The evidence of conscience - Laila banu

I walked among the morning crowd on a busy road. I turned my head unconsciously. An impulse to turn when someone stared at us for more than a few seconds. There was a man who was looking in our direction. I was on the opposite road and hesitated to cross because of the heavy vehicles. But still, I reached him; he sat by a closed shop with his little daughter, who was in a school uniform. I gave him a notice and explained our walk. He read a few lines and lifted his head. “Good. I have never taken money for a vote. You are walking 450 km?” “Yes, we are. We are asking for a thumb imprint in a white cloth from people who are saying they will not get money for a vote. There are 200 people who gave us their vows. Are you willing? ”. He nodded his head. I turned towards Sibi, who gave notice on the other side. I gestured to him. Suddenly that man said, “Well. There is no need for a thumbprint; I have never gotten money for a vote, that's it.” He spoke slightly louder than before. I stopped Sibi from approaching. “OK. Don't get money for a vote.” As I turned around after crossing the road, he was reading the notice. We walked away.

The afternoons on highways felt heavy. The lonely roads without wandering people and shops. Beyond the road, the clusters of plants and fields made the wind sharp against our faces. My palm clutched the placard; Tharih walked beside me. We stopped to give notice to a construction worker. He was curious; he approached us and took the notice voluntarily. He learned about our campaign and spoke, “There are none who do this. How can you walk 450 km?” His face showed concern as he questioned us about logistics. I asked him about the thumb vow; his hand immediately lowered the notice, which he held straight to his chest. A smile formed on his lips as he laughed lightly, “This... I cannot give a thumb imprint. I will not get money for a vote. You can trust me. But in my home… they will get money without my knowledge. I cannot stop them.” Then I excused myself. Tharih was surprised. “What? He refused?” We continued our walk as I spoke about the refusal we met on this trail.

As we walked to the destination. I gave notice to the retail shop owner. Nearby, an old woman sat in her flower shop. I approached her and gave her a notice. She cannot read, but she got it and asked, “What?” I replied about the honest voting. She said, “I have never gotten money for a vote. Who wants their money?” I explained about the thumb imprints and white cloth; She waved her hand. “Why do you need my thumb imprint?” “Grandma. We are not going to do anything with your thumbprint. There are 200 people who gave the vows.” She still shook her head, “no.” She seemed to be not afraid of the vow but of the symbolism of the thumb imprint. Then I took my leave, saying, “Don’t get money for votes.” 

We walked chasing Nirmal, who had the white cloth and stamp pad. We finally found a cluster of houses. The home that let our bags stay on their cot. That day when we carried our bags for 7 km. We already placed our bags on their cot and were ready to walk again. But I approached the man, who stood outside, and explained the honesty campaign. He nodded his head. “Good.” I said something about the thumb imprints, and before I could finish speaking, he interrupted, “We are not interested.” A clean, sharp refusal, a precise dismissal. Then I said, “Ok, don’t get money for votes.” He nodded his head again.

The mid-morning sun was hidden behind the clouds. The air was thick with the smell of biryani. The entire street had halal non-veg shops. I longingly looked at the steaming interior of the shops and gave notices to the passersby. Suddenly, a man around 55 years old got enthusiastic at my notice. He stood up from his chair, where he sat by a stall. “Good. Where are you from?” “erode.” He continued with an energetic laugh, “I have never taken money for a vote.” Then, as usual, I asked for his thumbprint; his smile reduced. His hands, which patted my shoulders, paused; he thought for a while. “Why is there a need for a thumbprint? I will never get money for a vote.” I continued, “Uncle, around 300 people vowed that they will not take money.” Surprisingly, he spoke again, “Oh, thumbprint then.” He was ready to keep his impression here and there. I called Sibi, who walked 100 meters ahead of me. He returned and spread the cloth. We got his thumbprint. His face had the same smile that he had during my explanation of the honesty voting campaign. Then we took our leave.

The shops were racked at the sides as I walked with Nirmal. I gave notice at a shop and turned around to see him; he stood outside a shop and spread the white cloth. I approached him; a blue shade in the cloth caught my eye. The shop owner’s thumb was stained with the same blue. It was blue, not purple from the stamp pad. I turned to Nirmal. “Why?... Where is the stamp pad?” He answered as he folded the cloth, “Not with us.” I scanned for the blue-colored grease or ink, whatever, in the spare part shop, but I could not find one. I had never seen someone who uses anything to give a thumbprint. As we continued the walk, I turned and looked at that man, who was in his late twenties. He did not look our way; he resumed his work. 

We walked on the main road of some village. Krishnan sir arrived with some people, new faces of Nallor Vattam. They walked fast ahead of us. They are students like us. I walked along with Deepika and Anu at the back. We gave notice to a group of women who were chatting about something. There are around six to seven. We spoke about the honesty of voting… Surprisingly, what I got as a reply was, “Oh. It was good. You are walking for 450 km?” Such a positive response from a women’s group was rare. They were genuinely reading the contents of the notice. I, as usual, explained about the thumbprints… again, unexpectedly, they agreed to give vows. Thankfully, Deepika had the cloth and stamp pad. We got imprints from 5 women; one person slipped away when the white cloth was spread. The others ignored that person and filled her gap naturally. Another person actually stood at the sidelines without the intention of engagement. At last we took our leave.

Hunger started to roll our stomachs as we reached the stay at Sitling. It was already four; we were yet to eat lunch. The buildings are in an old style with silence as the background. It gave the feeling of barefoot college, Tilonia, Rajasthan. My mind calmed down from the alert I was at on the reserve forest roads during the day. As we took our plates to eat, Anu spoke, “Dr. Lalitha would be inside; why don’t we meet her first?” We all accepted it and went inside. We met Lalitha and the workers working there. She immediately arranged a meeting, and we explained about us to them. Their faces contained curiosity and slight smiles. When we asked for thumbprints, all of them gave vows without a second thought. The replay of the scene on the first day where we queued to give the thumb vows. The next morning, we went to the tribal center itself and met Dr. Regi and spoke with him, and then a meeting was arranged outside with some public. There are also people who willed to put their vows except some who only stood at the sides.

Our pace increased as we walked towards school. Where we are to meet the students and explain the honest voting. It was already near four when we reached the school. The students stood at both sides of the road to welcome us. I walked last in the group, but suddenly my friends started to slow down their pace, and each one backed off. At last I was suddenly at the front. “You are the one who holds the placard, so you must go at the front.” Regretfully, I don’t remember who told this to me. I stopped walking. “At least someone walks beside me. Why are you all pushing me to the front? ”. Thankfully Archanaa came to my side; the sound of the claps made me embarrassed. It was not a good feeling to be watched by a group of children. I don't know whether I should laugh or be silent; I tried hard to control my facial expression. A teacher introduced us in English, and Sibi spoke about us before the students and the waiting parents. The faces of the students remained still without expression. The highest class would be ninth standard. They stood there for the sake of standing. When we said we are walking for 450 km, their faces remained comparatively the same. Then I realized that to realize the significance of something, you need a certain level of cognitive framework. But the parents at the sides listened interestedly. At last, the staff in the school queued to give thumbprints on the white cloth. I watched as they came one by one to keep the thumbprint; Nirmal remained skeptical by our side. “Some remained unwilling to give the vow, but they cannot back off, so they gave a thumbprint.” Sibi spoke, “We cannot analyze all for what they are thinking in their mind.” The evening started to dim as we started to walk again.

The white cloth turned into a mirror during these twenty days. There are people who refused, precisely recoiled. Their tone changed from easy going to thoughtful when we asked for thumb imprints. They don't want to give a vow that they may not follow. This means they value the white cloth, the symbol of thumb prints. Here the refusal shows the conflict of what they should be and what they are. If they think it was just a white cloth they would have casually given the imprint without refusing it outright. So, individually people value integrity, but when it comes to collective norm, the distinction between right and wrong blurs. 

There are also people who are afraid of misuse of their thumbprints. Especially the old people.  There is different scenario in group setting. When the group that is willing to give a vow is small, one or two people slip out. When the same group is large, the people, even if they feel uncomfortable, are willing to give a vow. It cannot be taken as they are cheating everyone; it is the social proof. When others keep thumbprints, a will not show he/she has less integrity than them. Here, the conformity not only works in negative context but also in positive context. So the collective expectation of virtue forces the individual to perform integrity?

- Laila banu