mother to show herself, but maybe that is impossible, so he tells her to arrange the stars in such a way that the name of his father will be revealed, for if Chamdi is to find one man in this city of a thousand-thousand-thousand people, then the least the heavens can do is reveal his father’s name.
FIVE.
The street comes to life early in the morning. Crows sit in the trees and atop roofs and wake Chamdi. He is surprised to find that a lot of people sleep on the streets. A young man yawns and stretches as he lies on a handcart. He sits up, runs his fingers through his hair, and opens his eyes wide. Two men pass him by with small buckets of water in their hands. They smile at each other as though one of them has cracked a joke. A man dressed in khaki shorts uses a long broom to sweep the garbage that has collected on the footpath. An old woman sits on her haunches and brushes her teeth with her fingers. There isa thick black paste around her lips and she pours water into her mouth from a blue-and-white-striped mug and spits onto the street. She does so in front of the sweeper and does not seem to care that he has just cleaned that part of the footpath. A bald man in white robes walks barefoot across the street. He holds a steel cup with a long handle in one hand and carries loose marigolds in the other. From the red tikka on his forehead, Chamdi can tell that the man is on his way to the temple.
Chamdi hears Guddi clear her throat. She spits on the street too, just like the old woman. Guddi’s face looks dirtier than it did last night, but her cheeks are surprisingly full. Chamdi notices that she went to sleep with her orange bangles on. The brown dress she wears has small holes in it, and she wipes her hands on the dress, uses it as a towel.
“Look at him,” says Guddi. “He went to sleep with his scarf on. I told you he’s a complete idiot.”
“Let him be,” says Sumdi.
Sumdi must have been the first to rise, thinks Chamdi. He seems wide awake. He opens a rusty tin can and picks a matchbox from it. He lights a fire on a small kerosene stove and places a steelbowl on it. It is hard for Chamdi to take his eyes off the scar on Sumdi’s face. It is deep and jagged, as though the skin had been torn apart. Chamdi wonders how Sumdi lost part of his right ear. If they sleep on the street, maybe a rat bit it off. Chamdi is grateful that this thought did not come to him last night. He tries not to stare at the ear.
“You want tea?” Sumdi asks.
“Will you stop feeding him and make him do some work?” shouts Guddi.
Chamdi looks inside the kholi and is surprised to find Amma there. She is mumbling to herself again, but she is not still like she was last night. She moves her body back and forth with the child in her lap. The child’s belly is swollen.
“What’s she doing here?” asks Chamdi.
“Why is that bothering you?” asks Guddi.
“I did not mean it badly,” says Chamdi.
But he does not explain that he is surprised to see Amma in the kholi because it seemed as though Sumdi did not care much about her last night.
“Where can I go?” asks Chamdi instead. He directs his question at Sumdi and does not meet Guddi’s eyes.
“For what?”
“You know,” he says, awkwardly.
“But all you had last night was a slice of bread,” says Guddi. She seems to have picked up Chamdi’s meaning faster than her brother. “So were you lying to us about being hungry?”
“Pick your spot,” says Sumdi. “Do it anywhere you want.”
“What if someone sees me?”
“Ask them not to take a photo,” says Guddi.
Sumdi and Guddi laugh. “And you expect us to believe that you have lived on the streets,” says Sumdi.
“No, it’s just that …”
“Come with me,” says Sumdi.
He leads Chamdi about fifty feet away to three broken steps. One pillar stands in a corner with rusty iron rods sticking out of it. Slabs of stone are strewn all over the ground.
“This building got burnt,” says Sumdi. “Only
FIVE.
The street comes to life early in the morning. Crows sit in the trees and atop roofs and wake Chamdi. He is surprised to find that a lot of people sleep on the streets. A young man yawns and stretches as he lies on a handcart. He sits up, runs his fingers through his hair, and opens his eyes wide. Two men pass him by with small buckets of water in their hands. They smile at each other as though one of them has cracked a joke. A man dressed in khaki shorts uses a long broom to sweep the garbage that has collected on the footpath. An old woman sits on her haunches and brushes her teeth with her fingers. There isa thick black paste around her lips and she pours water into her mouth from a blue-and-white-striped mug and spits onto the street. She does so in front of the sweeper and does not seem to care that he has just cleaned that part of the footpath. A bald man in white robes walks barefoot across the street. He holds a steel cup with a long handle in one hand and carries loose marigolds in the other. From the red tikka on his forehead, Chamdi can tell that the man is on his way to the temple.
Chamdi hears Guddi clear her throat. She spits on the street too, just like the old woman. Guddi’s face looks dirtier than it did last night, but her cheeks are surprisingly full. Chamdi notices that she went to sleep with her orange bangles on. The brown dress she wears has small holes in it, and she wipes her hands on the dress, uses it as a towel.
“Look at him,” says Guddi. “He went to sleep with his scarf on. I told you he’s a complete idiot.”
“Let him be,” says Sumdi.
Sumdi must have been the first to rise, thinks Chamdi. He seems wide awake. He opens a rusty tin can and picks a matchbox from it. He lights a fire on a small kerosene stove and places a steelbowl on it. It is hard for Chamdi to take his eyes off the scar on Sumdi’s face. It is deep and jagged, as though the skin had been torn apart. Chamdi wonders how Sumdi lost part of his right ear. If they sleep on the street, maybe a rat bit it off. Chamdi is grateful that this thought did not come to him last night. He tries not to stare at the ear.
“You want tea?” Sumdi asks.
“Will you stop feeding him and make him do some work?” shouts Guddi.
Chamdi looks inside the kholi and is surprised to find Amma there. She is mumbling to herself again, but she is not still like she was last night. She moves her body back and forth with the child in her lap. The child’s belly is swollen.
“What’s she doing here?” asks Chamdi.
“Why is that bothering you?” asks Guddi.
“I did not mean it badly,” says Chamdi.
But he does not explain that he is surprised to see Amma in the kholi because it seemed as though Sumdi did not care much about her last night.
“Where can I go?” asks Chamdi instead. He directs his question at Sumdi and does not meet Guddi’s eyes.
“For what?”
“You know,” he says, awkwardly.
“But all you had last night was a slice of bread,” says Guddi. She seems to have picked up Chamdi’s meaning faster than her brother. “So were you lying to us about being hungry?”
“Pick your spot,” says Sumdi. “Do it anywhere you want.”
“What if someone sees me?”
“Ask them not to take a photo,” says Guddi.
Sumdi and Guddi laugh. “And you expect us to believe that you have lived on the streets,” says Sumdi.
“No, it’s just that …”
“Come with me,” says Sumdi.
He leads Chamdi about fifty feet away to three broken steps. One pillar stands in a corner with rusty iron rods sticking out of it. Slabs of stone are strewn all over the ground.
“This building got burnt,” says Sumdi. “Only
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