Sahib had been so kind.

A whole week to spend in my village.

where nothing ever happened.

It stayed just the same.

Minute after minute,

day after day,

Year after year.

But sahib understood why I longed for home.

So he let me go.

Shadows danced in the sunlight,

the water breathed mist,

The mist hugged the trees.

The sky sang songs of love, separation, loss and magnanimity.

Honey dripped from the bee hives.

Little boys stood under the tree,

with their tongues sticking out,

eyes shut,

facing the sky.

That’s where I had met Bala.

She is with child now.

Her smile, so crooked, looking at me, making fun of me,

Whilst I stood in sweet protest

Waiting for just one drop of honey.

She married me when I had nothing.

No money, no job, nothing to give her.

She was probably waiting for me,

Her black and gold mangal sutra glinting,

Her kajal smudged, her bindi placed perfectly between her eyes.

I sat on the general class berth,

my bag neatly tucked under the seat.

Seats filled quickly around here.

I read the daily newspaper,

Sahib had taught me to read.

I earned extra money for reading to sahib’s blind grandfather.

He slipped me kheer now and then.

I told stories of the big city to the other passengers.

Bomkesh ji was shocked to hear the lyrics of the new songs people blared on their radios.

It disturbed no one in our gully

They slept through anything.

Even while I was talking,

I thought of Bala, her mangal sutra glinting,

Her smudged kajal and her perfectly placed bindi.

She was probably waiting for me.

Sahib had given me a saree for Bala and ma,

Sweets, and small sweaters for my child.

I had bought earrings and other trinkets.

It would be my first gift to her since we pledged holy matrimony.

I imagined the look on her face when she’d see it.

she married me when I had nothing to give her.

But I do now.

The train reached the station,

The engine whistling.

wheels screeching,

Coolies screaming,

Passengers hurrying,

Knees knocking against one another.

People waving at each other with delight.

The joining of parting souls after an eternity.

The sky sang songs of that too.

Waiting till the pushing stopped seemed best.

So I waited.

Hand ducked under the seat, it felt the air.

There was no bag.

No saree, no earrings.

A walk by the river.

The sand is filled with all kinds of rubbish.

Ash from cremated bodies,

Dead fish, Bits of rotting wood broken off from boats,

Rotting piles of garbage,

Crows pecking at it.

I stared at the rippling water,

Feeling like I belonged inside, never to come out.

I had nothing to give anyone.

On my toes,

I was ready to take the leap that would change everything,

A drop of honey fell,

Landing on the tip of my nose.

Oh, Bala!

Her crooked smile.

Her laugh.

Her mangal sutra glinting,

Her smudged kajal and bindi placed perfectly between her eyes.

She was with child now.

Fists clenched, shoulders stooped,

Dragging feet,

sweat dripping from my beard,

I headed home.

The sky, haunted by a deepening gloom,

sang of disappointment.

It had all stayed the same.

shadows danced in the sunlight,

the water breathed mist,

The mist hugged the trees.

The sky sang songs of love, separation, loss and disappointment.

Honey dripped from the bee hives.

Bala was waiting for me,

Her mangal sutra glinting, her kajal smudged,

Her bindi placed perfectly between her eyes.

In the village where nothing changes,

Minute after minute, day after day,

Year after year.

Indeed nothing had changed.

I had nothing to give her then,

I have nothing to give her now.

Perhaps the man needed it more than I.

Perhaps there is justice in the world.

Perhaps one day the sky would sing for me, the harbinger of joy.

Perhaps.