For a Horseshoe Nail by Amara Bavani Dev

For a Horseshoe Nail by Amara Bavani Dev
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For a Horseshoe Nail by Amara Bavani Dev

For want of a nail, the shoe was lost,

For want of a shoe, the horse was lost.

For want of a horse, the rider was lost,

For want of a rider, the battle was lost,

For want of a battle, the kingdom was lost, And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

Sometimes a small mistake can have terrible results. Raju needs money, but he has no house to sell, no bags of rice, no field of sheep. So what can he sell?

The sun was hot on my face as I put my head out of the red bus moving up the hilly road. I closed my eyes for a moment. The brightness of the colours was hurting them – the rich green rice fields, the bright blue sky and the black road with the heat coming off it in waves.

‘Aandipatti,’ shouted the bus driver, and I got up. My heart lifted proudly as I touched the thick packet of notes I was carrying at my waist.

Thirty thousand rupees! A fortune for a farmworker like me.

I got off the bus and walked to the public toilet, trying not to breathe in the bad smell. I swallowed several times, and hoped I wouldn’t be sick again. It was because of the strong medicines I was taking – no doubt about that. It was nothing that a day’s rest wouldn’t put right.

I bought pink and green halwa from the sweet stall and some beautiful jasmine flowers for my Valli. With the packets of halwa under my arm and the sweet smell of the jasmine in my nose, I walked slowly back home.

For a Horseshoe Nail by Amara Bavani Dev

At first I had not liked the idea, when that lying dog, Velu, suggested giving a kidney.

‘Come on, Raju,’ he said, ‘everyone is doing it now. Why don’t you give your kidney? I’ll get you thirty-five thousand for it. And you can give me five thousand for arranging it. I will take you to big hospital in Bangalore – they’re doing the operation all the time there. It seems they are even taking kidneys from newborn babies and sending them to foreign countries. It is very good business, believe me.’

I did not need any more persuading. Thirty thousand rupees! And so I had gone to Bangalore with Velu, along with five other men from our village, Aandipatti.

‘You too are from Aandipatti?’ the doctor had joked. ‘I think we will soon call it Kidneypatti…

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