Outside the Circle

A budget was announced.
 
The old woman, wrapped in a greasy quilt, slipped into the shadowy room by the roadside. Outside, winter pressed heavily; winds whistled through the city’s hollow bones. She left the entire room aside and curled herself into a corner against the wall. No one in this world knew whether she had eaten tonight or not. Perhaps only God, in His secrecy, knew such details. The moment she lay down, the old woman was absorbed into deep sleep. Beneath the quilt there was no stir of movement. From the outside one might have mistaken her for some inanimate thing, covered with a discarded old blanket and thrown away in a dark corner. Believe firmly—it was the merciful Lord Himself who had designed this illusion.
In the budget it was promised that in the next five years, fifteen million jobs would be created.
 
On the main road of the city stood a two-storeyed, well-decorated house. The front room on the ground floor was being demolished to make way, perhaps, for some kind of garage. On one side of the room lay a heap of bricks and sand. A dog was sleeping upon that pile of sand. But as soon as the dog saw the old woman drift into sleep, its eyes opened, its watchfulness ignited. It barked twice, sharp and furious. By its bearing, one could sense the dog considered itself the true owner of that house. Indeed, in this world only dogs often hold that rare nobility—the instinct to guard someone else’s property as if it were their own.
 
The budget declared: Land would no longer obstruct industrial construction. Acquisition would occur through negotiation. Landowners would be assured of employment.
 
The dog’s barking disturbed the real owner of the house. A middle-aged gentleman, a very polite man, who had been sitting on his sofa watching the news intently. His mind weighed heavy with reports from India and abroad. What is happening? Where is society heading? Politics, crime, criminalization, corruption, decay—the weight of all this darkened his heart. He was convinced: in his youth the world had not been like this. Then the earth had been beautiful—of this he had no doubt. Today’s social philosophies seemed only to harden his faith. Nothing of good did he find in this present age. Hearing the dog, he rose from his sofa and went to the balcony. He saw the dog barking furiously just beneath his house.
 
The budget promised: In days to come, this state will carve out its place upon the industrial map of the world.
 
By then, his elder son, a man in his forties, and his younger son, just past thirty, had come running down the stairs. Opening the inner door, they saw the object covered with cloth. That was what the dog was barking at. Both were startled. What is it? The elder brother, frightened, peered through the half-open door. The younger one stepped closer. The elder warned from behind: “Don’t go near it. You don’t know what it is. Who left it here? Could it be a bomb?”
 
The younger brother advanced one step, retreated two. Night had fallen. It was ten o’clock.
 
The budget proclaimed: A new skywalk would be built. Construction for two years, entirely on government land. No one would be displaced.
 
“Hey! Get up. Who’s sleeping there? I’ll pour water on you, mind it! Get up, go sleep elsewhere!” shouted the younger brother. No response came from the inert bundle. “Bring some hot water, I’ll pour it. Get up!” he kept on repeating. Still there was no answer. Again and again he shouted. At that hour the street was deserted; his voice rang out with echoes, loud enough to wake even the deepest sleeper.
 
The budget announced: From the coming fiscal year, nine hundred thousand students each year would receive stipends under a scheme named Dreams of the Youth.
 
The younger brother stepped back, whispering, “Could it be a corpse?” Now both were truly alarmed. The elder ran quickly up the stairs to inform their father. The gentleman grew concerned, muttered, “Should we call the police? There must be some emergency number.” Just then the younger shouted again from below:
“Dada! Come down.”
 
The elder descended to find his younger brother holding a long stick, saying, “Come with me, let’s see. I think someone’s lying here under a quilt.”
 
The budget declared: Part-time teachers’ salaries to rise by three percent annually, and at retirement age of sixty they will receive a one-time allowance of two lakh rupees.
 
The two brothers opened the door carefully and entered the dark room. The younger brother, summoning courage, poked the bundle once with his stick—just a light jab in the middle. No movement. He poked three more times, front and back. Still no response.
“Is it a dead body? This is going to be a police case now. What a nuisance! If it’s alive, it would respond to the stick. Only God knows: without life in the body, a thing becomes pure matter.” Now the younger struck with greater force.
 
The budget declared: All road tax waived for passenger vehicles henceforth.
 
Yet still the object did not stir. The elder said: “Use the stick to pull the quilt aside. Let’s see what’s inside.”
 
The younger dragged the stick across the bundle. A clump of white hair appeared. An old woman was sleeping. The cold wind brushed her ear, making her stir slightly.
“A beggar woman, sleeping. Leave her. By morning she’ll be gone,” said the elder.
Understanding what it was, courage returned to the younger brother. His energy rose.
“No, no—that won’t do. What if she dies here tonight? In the morning, think of the mess! Police must be called, the corpse disposed. Endless trouble. We’ll be trapped. Better we chase her off right now. I told you before—if we had closed this place with a shutter, this wouldn’t have happened.”
 
The budget proclaimed: “At the door of government, and in every neighborhood, the grievance-resolution program will be held twice a year.”
 
“Hey, aunty! Get up. You cannot sleep here. Go to the other side of the road,” shouted the younger brother.
 
But the old woman did not move. She lay as before, as if someone had dared to trespass upon her rightful dominion.
 
The younger grew harsher. “I’ll beat you with this stick, do you hear? Get up! Stop pretending. There’s so much space on the road—go there. Why lie here?” He pressed the stick against her waist and pushed forcefully.
 
At last, she sat up. In the darkness her eyes were not visible, but it seemed she stared out with a hollow, vacant gaze.
 
“You’ll move or shall I strike you once?”
 
The old woman rose slowly, her lips bending into a crooked smile. Wrapping the quilt around her body, she charged towards the barking dog outside. She bent, snatched up a brick from the pavement, and hurled it at the animal. Then she crossed the road and went over to the opposite footpath.
 
The budget announced: A new scheme titled ‘Matri Vandana’—to provide loans to self-help groups under a banner of worshipping the mother.
 
The younger brother lingered on the street, watching.
 
“She’ll come back soon enough,” said the elder. “The cold is strong tonight. Inside here the wind doesn’t blow as harsh. Maybe she only wanted some warmth.”
 
The younger replied, “I’ll check later tonight, once or twice, to see if she returns. If she does, I’ll throw hot water on her. There’s so much space on the street. Why come lie here inside? Who knows what she’s plotting.”
 
The budget promised: For Scheduled Castes and Tribes, the state will build one hundred new English-medium schools.
 
Up on the balcony, the elderly gentleman had been watching the entire scene unfold. Across the road, on the steps of a shuttered shop, the old woman now sat. The steps were small, so she could not lie down. She sat upright, quilt wrapped tightly around body and head. No one could tell whether her eyes were open or closed. Wind gusted fiercely through the street. The chill of late January reigned.
The man slid the glass shutter of his balcony closed. Then he stood for some time, still watching her. Would she sit the whole night like that?
 
The budget declared: For Scheduled Castes, Tribes, and Indigenous communities, two million houses will be built within five years.
 
Dinner had begun in the house. The children had eaten first, now the adults sat at the table. Entering the dining room, the gentleman said to his wife:
“The old woman is sitting on the shop steps across the street. Should I take her some roti and curry? She’s very old, and the cold is bitter outside.”
 
The elder son, chewing, interrupted: “Don’t cause trouble. Nowadays thieves send beggars into neighborhoods to spy. They observe everything and leave. Later, robbers break in.”
 
The gentleman fell silent. Sitting down at the table, he murmured:
“With the country’s condition as it is, the young have no jobs. What else will they do but steal and rob? Hunger is the greatest calamity. The whole city is overrun with beggars. But who are they? Look—village farmers, driven by stomach’s fire, flooding the city streets. What will become of this country’s future?”
 
The budget declared: Fifty crore rupees will be allocated to give direct financial aid to madrasas that were previously approved but not funded.
 
After dinner the gentleman returned to the balcony. The old woman sat exactly as before. Now four or five street dogs had gathered near her, as though some pact had been formed. They dragged scraps from roadside food stalls to feast. Among them were pedigreed house-dogs, released by their owners after ten o’clock each night. They frolicked with the strays before returning home.
 
At midnight a young man arrived, as always, to carry his dog back in his arms. As he left, he glanced at the old woman. Then, with the animal nestled against his chest, disappeared into the night.
 
The budget emphasized: Special allocation for roads, rural paths, the Pathshree scheme, and other infrastructure projects.
 
Morning broke. The gentleman awoke, went to the bathroom, then leaned from the balcony. The old woman was still there. Same posture. Is it possible for anyone to sit awake the whole night like that? Why not? Anything is possible. Still the quilt was wrapped around her body. Her head was clearly visible. People and vehicles streamed past on the road. The old woman’s vacant eyes stared into the city.
 
“Baba, take your tea,” called his elder daughter-in-law.
 
He carried his cup and biscuits back to the balcony. Peering down, he was astonished—she was gone. Simply vanished. He looked up and down the street. Nowhere could she be seen.
 
The budget declared: In healthcare, especially under the Swasthya Sathi scheme, funding will be increased in several treatment areas.
 
He picked up the morning newspaper. Like all healthy men, he forgot the old woman’s matter within ten or fifteen minutes. Out of sight, out of mind—so God has made man’s heart.
 
The elder son came to the balcony and asked: “Was there any new benefit for us in the budget? With all the tax we pay! The government would tax away the whole income of the middle class if it could.”
 
Sipping his tea, the gentleman raised his eyes from the paper:
“For the middle class, nothing. Who cares for the middle class? Everything is alms and charity for the poor.”