Academic journal article TriQuarterly

Bazaar Scene

Academic journal article TriQuarterly

Bazaar Scene

Article excerpt

"Where did you get the mango?" the mother asked the excited three-year-old, taking the soft fruit into her palm, knowing exactly where it came from, eyeing the rotting pulp already staining her fingers. It was a time of jubilation for the chariot festival. Indifferently I watched the little pig-tailed girl running down the road with a solitary mango she had stolen from the vendor's basket, and given to her crippled brother slumped on the roadside. The child looked so undernourished his large eyes seemed ready to weep. The golden weight of the piles of mangoes on sale in the marketplace points to that voice in us everyone knows, a land of fluctuating shadow and sunlight trapped in the roots of that mango tree, a voice that is silent, fighting the poverty of fate. A light rain suddenly wets the monsoon air. A quiet movement seems to follow the running feet of the girl whose silence keeps growing inside her. …

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