Chapter 2 – Hunger in His Eyes...
The nights in Sanjay’s town were never quiet. Even after the market shut down and the lanterns faded, echoes of barking dogs, rattling bicycle chains, and coughing neighbors slipped through the thin brick walls. But for Sanjay, the loudest sound was always the growl in his stomach.
He lay on the rough cot beside his younger sister, Meera. Her breathing was slow and peaceful, her lips shining faintly from the oil their mother had rubbed to keep them from cracking in the winter air. Sanjay’s own lips were dry. His stomach twisted, reminding him that he had given half his portion of lentils to her during dinner.
He whispered to himself in the dark, barely moving his lips:
“One day… this will not be our life.”
The next morning, as sunlight spilled through the crooked roof, Sanjay sat outside, tying the laces of shoes that were not really shoes anymore—just leather stitched over with thread, the soles peeling at the edges. His father was already gone, pedaling his bicycle to deliver grain. His mother was crouched near the fire, stirring watery porridge.
“Eat quickly, Sanjay,” she said. Her voice was kind but heavy. “Then go help at the bus stand. The shopkeepers said they need a strong boy today.”
Sanjay nodded. He didn’t feel strong. He felt hollow. But he picked up the steel bowl and finished the porridge in three quick gulps.
At the bus stand, the air was thick with smoke, sweat, and the cries of conductors calling out destinations. Sanjay pushed through the crowd, offering to carry bags. His thin arms strained under the weight of travelers’ suitcases, but he didn’t stop. Each bag carried meant one more rupee, and each rupee meant one step closer to the life he dreamed about.
By noon, sweat soaked his shirt. He had earned only a handful of coins, jingling in his pocket. His friends from the neighborhood passed by, laughing as they kicked a ball made of rags.
“Come, Sanjay!” one of them called. “Leave this boring work.”
Sanjay shook his head. “You play. I have work.”
They laughed at him. But Sanjay didn’t mind. Their laughter could not fill his sister’s stomach, nor repair the cracks in his mother’s hands.
That evening, he returned home with coins pressed tightly in his fist. His mother opened the door, her face pale with worry.
“Why are you so late?” she asked.
Sanjay opened his hand. The coins gleamed faintly in the lamp’s glow. “For Meera’s books,” he said softly.
His mother’s eyes filled. She touched his hair, whispering words he almost couldn’t hear: “You are too young to carry the weight of this house, Sanjay.”
But he only smiled, though his shoulders ached as if the whole world had been placed on them.
Late that night, when the rest of the house slept, Sanjay sat alone under the moonlight with his small box of savings. He counted the coins slowly—thirty-six rupees. He arranged them in neat rows on the ground, polishing them with the corner of his torn shirt until they sparkled.
To anyone else, they were worthless coins. To Sanjay, they were proof. Proof that he could fight hunger. Proof that he could build something with his own hands.
His eyes burned from exhaustion, but his heart whispered louder than ever:
“I will not live like this forever. I will not.”
And though the night was cold, a strange warmth spread through his chest. A hunger that food could never cure. A hunger for more—for dignity, for freedom, for a life where his mother’s eyes no longer carried sorrow.
That hunger was not in his stomach anymore.
It was in his eyes.
And it would never leave him.
✨ End of Chapter 2 ✨
