Newspapers reported it a few years ago.
A family of poor migrants went to Sangli. They found a comparatively deserted spot and put up a small hut there. Next day, mother and daughter in the family went to the river bank to wash clothes. Men in the family had gone in search of work. The son, hardly 11 or 12 years old, wandered a little away from them, found a nice spot and put his feet in water there. So much water was undreamt of luxury to them.
Suddenly a big crocodile sprang up and pulled the boy in the water with half his body in its fearsome jaw. The boy, the mother and daughter cried and shouted. The croc kept coming back to the bank and it flogged the body of the boy repeatedly. Only after some time, the croc's fury abated and it withdrew.
The horrified women ran and brought some nearby people with them. The boy was dead and his corpse had vanished. They were told that there were crocodiles in the river; it was their mating, breeding time and they were awfully aggressive during this period.
What misfortune! What an end to an upcoming, innocent young man!
Have I ever pondered over this aspect of poverty? Migration is necessary as your own place cannot support you. Some word of mouth from known persons takes you to a strange place. You know nobody there. Everything is alien. The place, topography, seasons, daily temperatures - nothing is known to you. You have no money, no contacts. You will just get by and eke out a living. Or you won't because of accidents like this one.
The news may or may not reach others. In any case, how much time will be given to the death - howsoever gruesome - of a stranger?
Everything is stacked against the poor.
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