The file had returned to me after nearly one and a half months. On the day I had submitted the application to the concerned district officer for the purpose of completing the legal guardianship document, he was attending a meeting at the district headquarters. I had marked that request.
Saila is an orphan girl who is studying in college. She has seven siblings, and their lives are filled with hardships. She had come to collect the file today, accompanied by her younger sister, who is in the twelfth grade. I knew them already because I had been in contact with them for some years through an educational assistance program, and even now, if they need any help, they come to me.
I was quickly reviewing the file when I asked the girl if anyone had asked for money at the education office. She started laughing and said no one had asked for money. But she cast a furtive glance at her younger sister. I was a bit startled, and I swore and asked her to tell the truth, or else I would be disappointed. As I persisted, she became visibly agitated and finally, with tears in her eyes, confessed that they hadn’t taken money, but someone had asked for a native chicken in return to complete the file.
I was greatly surprised and troubled as I thought to myself, “Does the clerk know that these girls are orphans, and yet he asked for a chicken?” With a heavy heart, I completed the file and took it to the officer. As he began reviewing the file, a feather from the chicken emerged suddenly from a crevice in the paper. The officer jokingly remarked, “Why, sir, are you working at a poultry farm instead of completing files?”
I returned home that evening exhausted and burdened, primarily because of this file. When dinner was served, I happened to see that there was chicken on the table at home, but thankfully, it was not a native one.
Today is Judgment Day, and it’s an atmosphere of intense anxiety. People everywhere are immersed in their own thoughts, clutching their records. Angels have handed everyone their own books, some in their right hands and some in their left. I found my book in my left hand. I screamed, protested, and the angel instructed me to open my book. When I nervously opened it, I found the feathers of a native chicken inside. I let out a terrifying scream, and my body was soaked in sweat.
I managed to regain my composure. It was time for the Fajr (dawn) prayer, and the neighbor’s native chicken was calling the Azan.
Note: This is a fictional story for the occasion of “Anti-Corruption Week”
(Author is a columnist and can be reached at: [email protected])
