Their enquiries next morning failed to identify the mother. The village policeman advised Kumar to look after the baby till the mother was found. She never was found. Kumar brought up Bholu as his own son. But he never legally adopted him. The village admired Kumar for the care with which he looked after the infant.
Years passed. Kumar retired. He fell on hard times. But he spent his savings on Bholu’s education. As he grew up, Bholu learnt from neighbours and other children how he had been found. He often wondered about his real parents. But he fiercely loved the Kumars. He studied hard, knowing how much his adopted father had sacrificed to educate him. He became a good student.
For higher studies, he sought admission in a prestigious institution in the city. Kumar was of backward caste. Despite fierce competition, Bholu was confident he would get admission in the reservation quota. He wasn’t nervous as he stood before the three-man selection board. The selection committee members studied his CV. That year, the competition was uncommonly tough. Bholu was the last to be interviewed that day. Already it was late evening.
The chairman’s eyes lit up as he studied Bholu’s record. Then the member on his right leaned over and pointed out something in the CV. All three members went into a huddle and started to whisper animatedly.
Finally, the chairman cleared his throat and said: "Bholu, you have applied under the reservation quota!"
"That’s right, sir."
"Bholu you know how difficult admissions are this year," the chairman said kindly. "We have to put you in the general list. I’m afraid you may not get through. Your father never legally adopted you. How do we know you are backward? We don’t know your real caste!"
Bholu stood stunned. He shuffled his feet. The chairman looked up. "Well, don’t just stand there! You want to say something?"
"Well, yes," Bholu blurted. "You think I could get the bus fare to go back to my village?"
(Puri can be reached at rajinderpuri2000@yahoo.com)
