On the eve of Independence Day last year, two young boys from the Dhangar (shepherd) tribe settled in my village Mhaswad, in western Maharashtra, made me experience the uplifting feeling of freedom anew. A few days before August 15 this year, six-year-old Barkya and eight-year-old Balya, known as the inseparable brothers, got separated due to circumstances arising from poverty and hunger.
Both of them were part of the sports programme I run in the village for children, especially girls. The idea being that they get to play different kinds of sports and eat healthy food. In fact, it was the post-workout diet of bananas, eggs, almonds and peanuts that drew Barkya and Balya to the wrestling pit. After helping their grandparents herd the goats during the day, they would come to the sports ground in the evenings, brimming with liveliness.
Balya going through the paces at the sports facility. Photo: Prabhat Sinha
Life had always been tough for their family, as it was for most people from their community, who were eking a livelihood through rearing goats and daily wage labour. But the impact of the prolonged pandemic has been particularly harsh. When Barkya and Balya’s mother couldn’t sell her goats as the market was closed due to the pandemic lockdown, she thought about moving to the Karad region (in Maharashtra) to work in the sugar-cane fields. What made up her mind was the Rs 200 she would get daily.
She decided to take her elder son Balya with her to help her in cutting the sugarcane, which is physically very taxing. Barkya was told he would stay back with his grandparents and assist them with the goats.
The news was devastating for the brothers. They cried their hearts out. During the Independence Day celebrations that we held in the sports ground, not even the prospect of having his favourite sweet ‘jalebi’ could elicit a smile from Barkya.
Barkya (back) and Balya (front) in 2021. Photo: Prabhat Sinha
I couldn’t but remember how it was last year. In the misty weather of August 14, 2020, as usual I left for the playground where I coach the young wrestlers and track and field athletes of Mann Deshi Champions in the evening. As I parked my car, I saw Barkya and Balya racing down the hill on their colourful lime green bicycles.
I had gifted them the bicycles a week before. I remember Barkya’s exact words then: “I will ride this bicycle very fast; at 100 speed my hair will fly in the wind.” In reality, Barkya doesn’t have long hair! Nevertheless, his excitement delighted me. His imagination inspired me. In the days that followed, Barkya and Balya rode their bikes everywhere — even to the toilet!
As I started walking towards the playground, I saw the brothers rushing towards me at “100-speed”. I realised the reason behind their great rush when they said, “We heard that sweets will be distributed tomorrow. Will there be jalebi?”
Barkya: the boy and the bicycle. Photo: Prabhat Sinha
When I said yes, they beamed. To make sure they had heard correctly, they asked me again. When they got the same answer, Barkya said, “Then get me two, wait, get me five,” thrusting out his open palm, five fingers spread wide, to ensure that I had received the message. I laughed as they both ran towards the wrestling akhada.
I knew that the pandemic had affected the livelihoods of the nomadic tribes in our area, which generally work as daily wage labour. With work drying up, Barkya and Balya’s family was also in a tight spot. I assured Barkya, “You boys will get your jalebis tomorrow!”
Then, as their eyes brimmed with happiness, I said, “Under one condition. You have to answer one question: What is the occasion tomorrow?”
Balya spoke first: “Probably someone’s birthday.”
I said, “Let’s try harder. What is the name of our country?”
“Megacity,” they promptly replied.
Barkya: dreaming about jalebi. Photo: Prabhat Sinha
Megacity is a locality just outside Mhaswad village, with about 50 houses. It is also where the Mann Deshi Champions sports facility is located. Next to it is the one-room structure where Barkya and Balya’s family lives. It is a temporary dwelling, given by the farmer for whom the boys’ grandfather works as a daily wage labourer.
Then Barkya had another brainwave. He said, “No, wait, wait, I think it’s Palwan.” Palwan, I realised, was where their maternal uncle lives.
Before I could begin to explain our country’s history, their mother came to call them — they were needed to help with the goats. I was somewhat taken aback when I saw her, she could not have been more than 20, which meant she must have been around 14 when she had Balya, her first child.
Two decades into the 21st century, I was meeting children like Balya and Barkya, who had never gone to school; who had, prior to joining the sports programme, never worn shoes or ridden a bicycle before; and whose mother was married at 13 or 14. Later I found out that there were many like them whose mothers were married at that age.
The flag hoisting ceremony the following morning was an inspirational event for me. The thought of Barkya and Balya’s irrepressible spirits against all odds, brought a lump to my throat and made me feel so proud of them. Even the act of eating jalebis in their company was infused with high cheer!
Barkya and Balya at the flag hoisting ceremony on August 15, 2020.
Photo: Prabhat Sinha
This year, too, we had a flag hoisting ceremony followed by jalebis. India’s best ever performance at the Tokyo Olympics added a lustre to the occasion, especially for those involved in sports. But, at the same time, seeing Barkya’s small face – even the jalebis did not lift his spirits – I felt a pang.
In the lives of many of us, Independence Day comes and goes, we take it for granted. It is precisely for that reason that August 15, 2020, marked by Barkya’s and Balya’s first ride of freedom, and August 15, 2021, defined by the fragility of their existence, will remain with me forever.
The two youngsters brought me face to face with a larger reality of citizens at the margins who are let down by “their own” system and society repeatedly and are yet to experience what it means to be independent citizens of a free country.
The memory of Barkya and Balya’s thousand-watt smile as they rode their bicycles, feeling as free as the wind rippling through their hair, is a reminder of the true meaning of independence. And that independence needs to be protected at all costs.
Prabhat Sinha, a former athlete, is a sports agent and a honey hunter. He runs a sports programme for rural and tribal children of Maharashtra, Manndeshi champions, and hopes that his proteges will represent India in the 2024 Paris Olympics