Biscuit Packet

This sad short story captures the harsh reality of street life through the eyes of Mohan, a 7-year-old beggar. Struggling to feed his family, he faces cruelty, hunger, and heartbreak. A powerful piece of flash fiction that exposes the tragic truth of poverty in our society.

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Mohan, just 7, stood barefoot at the signal, palms outstretched. His lips were cracked. Dust stuck to his skin. His stomach growled louder than the honks. A hundred cars passed. Windows rolled up. Faces turned away.

“Go away!” a man snapped, pushing him back. 

Another tossed a coin near the gutter. He ran for it only to be chased off by a stray dog.

“Chal hat!” yelled a biker, nearly hitting him.

A lady in a saree looked at him with disgust. “Where are your parents? Go work!”

“Beggars everywhere,” someone muttered as he approached.

The sun was unforgiving. His stomach growled, eyes fixated on a boy munching chips inside an AC car. 

By noon, he had ₹3.  A woman at the traffic light gave him ₹2, without looking. He smiled. A samosa’s smell pulled him toward a vendor. He reached out, only to be slapped. His stomach twisted with need, but his mother’s voice echoed in his mind: “First for your brother, then us.”

By evening, he had ₹10. Enough. Enough for the biscuit packet.

The shopkeeper stared, annoyed, but handed him a yellow packet. Mohan clutched it like gold. He ran. Past traffic, past honks, past hunger. His broken house stood silent in the alley.

“Ma! Chotu!” he called, biscuit raised like a trophy. No reply.

Inside, the baby lay still. His mother, pale, foam at her lips. An empty poison bottle nearby. A torn piece of paper beside them: “I’m sorry, beta. I tried.”

Mohan dropped to the floor, one hand still gripping the biscuit.

No tears came. Only silence.

-Luvv A Sanwal