“The prize of this is very cheap!
It is a faultless and sinless one!
So fresh and attractive to own!”
Shouted the ‘bidding’ one.
The burning blazing sun above,
The hot dusty sand beneath
Within the empty cramping stomach
My heart melted to watch this sight!
The viewers all gathered around
As the advertiser raised her voice
The sales woman’s eyes widened
With the expectation of a high prize!
“The money she needs so urgent
Is the fare for her to cross the sea
To forget the suffering indeed!
Now, the prize is almost free”
No viewer turned out to be a buyer
Heard I, neither bidding nor bargaining
No movement, not even a whisper,
But the silence, that was straining.
The desperate depressed ‘sales mother’
The tired, unpaid advertiser
The ‘unwrapped’ pearl that she held
Made me wonder if it was real.
Deep in the forest of ‘Jeyapuram’
The widowed refugee woman
Had hardened her heart to sell
The ‘gift of God’, her child!
Though my purse the prize contained
Though I had a womb qualified to be a mother
Though I had a heart with compassion
To own the child I was reluctant!
Should my passion rob her companion?
Should I rob the identity of the infant?
Should I undervalue the prize of the innocent?
I left with heavy heart and with confusion!
The witness of this incident