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hadn’t moved more than a few hundred yards when a woman cried out from the back of the bus. “Choori ho gaii!” (I’ve been robbed!) “My money is gone. Ay Bhagwan.” Then a chorus of similar shrieks came from different directions in the bus. “Someone untied the edge of my sari where I had my money hidden. Ay Bhagwan. He took it all!” Roshan turned to me and said, “Pickpockets. The thieves hid themselves in the crowd and took all their money.” I reached into my pocket again to check on my wallet. Whew! It was still there. I felt relieved to know I was on my way back to River Town, cleansed of all sins and still in possession of my wallet!

A M EASURE OF H ONOR

    D URING THE WEEKS FOLLOWING MY RETURN from the sacred ponds of water and shrines associated with the epic Mahabharat, I turned my attention to the many local shrines and temples in River Town. The sacred boundary of the town, as mentioned before, was marked by the original tree stump that symbolized Shiva’s miraculous regeneration at the time of the town’s origin. The temple there (Gauri Shankar Mandar), was located at the northwest entrance to the town. In addition, the northern entrance to town was marked by a temple devoted to the goddess Kali. At the eastern boundary of the town was the Hanuman temple, honoring the monkey god Hanuman, who helped Rama obtain victory over the evil Ravana (and whose army still ruled the rooftops in River Town!) And the southern entrance to the town was marked by the “River Pond” temple, the source of the underground connection to the Ganges River as well as the source of the name “River Town” itself.
    Sacred places overflowed within the inner sanctums of town, where merchant families negotiated with their gods and goddesses with much the same intensity they applied to their account books, their zinc and copper, their brass pots and pans and their relatives in blood and marriage. They negotiated with them because the ability to command them, care for them, feed them and build temples to honor them was a measure of their own izzat (honor, prestige in the eyes of the community). Among the merchant families, the alloy of commerce and religion, worldliness and otherworldliness, were two sides of the same coin. The elaboration of wealth was accompanied by the elaboration of gods and goddesses and the temples to house them. The search for izzat was reflected in the proliferation of over thirty temples crowded within the narrow lanes of River Town and sustained by the otherwise ordinary looking men in caps and dhotis armed with account books, ledgers and balance scales, sitting cross legged in their shops, forever weighing their izzat.

T AMASHA

    L ATE IN WINTER , Kaga arrive with her usual fanfare, swishing her broom around and acting tough. “My daughter is getting married,” she hissed in my direction. “That’s good news,” I replied. Kaga continued to sweep the drain. “She’s marrying a boy from Rampur village.” Kaga fell silent for a moment “His family is poor. If we had money, we could arrange a good marriage for my daughter—like the Lallajis (merchants) do.” Kaga went on to tell me that her daughter was marrying into a bad family, that her daughter’s mother-in-law would treat her poorly. “When she goes off to live in her husband’s village, I will miss her.” Kaga picked up her basket and slipped out the side door.
    A week later, there was a tamasha (a loud commotion) at the entrance to our house in the bazaar. Drums were beating and a brass band, sadly out of tune, played joyfully out front. We all rushed out to watch as a musician beat the double ended dholak strung across his shoulder, his eyes wide open, as if in a trance. Behind him were several men in khaki trousers, shirts and hats askew, making noise on their trumpets and bugles. All of a sudden, Kaga appeared, twirling around in a wild