A flower vendor

Parvathy alighted from the train at the railway station around 6:00 PM. In the city, she works as a bank official and is going back to the hostel. It was very crowded. There were railway porters, people rushing about in search of compartments, beggars, and vendors selling tea, coffee, food packets, magazines, and other items. She was one of them.

Hearing the newspaper vendor's call for "hot news," she glanced lazily at the newspaper in the stand. A girl has been raped somewhere... Is not that something that happens every day? What's the hot news in that? She ran to the flyover after giving it some thought. She jumped two or three steps at a time, like a trainee, and arrived at the road before the other travelers, her face wearing a triumphant expression.

The hostel was only a kilometer away. She heard a call from behind her as she was moving through the street lamp's light.

"Madam, do you want fresh jasmine? I have Kanakambaram Malai (Crossandra Red) as well.

A little older than twelve, he was a young boy. His eyes shone brightly and his face was very lively. He was holding two small bundles of flowers.What time would this flower-selling boy, who works at this hour of the night, return home?  With whom would he be at home? Parvathy stood thinking about him in a wild and inquisitive way.

"Please, ma'am, take two malai strings. Just thirty rupees will do.

"Since I do not usually tie flowers on my head when I leave for the office or another location, what should I do after purchasing the flower?" However, I placed a tender hand on his shoulder and inquired:

"What's your name, my boy?"

"Mahesh," he said his name.

"Where is your house?

 "It is behind the Hanuman temple, madam. Will you not take the flower from me?”

 "Mahesh, why aren't you going home even after it's dark? Are you studying?'

"Yes, I am in the sixth grade and studying. How many flower strips do you need?

"No, even if it were purchased, I would not use it. Give it to someone else." She brushed him aside and walked quickly.

"Mam, my sister and my ailing mother are the only ones at home. For a long time, Father has abandoned us. My sister and I have until tomorrow to pay our school fees. Another fifty rupees is what I need. Only then can I go home.”

Parvathy felt guilty, engaging him in talking, and was surprised by his sense of responsibility at such a young age.

She took fifty rupees from her bag and gave it to him.

"Go home, Mahesh, it is all dark already."  And she walked away.

"Flowers, mam," he said, reaching out.

Keep it with you, Mahesh, or give it to someone else.

That night, she was unable to sleep. The agony of her own childhood, fueled by responsibility, consumed her thoughts.

The following day, she noticed a sign indicating that the Water Authority had closed the regular road for some repairs while she was making her way to the station. To get to the station, she must take a detour via Temple Road.

Parvathy inquired of a woman sweeping the Temple Road neighborhood out of curiosity.

"The young boy selling flowers—is that Mahesh's house?"

 "That has to be Durai, Murugan's son.  Every evening, he visits the area around the train station with books, magazines, and stationery. Vasudha, his younger sister, goes with him to sell flowers. There is no Mahesh by name in this area.

His mother can be seen standing close to her residence. If you want to see your father, just go to the shop and look."

Somewhere, the calculations are incorrect. Who is lying? 

When Parvathy entered the house, they became suspicious. His mother looked at her questioningly.  "You came to see Durai."

"You came to see Durai. Do you need to buy your kids some books?"

"No. I just want to see him."

Looking at the thatched house inside, she yelled, "Oh, Durai," loudly.

He came running as if he had lit a fire. Was he taken aback upon seeing her?

"This is the home of Durai, is it? I thought of buying some notebooks on my way to the station. Where is your father?"  Seeing his anger, she asked.

"Oh, he arrives late, heavily drunk.  A man who does not give a damn about the house... This young boy is in charge of his younger sister and all domestic duties."

She turned back to cross the road. Upon her crossing the street, Durai hurried to meet her. 

Choking, he spoke in a low tone. "Madam, I am sorry. To make the sale, I made up the story that my father had abandoned us for a long time. I also brought flowers yesterday to sell because my sister is sick. Here's your fifty rupees."  Extending his hand, he continued. 

Parvathy patted him on the cheek, unable to control his words, and said, "You keep that... but why did you change your name?"

 She also gave him 500 rupees so he could buy a few things, whether they were necessary or not.

Looking at the saffron flag flying over Temple Tower, Durai was at a loss for words.