taxi ride, first through countryside, then
more densely populated suburbs, and finally, into the jaws of the sprawling city
of Kolkata. Radhika and Rohan stepped out onto the roadside and glanced up at
their new home. This time there was no mistaking the brothel that was about to
become Radhika’s new home.
A dilapidated four-storey structure, the building looked even more uninviting
than the previous brothel had done to Radhika, all that time ago when Rajan
Pariyar had dropped her off there. It sat in shameful contrast to many of the
city’s buildings, which are fabulous in their architecture and historic importance.
The West Bengali city of Kolkata (formerly Calcutta) served as the capital of
the British Raj in India until 1912. Many of the city’s buildings are adorned with
Gothic, Baroque, Roman, Oriental and Indo-Islamic motifs. And several major
buildings of the colonial period are well maintained and have been declared
‘heritage structures’, while others are in various stages of decay.
Radhika’s new ‘home’ was beyond decay. Rotting wood formed the
foundations that served to shakily support layers of pen-like rooms and tiny
windows were only for show at the front of the building. Those girls forced to
live in the middle and at the back of the house were starved of air, forced to
drink in the stale, sweat-soaked oxygen from morning till night.
Anyone lucky enough to occasionally glimpse the street scenes outside would
find themselves immersed in the type of chaos that has to be seen to be believed.
Kolkata currently has a population exceeding 15 million, making it the third
most populous metropolitan area in India and one of the most populous urban
areas in the world.
The city is also classified as the eighth largest urban agglomeration in the
world. For simple, country girls like Radhika, it was utterly alien and unnerving.
The mere sight of it, in fact, caused a knot to form instantly in the pit of
Radhika’s stomach.
She was right to feel afraid. Her nose for danger was now much better,
perhaps honed by her six months in Silchar and the experiences that she had
been forced to endure there. The place to which she had been brought was on a
far different scale to Rupa Tamang’s brothel. Situated in the infamous red light
district in north Kolkata’s Sonagachi area, it is a literal hell on earth for the many
young female slaves forced to sell their bodies in its dark recesses.
Sonagachi translates as ‘golden tree’ in Bengali, but there is nothing remotely
uplifting about the several hundred multi-storey brothels that dominate the
skyline here. An estimated 10,000 sex workers are forced to work the ‘catwalk’
or the ‘line’ near the busy intersection of Chittaranjan Avenue, Shobha Bazar
and Beadon Street. Just north of this vision of hell in all its splendour is the
19thcentury Marble Palace. Still a working residence for Raja Rajendra Mullick
Bahadur and his family, it was built in 1835 by the Raja, a wealthy Bengali
merchant with a passion for collecting works of art. The house continues to be a
residence for his descendants. Raja Rajendra Mullick was the adopted son of
Nilmoni Mullick, who built a Jagannath temple that predates Marble Palace, and
still stands within the premises, but is only accessible to members of the family.
The house is adorned with a priceless array of Victorian furniture, large
chandeliers, busts of kings and queens and paintings by such celebrated artists as
Sir Joshua Reynolds, the 18th-century English portrait painter; Rubens, the 17th-
century Flemish Baroque painter; and the Italian artist Titian, the most important
member of the 16th-century Venetian school. Perhaps nothing better illustrates
the disparity between India’s rich and poor than the juxtaposition of this palace
and its residents with its neighbouring inhabitants, who are slum prostitutes.
Write a comment ...