We too are human beings

The second account is by Bama, a Tamil Dalit writer, from her book 'Karukku'. When she was a child in the third class, she took a long time to walk home from school, half an hour or an hour for a ten-minute walk, because the streets were so full of things to watch: performing monkeys, snake charmers, a cyclist who had been riding for days, stalls of snacks, a political meeting.

One day, she saw an elder of her community walking along the street, carrying a small packet of vadais. He held it by its string, not touching the packet, and stretched out in front of him. He walked up to the landlord, who was sitting on the threshing floor, bowed low, and handed him the packet with both hands. Bama thought it was very funny, and wanted to burst out laughing.

At home she told her elder brother, Annan, expecting him to laugh too. He did not. He explained: the man was not being funny. The upper-caste people believe that if a Dalit touches their food, it becomes polluted. That is why the elder had to carry it by the string.

Bama stopped laughing. She felt sad, then angry. How could people treat others like that? 'Weren't we too human beings?' She wanted to go and touch the vadais herself.

Annan told her that because they were born into this community, they were never given honour or dignity. But if they studied and made progress, they could throw away such indignities. So she must study hard. Bama took his words to heart: she studied with all her strength and stood first in her class. Many people became her friends because of it.

Both girls, in different countries, faced the same injustice: being treated as less than human. Zitkala-Sa resisted openly; Bama chose education to break down the walls of caste.