Sep 27, 2005
The Brahmaputra, where it flows through Bangladesh is more like a lake than a river. Well over a mile wide, its muddy waters stretch like an ocean of warm milky tea as far as the eye can see, and its swampy borders lie so flat that it is impossible to make out the further bank, even when standing on the deck of the car ferry that plies across it. Sundry punts, skiffs, tugs and ancient dhows ply its murky surface, but there is plenty of room for everyone.
The High Commission in Delhi had hired a nice new station wagon for us so we sat in it in comparative luxury as we crossed aboard the car ferry, while hawkers and merchants and truckies and kids milled around on the deck outside. One of the kids was a little girl of about eight, with short wavy hair and round bright black eyes like two optimistic shoe buttons. She was clad in the threadbare remains of a cotton frock, scarcely enough to cover her. It may have been blue once, or even floral, but it had been washed and rinsed until the colour had long since gone from it, and it had achieved that nondescript grey that characterises the poor of the East, and blends so well with the mildewed surfaces of their walls and buildings. She had found a piece of rag, possibly even a fragment that had detached itself from her own garment. As I watched she dipped it in the river and set about washing our vehicle. Nobody took any notice of her but she went about the task methodically, rinsing the rag frequently and working systematically from one end of the car to the other, until, by the time we were a little more than half way across, the car was looking quite smart, especially by comparison with the various beat-up trucks, ox carts and hand barrows that formed most of the cargo.
I thought she had done a pretty good job. If one of my kids at home had washed our car I reckoned I would have given him fifty cents for it, so, not having any change on me at the time, I scrounged a few rupees off John Hayes, probably about twenty cents worth, and handed it through the window to the little girl. She hadn’t asked for it, but I thought she had earned it. She thanked me with a smile, and hurried off to show her glittering treasure to the other kids where they squatted in the shade of the wheelhouse. From their bright eyes and their chatter, you could see they were impressed.
Then she remembered her manners. With all the dignity in the world she got up and walked back to the car, and without a flicker of a smile she held out her little hand through the window and we solemnly shook hands. When it came to worldly goods we had everything and she had nothing, but when it came to dignity and common humanity, where we are all one people, she was ahead of the best of us.