Radha

. Ma quickly brushed off the dirt from my shalwar kameez and pulled my
hair back into a braid.
“Ma,” I complained. “What’s the use in doing all of this? I have to go to the
fields soon and I’ll get dirty and messy anyway. I’ll be even more messy when I
get home.”
“Oh, hush now,” she replied. “I won’t have my daughter looking like a ruffian
in front of other people. No matter how many times you get dirty, I’ll clean you
up again.”
I sighed and turned back to let her straighten my dupatta on the back. I
usually wore my shawl on my head, which covered my hair, otherwise the
scorching sun would cook me alive while I worked. But Ma always insisted on
letting my hair show.
I had long, dark, shiny, black hair, and even though I thought it was only the
mark of beauty I possessed, it was still quite impractical to have for work.
Bapu wanted to have it cut when I first began my job, but Ma adamantly
refused. She wanted me, as she put it, to retain some “youthful beauty,”
whatever that meant.
I stood up and spun around until she nodded her approval. Then, she said,
“Come back home safe, child.” Her eyes were starting to redden, and I felt bad
for all the complaining I did before. I hugged and kissed her and reached for
my lunch tiffin.
Morari, my brother, was waiting for me outside the door. He smiled and
ruffled my hair. I scrunched my nose. “Be careful. Ma worked hard on that.”
“Ma works hard on everything,” he snorted. “Come on, let’s go. We’re getting
late.”
I walked with him to the fields. I glanced around, looking at the shops and
businesses. Bapu had a business once. He used to sell diyas or little lamps
made out of clay for Diwali and Dussehra, but then all of a sudden, people
didn’t want to buy them anymore. They wanted cheaper ones made from
another factory, and we had to close shop.
For a couple months afterwards, we were completely helpless. We had no
food, no money, no work. Then, one of my other brothers, Mohan, found a job
at a factory nearby. My father got the job there, and later on, my mother,
Mohan, and my eldest brother, Gopal, managed to get jobs there too.
Me and Morari, the youngest, got jobs at the cotton fields to pick. Gujarat had
excellent fertile soil, so it was basically breeding for cotton farmers. The
cotton would later be transported to a mill to be spun into yarn and later used
to make different garments. It was slightly less difficult than the factory
working, but no more lucrative. All of us were usually paid at the end of the
week, but it was less than half of what we used to earn selling diyas.
When we arrived at the fields, we each picked a basket and walked through
the crops. There was a tractor coming our way, so we quickly decided to go
through another part of the field. I wrinkled my nose. The dirt was soaked
with water and it reeked of chemicals.
The sun beat down hard and I pulled my dupatta over my head. Morari
looked at me enviously. He didn’t have that same kind of protection.
We picked the cotton with our hands and filled our baskets to the brim.
After that, the sun was up in the sky, and it beat down hard. It was noon. Time
for lunch.
There were twelve other people, mostly girls like me, and we all met at the
edge of the field. Our huge baskets were filled with cotton, all the way up to
the tippy-top. A man came over to us. He was Mr. Shooleman, the inspector
and he oversaw our progress and our work. In other words, he was the tyrant
of the field, the boss.
 He looked at our baskets. It was clear with the look on his face that we were
well on our way to filling our daily quotas. With a wave of his hand, he
dismissed us to our lunch break. I sighed with relief and I picked up my tiffin
and walked towards a shady tree.
Ma had packed us chapati with aloo and chutney. That was actually what we
usually always had, since wheat and potatoes were quite cheap in our area.
We couldn’t really afford much else.
The food tasted a little funny but maybe that was just because of the heat. I
ate quickly and drank some water from a gourd. The water was warm and hot
to the touch but it quenched my thirst. At least for the time being.
After that, we resumed work. The heat was merciless and the chemicals
stung my fingers and any area of bare skin unfortunately exposed. But finally,
finally, the sun began to set. It was nightfall by the time we were called off the
field. My back aches so much, I thought if I bent over, I would fall and never
get up again. My gourd was empty and my throat was parched with thirst and
my belly growled with hunger. My hands were red and stinging with pain.
Morari touched my shoulder and gave me a comforting smile. I smiled back,
but it was small and empty of its usual cheerfulness.
Mr. Shooleman gave us each a bundle of rupees wrapped in newspaper and
we walked back home. It was chilly, but I welcomed the cold after the heat of
the day.
As we walked home, I opened the newspaper and gasped at what I saw.
“Morari, how much money were you paid?” I asked.
He counted his coins and clutched his head incredulously. “I got only
twenty-three! How is that possible? That was even less than last time!”
I snorted. “Now you’re talking. I got ten!”
“What? No, I don’t believe you!”
 I shook my head and gave him my coins. He stared at them. “That’s it? After
two weeks of work, that’s all we get?”
I stared at the ground. We were cheated again out of our pay and there was
nothing we could do about it. We were nothing more than children.

When we came home, everyone else was already there. Ma was cooking
chai on our tiny stove, and Ba read the newspaper while Gopal and Mohan sat
down on the floor, leaning against the wall. Morari gave the rupees to Ba. He
looked at the amount and sighed. “Even less than last time.”
“It wasn’t our fault Ba,” Morari said. “We worked hard, so hard that we
finished our daily quotas, and in the end, Radha couldn’t even bend over
without falling and I bruised my leg and—”
“We know, Morari,” Gopal said. He was sitting on the floor and leaned against
the wall. Ma gave him a cup of chai, and offered us all one too. Morari refused,
and sat down on the floor, pouting.
“It’s not fair! We should fight back, we should force them to pay us more—”
“And lose our jobs? Lose our food?” Mohan snapped. “We can’t afford that.”
“Oh, what’s the use?” Gopal said. He looked exhausted and completely
defeated, which was very unlike him. “We can barely afford anything, why not
just give up already?”
“We can’t go on like this,” Morari replied. “These things have to change right
now and—”
“Be quiet, children,” Ma said. “We will make do with what we have and don’t
complain about it. God is with us. He will help us.”
Ma always had the last word, and that was all. The boys were especially
worn out today, so they skipped dinner and went straight to bed. Our house in
the slums was tiny, and we only had three rooms. One was used as a bedroom
for all six of us, another a bathroom, and the third, this one, the family room
and kitchen.
I gave Ma my cup. When Ba finally got up and went to bed, I said, “Ma, my
periods aren’t coming regularly anymore.”
Her eyebrows narrowed. “They aren’t?”
I nodded. “It’s been three months since I had it last. Isn’t that not supposed
to happen?”
She nodded slowly. “If it’s something bad, we can’t go on to the doctor . . .”
her voice trailed off. Then, she started again, “Pray to Krishna tonight, alright
dear? And don’t forget Lakshmi. They will help us, they always have.”
I sighed and kissed her good night. Ma usually stayed up later than all of us
to pray for a while. She loved the god, Krishna, especially. She gave my
brothers two of his other names; Gopal and Mohan. I was named for Radha,
his consort, an avatar of Lakshmi. Krishna was the avatar of Vishnu, Lakshmi’s
consort.
I crawled into bed, staring at the ceiling. Everyone else around me was
sleeping but even though I had never been more exhausted in my whole life, I
couldn't.
Nor could I stop thinking about what Morari said. He was right, we should
be fighting against this whole mess of a system. Especially me.
Mr. Shooleman promised my father that after a few years of my service, he
would leave a lump sum of money for my marriage dowry, even though I
promised Ba and the whole world that I would never marry. He laughed.
I wanted to go to school and then university. I wanted to make friends and
see the world. I wanted to fight for myself and my family and help other
people who had to deal with what my family dealt with.
 I rolled over. I spotted the Krishna idol atop the shelf above our sleeping
pallets. He was always there, watching over us.
Ma had told me about the story of the Mahabharata once. The Pandava and
Kaurava cousins were rivals that ruled their kingdoms, Indraprastha and
Hastinapur. The Pandavas were noble, kind, powerful and well respected. The
Kauravas were wicked and incredibly jealous of them. They forced them out
of their kingdom by cheating them in a dice game and as they lost, the
Pandavas were forced to relinquish their crown and kingdom and go into exile
for twelve years and into hiding for a year more. If they were caught, they
would go into exile for another thirteen years.
The thirteen years passed and the Kauravas refused to return the Pandava
kingdom. So, the Kurekshetra war began and the Pandavas fought to get back
what was stolen from them. Krishna allied himself with the Pandavas and
helped them in their cause. In the end, the Pandavas won but at a heavy price.
I pondered about that. We could fight for our rights and we just might win,
but at what cost? That was my last thought before I fell asleep.

The next morning was the same as yesterday. When I sat down as usual for
my lunch break, I was about to stuff my mouth with naan when someone
said, "You shouldn't eat that, Radha."
A girl stood before me. What was her name? I think it was Aditi. She was a
bit older, about Morari's age.
Aditi looked at me. "I saw Shooleman open your tiffin and put something in
there."
I looked at her, suspicious. “What do you mean?”
She sat down next to me. “I saw him open your tiffin and put something in
there. He put something in my tiffin too. And my sister’s.
 “He did?” I asked, incredulous. “Why? What did he put in there?”
“I don’t know. My sister thinks that’s why we stopped having periods, but I
don’t–”
“You stopped having periods? I stopped having them, too!” I exclaimed.
Now it was her turn to be surprised. “You did?”
I nodded. "What makes you think what he does stops the periods?"
"My sister, Ladli, heard him bragging to someone else about how spikes our
food with--what was it? Hormones, I think. And he does it to keep the girls
productive while our cycles happen."
I thought for a moment and said, "How many others deal with the same
thing?"
"Almost everybody, except for the two boys and one girl who hasn't had
hers yet. Ladli has been asking around."
There was a pause. Then I said, “Shooleman has been cutting our pay too. I
used to get at least twenty rupees, but he gave me half of that last time.”
She nodded. Then a thought came to me. “What if I talked to him? Maybe
he made a mistake.”
“I don’t think you should. Last time someone did that, he cut their pay and
made them work longer.”
“I have to try. My family would need me to,” I replied. I set down my tiffin
and walked toward Shooleman. He looked up and raised an eyebrow.
“Um, Mr. Shooleman? I think you paid me ten rupees instead of twenty
yesterday,” I started, nervously. “Can you please–”
“Oh, I see you think money grows on trees, don’t you girl?” He spat. I took a
step back, shocked. “You idiot, you are so lazy, you might as well skip your
lunch break tomorrow and get to work then! And next time, perhaps, if you
are so lazy, you can five rupees too–”
 “But sir–” I said.
“Go, get out of my sight you wretch!” He waved his stick at me and struck
me on the back. I gasped and fell on the floor. He was about to strike me again
until –
“Don’t touch her!” Morari rushed forward and pulled me to my feet. He
pushed me away from Shooleman.
The others were staring at us, but I was too terrified to care. Shooleman
raised his stick again, and we both rushed away.
He shouted. “Go! Go back to work, all of you!”
We all scattered, and returned to picking cotton. Morari walked next to me
on the field. He grabbed my arm and turned me around. “What did you do?”
“I-I don’t know. I asked about our pay and–”
“He cut it even more, didn’t he?” He snapped. “I heard.”
I lowered my head.
“Do you realize what this means for us, Radha?” He said. “We need every
penny for our family to survive! We can’t risk this, not anymore.”
“What happened to ‘let’s fight back’ and ‘make them pay us more’?” I
snapped back. “You know what he does, Morari? He spiked our food with
hormones to stop us from getting the-thing-that-happens-every-month!”
He remained quiet for a moment. Then he said more gently, “I know what I
said. But we still need food on the plate and a roof above our heads. I’m sorry,
but you’re just going to have to bear it.”
I bit my lip, and walked away. I was so angry. What made me even angrier
was when Aditi walked by. She whispered in my ear, “I told you so.”
 When we came home, Ma was horrified when she saw my back. She made
me sit down and Morari told Ba what happened. He clicked his tongue,
“Radha, you shouldn’t have done that . . .”
I mumbled an apology and drank some chai Ma had given me.
He sighed, but then he said with a smile, “I have some news, everyone. I
found a new job.”
Everybody went silent.
He continued, “I’ve decided to work at an organization nearby, and you
children will go to school.”
“School?” I asked.
“Yes, school. When you are older, you will know your rights and you will
fight for them, and the only way you can do that is with an education,” he said.
My heart felt light, as though it was floating. I was elated. “When?” I asked
eagerly.
“In a week or so,” he replied.
Everybody seemed elated and relieved at the same time. Finally, I could go
to school. I wouldn’t have to deal with Shooleman anymore. We still had a lot
of problems to deal with, but for now, I was happy. Today was the start of a
new tomorrow.

Bibliography
https://goodonyou.eco/child-labour/ (Good on You)

https://www.humanium.org/en/the-detrimental-effects-of-fast-fashion-on-childrens-rights/ (The
Humanium)

https://www.sustainyourstyle.org/en/working-conditions (Sustain Your Style)

https://www.globalcitizen.org/en/content/sexual-abuse-fast-fashion-factories-vietnam-study/
(Global Citizen)