The Rich and the Poor

The sink overflowed with vessels.

“Here,” a young boy flung a plate and a glass into the sink. Yet another man was holding a bowl to be washed.

‘I wonder how the rich can consume so much food,’ Shalini muttered as she poured some more dishwasher liquid.

When guests were at her master’s house, Shalini’s work was a relentless cycle of cleaning, cooking, and serving.

Today, the master’s sister and her family came to visit. The lady seemed to be very rich. Diamond rings adorned the finger of even the youngest of her three children, who, Shalini guessed, might be a little older than her ten-year-old son. The lady wore an exquisitely designed dress, and jewels shone on her.

She licked and cleaned her bowl of soup, salad, side dishes, and main course. Throwing a derisive glance at Shalini, she left the vessels to wash.

As Shalini scrubbed the dishes, her mind wandered to her modest lunch of porridge and onion. She could afford vegetables only once a week. Shalini often dreamt of taking home some leftovers from her master’s house for her son, but each time, she was disappointed. The master’s wife might as well lick the bowl clean, but not let the poor maid take home food. It was a small act of kindness that was always denied to her.

The aroma of the sweet that the family had ordered for dessert pierced Shalini’s nose. She glanced at her son, who generally sat on the porch of the palatial house after school. He accompanied his mother home after that. With his stomach rumbling, the poor boy sat patiently today. His mother was taking longer than usual, and he was left waiting, his hunger growing more pronounced.

“Ma’am, can I leave now?” Shalini asked with humility in her tone.

“Who will clean the dessert bowls?” her mistress jeered.

Without as much as a word of retaliation, poor Shalini retraced her steps and stood near the sink. Burping aloud, the members threw the empty bowls into the sink. Shalini quietly washed them.

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the drawing room. The diamond ring adorning the finger of the youngest girl was missing. They all searched up and down, toppling everything, but the ring was nowhere.

Suddenly, the mistress turned towards the porch where Shalini’s son was seated.

“Search that boy’s school bag; I am sure the rascal must have hidden it there.”

Throwing the bowls in the sink, Shalini rushed and stood between her master’s sister and her son.

“We may be poor, but we are not thieves. You can’t touch my son’s bag,” she said, trying her best not to sound indignant.

“Oh, is that so? Let the cops come and decide what a saint your son is?” The lady brandished her pointer.

“You may summon whomever you wish to, but you can’t call my son a thief.”

The lady was about to retaliate when someone called from inside.

“The ring is here under the bedroom carpet.”

Sudha Viswanath