CHAPTER 1

He was an orphan.

And he had no name. But everyone in the colony called him names. Till the age of two he was â€œthat dirty thingâ€ or simply an â€œitâ€.

Then he was promoted as â€œBoyeeâ€, but it was strictly for calling and not for writing.

Because, the tone of anger blended into it like iron in blood was beyond any writing.

Then, at the age of five, he was re-christened as â€œHeâ€.

Like periodical recharging of a battery.

By the age of six, he was sure that his name was always â€œHeâ€, while others were \'sometimes hees\'.

But on that glorious day, when the leper, whose only happiness was in reminding him of his non-existent parents - to him they never existed -kicked the bucket, something blew out of the hot crematorium floor and stuck to his body like chewed chewing gum. It had the smell of the old, old hag.

It was a name.

Shiva.

â€œYour father is a dead leech now\' she said to him. Spit flew freely from her mouth.

â€œWas it your father? Vasanthi asked him.

â€œI don\'t know,â€ He said twice.

One with his tongue.

The other with a gesture.

Then he felt a sudden sensation of cold and heat together.

â€œEvery male in this colony were his fathers,â€ Roared the hag. â€œAll those stuff sedimented in her dirty body like a rock and one day it split open and he was there.â€

â€œLike shilajit born from rock.â€ Said the beggar-with-a-difference.

He never requested for alms, but commanded the passers by, while sitting on duty.

\'Put something here\'.

â€œYes, yes. Shiva. He is Shiva.â€ The old hag could not hear well.

â€œSo let us call him Shiva,â€ Someone intoned.

â€œYes.â€ She agreed. â€œShiva from the rock, rocky, donkey, back, ha, ha, ha, hag.â€

But he was thrilled.

Like a sword inside a sheath, smelling fencing.

Because, now he had a name as his own.

As a private property.

With a right to prosecute any trespasser.

Shiva.

But he knew nothing about the other Shiva.

The god with three eyes.

With serpents as garlands.

The eternal radiance with no beginning, no end.

No this end, no that end, no that that end.

But the above six years old Shiva had a beginning.

However obscure it was.

The beginning was in that beggars\' colony.

Like a beg-inning.

And he had all the ends. Known and unknown. Loose and tight. Perpendicular and horizontal.

Ends of time and space.

Had he also a mother and father?

About a mother, he was sure. Because the co-beggars always spoke about her.

The women with venom on their tongues.

The men with mirth in their mouth, savouring it like thick honey.

And she had a name. But they did not tell it to him.

The women called her bitch.

And the men relished her still as \'the sweet dish\'.

Sweetness flowing as if through a ditch.

And about a father?

Probably there was no father.

Old hag had often said: -â€œHe had only fathers, no father.â€

Like a procession marching forward to plant a single seed.

All fathers of Shiva.

He had nothing of his own so far.

The colony people gave him cooked food, mixed with hatred and fury after snatching all his begged wealth.

And they did not allow him to play with their children.

They were mostly part-time beggars.

Men begged part-time, thieved part-time.

Women begged part-time, tempted part-time and won rarely.

He was the only full time beggar.

The silent man stayed like a saint. When he got enough, he ate and prayed.

And the beggar-with-a-difference also did not do full-time job. He did not steal but slept after getting enough. He always slept under the huge peepul tree in front of the small temple.

He was a philosopher.

â€œAll are beggars,â€ He said to others. â€œSo do not be ashamed. The ministers beg to public. Public beg to the officials. And officials beg to ministers. It is a beggars\' world.â€

The colony was in the narrowest street of the town. They made it their colony after 10\' Clock in the night and demolished it at 5.30 A.M. The laziest and night- busy stayed up to 6 A.M.

After 7 A.M, the Street would convert itself into a market. A confluence of stolen goods and flowers. Sellers and buyers all around.

And sweetmeat shops.

He begged throughout. Got cash. Liquid cash, coins which mingled with other cash and flowed down. Nothing remained with him. It became hard cash elsewhere.

But today he was happy. He had his first identity. A name.

Shiva.

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Adam\'s Sons ( English Novel â€“ Chapter â€“ 1) â€“ By Krishna