In every corner of the world, poverty denies people the luxury of an easy and enjoyable life. Daily struggles consume their energy as they toil relentlessly to secure shelter and have a meager meal on their tables. If they are fortunate, their children may have the opportunity to attend school, but more often than not, they are forced to work just as hard as their parents. This is the unfortunate reality faced by Krishna, the protagonist of our story.

Krishna finds himself amidst the harsh conditions of an Indian cigarette factory. Despite his young age, he is skilled in his work, aided by his small hands and nimble fingers. While he lacks the ability to read and write, he can count up to one thousand five hundred, which coincidentally matches the number of cigarettes he is required to produce each working day.

In the brief moments before the sunrise, if Krishna manages to awaken early, he indulges in the rare opportunity to play for an hour. However, as the working day stretches into darkness, he is deprived of such simple joys. The demands of his labor leave little room for leisure or the innocence of childhood. Krishna's life is a testament to the relentless cycle of poverty and the sacrifices it extracts from those trapped within its grip.

Audiobook:

Nimble Fingers

Life is never easy for the poor. They have to work long hours just to get a roof over their heads and one meal a day. If their children are lucky, they go to school. If they are not lucky, they have to work.

Krishna, who tells this story, is not lucky. He has to work in a factory making bee dies, a kind of Indian cigarette. He is a good worker, because his young fingers are small and quick and nimble...

I cannot read or write, but I can count, but only up 1500, because that is the number of bee dies that I need to make in a day. My life is easy to explain. If I wake up early, I can play for about one hour, or until the sun begins to light up the eastern sky. For that one hour, I am free - as free as the birds, which sit on the tree outside my home.

My home is a hut with a roof of dried leaves. It is very small, but the three of us can just sleep in it. And I go away really early and come back in the nights, so only my mother and my little sister are there in the day time.

In the nights, it is a bit crowded. When we sleep, my arm is often around little Thangachi, or Amma's thin foot is resting on my leg, but it doesn't matter.

The other day I asked Amma, 'How old am I?'

She counted on her fingers. 'Six.'

Six sounds very small when you think about 1500 bee dies. But Saami, the owner of the factory where I work, always says that I have nimble fingers.

That night, when we were having our meal outside our home, I asked Amma, 'What does "nimble fingers" mean?'

'It means your fingers are like Weaver-Maama's fingers,' she said. 'When your uncle spins his cloth, have you seen how quickly his fingers move, pulling the threads this way and that way?'

I love to watch Weaver-Maama working, and now I am very happy because my fingers are like his.

I asked Amma one more question while we drank our rice soup.

'Why do I have to work with Saami and not with Weaver-Maama?'

This question made Amma unhappy, and when she is unhappy, she hits her head with her open hand. The noise is very loud, and she goes on hitting her head again and again, making a 'pat, pat, pat' sound.

It scares Thangachi and me, arid I can see that the small one is ready to cry. I put my fingers - nimble fingers - on Amma's hands to stop her hitting herself. She takes both my hands in her hand and starts crying into them. I can feel warm tears dropping onto my fingers.

Here I am, happy that I have Weaver-Maama's fingers, and Amma is crying. She looks at the black marks on my hands and the cuts on my finger ends - she kisses my hands, and holds me and Thangachi close to her.

'Amma,' I ask again, 'why can I not work with Weaver-Maama?'

Thangachi is pushing her finger into my back. Her eyes are telling me to stop my questions, but I want to know. If I can make 1500 bee dies in a day, surely I can help Weaver-Maama weave his beautiful cloth?

Amma never answered my question that day, but I just went on asking. I asked the same question every night until the next full moon.

That night Thangachi was already asleep. Amma and I were sitting outside watching fireflies dancing in the moonlight. Amma held me close to her and said:

'Krishna, you have to work all your life with Saami, the bonded labour man. You have to do this to pay back your grandfather's debt. You cannot work for another person because your grandfather has taken 5000 rupees and sold you to Saami. All your life you will have to work for him, in the same way as your father did.'

I look down to the ground, because I do not want

Amma to see the tears in my eyes. I am a brave boy, you see... but suddenly my nimble fingers don't feel so nimble any more.