Boys without Names (5 page)

“On the day Birbal was ready to ascend to heaven, Akbar took his advisors and the barber to the cemetery. After everyone waved good-bye to Birbal, he walked to his funeral pyre in the distance and climbed up on it. When smoke came out of it Akbar turned to the others. ‘Well, there goes my friend, and I will miss him greatly. But my ancestors will be happy.'

“The barber bowed deeply. ‘They will be,
Shahanshah
!'

“Two months went by and no one mentioned Birbal. One evening in the court the guards announced that Birbal had come from heaven to visit them.

“Everyone's faces were shadowed with a dark cloud except Akbar's; his brightened with delight. ‘Let him come in, let him come in,' he said, getting up from his throne to greet his dear friend.

“Akbar asked Birbal about his father and mother, about his grandfather and other family members. ‘They are all well, except for one thing,' Birbal said.

“Akbar asked, ‘Tell me, what do they need?'

“Birbal stroked his beard. ‘As you can see, they don't have a barber there.'

“Akbar's laughter filled the courtroom. ‘Then I must send mine,' he said. The barber's color faded and he trembled.”

The twins are fast asleep. I cover them with a blanket.

“You picked a good story to tell. When they know the end they relax and doze off,” Aai says to me.

“Is your
kahani
done?” a voice from my left asks.

I turn and see a girl my age sitting cross-legged. Even in the dim light her smile is bright. I am surprised because I didn't think anyone else was listening to my story. “Yes. This is the end,” I tell her.

“But I thought Birbal had died.”

“No, no. Birbal had dug a tunnel from his house to the cemetery. He climbed down from the pyre before the fire could burn him. Then he didn't leave his house for two months.”

“You never mentioned that,” she says with a confused look.

“I know. My brother and sister have heard this story so many times that I don't need to.”

“Tum acchi kahani sunate ho,”
she says.

I smile. Her compliment that I tell a good story fills me with happiness. By now the footpath has filled up and I can't tell if the people sleeping next to the girl are her family or not. Without a family and a home, it would be so scary to live in this city. I'm fortunate to have Baba, Aai, Naren, and Sita with me. And tomorrow we will be at Jama's home.

 

I stretch out on the pavement. In the village, sometimes we slept outside our hut in the open, but here it is different. Strangers walk by us; they have homes and they know we don't. I am ashamed to be sleeping here and wish I could tell them we have a place to go. I can't do that, but tomorrow when these people walk home they won't see us.

The traffic thins out as the night descends. In the daylight the city is overwhelming like a crowded fair, and at night it is forbidding like an enemy's camp. Many people line up on the footpath like us. Some have old rugs or blankets, and some have put down pieces of cardboard or tarp to lie on. The girl who listened to the story has a piece of fabric spread out. There are a few who use nothing. No one walking, especially the people with fancy clothes and a home to go to, seems to pay any attention to us. I guess half the city sleeps outside. The concrete is hard to lie on and I miss the mud floor.

The voices seem to move away as I get drowsy.

I wake up with a scream when something hits me hard in the stomach. I double over with pain. “Why are you sleeping here?” a voice blares at me. I open my eyes and see black shoes too close to my face.

“W
hat happened, Gopal?” Baba asks.

I manage to look up at the man with the black shoes. He is dressed in a khaki uniform. A policeman.

“Is this your family?” he asks Baba. In the dark, it is hard to see his features, but his mustache is thick and bushy.

Baba is sitting up by now and so am I.

“You can't sleep here,” the policeman barks.

There're other people doing the same thing on both sides of us. Why is he only bothering us? Maybe other people have paid him to sleep here and we haven't.

“We just arrived from our village yesterday and have nowhere to go. Let us sleep here tonight. I have two small children,” Baba pleads, pointing at Sita and Naren.

The policeman stares at us and waits. Aai is up too. She puts her finger on her mouth, signaling me to be quiet.

Baba joins his palms together as if he is praying. “Please, show mercy. Where can we go in the middle of the night?” The policeman doesn't budge. I think he's waiting for a bribe.

“We poor people have no money,” Baba says. His face is pinched with pain. I hate what this place has done to Baba. He would never have talked like that in the village. I wish we could just go back this instant and never return.

The policeman taps his foot. My insides knot up, getting ready for another kick. But it doesn't come. “If I see you here tomorrow night, you will have a place to sleep. The jail,” he says, and walks away.

It takes me a while to fall back to sleep.

 

I usually wake to the sounds of water wheels going
kichood-kichood
, the chirping of the birds, and the soft footsteps of Aai and other women sweeping the yards. This morning, all I hear is honking horns, shouts of vendors, and hundreds of shoes hitting the pavement.

We wash up at a faucet outside the station where other people are cleaning up. For breakfast Baba and I get three cups of tea for us all to share. We split two leftover
rotis
among us because they won't keep for much longer, and we have little money, so it is wise to save it.

“I am going to take the bus to Jama's house now,”
Baba says as soon as he finishes his tea.

Aai pulls the loose end of her sari tightly around her. Ever since we arrived in the city, her forehead is pinched with worry, but now panic spreads over her face.

“Can't we all go together?” Naren asks.

I know we don't have enough money for all of us to travel.

“No. Sita and you stay here with Aai and Gopal. The buses are too crowded,” Baba says. “I will bring Jama and then maybe we can take a rickshaw back to his house. It will be fast.” His voice is full of forced excitement.

The twins jump up and down. Yesterday they were worried, but as soon as they hear Jama's name they are happy. They must think this city adventure is going to get better.

I wonder about how Baba will cross the streets, get off at the right stop, and find Jama's home.

“Are you sure you will find your way to Jama's and back to us?”

“I'll always find you,” he says. His lips crinkle a faint smile. He takes out Jama's address.

“This paper is so crumpled it will be hard to read, Baba. Let me write it down again,” I say. I tear the page on which I have copied the address, hand it to Baba, and slip the crumpled paper in my notebook.

I
t is hard to have a footpath as your home with nothing to do but wait. I want to walk around, but when I ask Aai, she grabs my wrist and says, “No. Stay right here by me.”

So we all sit like pebbles on the footpath and watch people. A girl a little older than me sells combs, plastic toys, and decks of cards, and another one with long braids sells magazines. These two girls are friends, because they smile at each other when they find a customer. Sita and Naren are playing with the marble, and Aai is watching the street like me.

Maybe I can sell magazines. That way I can read them, too. If I make some money I can stack up some boards and make a stall. I can sell some books, too. And after that I can have a store—a small one with more books and
later on a bigger one with magazines and books in many different languages. There are so many people in this city that a store like that will do well, and I will make sure to keep books for young children. Naren and Sita love stories, so once they learn to read they will enjoy the books. They can even help me run the business. Maybe I will name the store Three Readers.

“Will you tell us a story?” Naren asks me, pulling my hand.

I already miss my
nimba
branch by the pond, where no one could interrupt me. It was the best spot for what Aai calls “building air palaces.”

“Tell us a new story, not the marble one,” Sita says.

“Why not?” Naren asks.

“Because we're not at Jama's house.”

“So?”

“I haven't even said yes, and you two are already fighting,” I tell them.

“We won't,” Naren says.

“Promise! Tell us a Mumbai story,” Sita begs.

Aai's lips are pressed together tightly as she scans the crowded street. I don't think she has heard a word.

It will take a long time for Baba to return, so if I tell a story, the twins will not bother Aai. “Here is a Mumbai story,” I begin. “Once there was a poor girl who came to the big city of Mumbai with her family. One day she saw a thousand-rupee bill fall from a rich man's wallet. She picked it up and returned it. The man looked at the girl's
tattered clothes and bare feet. ‘Don't you think you need money more than I do? Why didn't you keep it?' he asked.

“‘Because that would be wrong,' the girl replied. Her dark eyes shone brightly.

“‘You are an honest child and I would like to help you,' the man said. ‘What would make you the happiest?'

“The girl closed her eyes and thought. Ever since she was little she wanted to open a bookstore, but she was afraid to tell the rich man. He would laugh at her for being so foolish. Maybe she should ask for food, clothes, or a place to live.

“‘Remember, you must ask for something truly special. If you ask for something you want or need, I will know.'”

“I'd ask for—” Naren says.

“You were not supposed to talk in the middle. You can't listen to the story anymore,” Sita says.

She is so loud that a boy holding his baba's hand turns around. “If you bicker I will stop right now,” I threaten them.

They shake their heads. “We won't.”

I continue. “‘I would like a bookstore,' the girl said.”

Naren shoves his hands down under his legs as if he is stopping the urge to say something.

“‘A bookstore?' The man's eyebrow went up in surprise. ‘Are you sure, totally sure?'

“The girl replied with her hand on her heart. ‘Yes, I am.'

“The man helped the girl open up a bookstore. The girl read all the books she sold to make sure they were good stories. The people of Mumbai liked her little store so much that she was busy from morning until evening. Now she had money to buy fruits, vegetables, and even fish. She bought shoes for her family and three sets of clothes for each of them. And the best part was they had a place to live. It wasn't as big as a palace, but she had four rooms and it was on the top floor of a building. When the clouds were low in the sky she felt like she could reach out and pull one in.

“She hadn't forgotten the man who had helped her, though. When she gave him a pile of books to thank him, he said, ‘It is time for you to have a bigger store.'

“The girl liked the idea very much. She used the money she had saved up to buy a bigger place. The wooden shelves didn't have a speck of dirt on them. Each of them was filled with books, and the place smelled of paper, ink, and colors. All day long she talked and helped the book buyers, and at night when she locked up she thought about the next day. She smiled. The bookstore made her so happy.”

When I am done Sita is looking at me with her head crooked to one side, and Naren is staring.

“You didn't like the story?” I ask.

“I think that was not a girl but a boy,” Sita says. “It was you.”

“How do you know it was not Naren?”

“Because I'd have asked for a toy store.”

“Yes, he would have,” Sita agrees.

“Will Baba be back soon?” Naren asks, looking around.

“Ho,”
I say. I have to think of another distraction. “I'll show you a new game called solitaire that Card-Man taught me.”

I show them how to set it up. “This is hard,” Naren says.

Sita rolls her eyes. “And no fun.”

She turns to Aai. “I'm hungry.”

Aai keeps her eyes closed and stays quiet. Quickly, I gather up the cards that I have spread on our faded rug. “Let's all play together,” I say, waving a card. I divide the cards three ways and then one after the other we throw a card down until someone has a matching card—then they get to keep the pile and start a new round. We play for a while but I keep glancing at the street.

“I'm done. I want food,” Sita says after about twenty minutes.

The storm of hunger whirls in our stomachs and can't be stopped by games. “Let's wash up. Then we will eat something,” Aai says. She doesn't do anything, though; she just sits there.

The noise of traffic and people escalated all through the morning but has faded a bit now. It is the hottest part of the day, and even though we are in the shade the heat is unbearable. I look around for a tree. There are none
nearby. The shade of a tree is different from the shade of a building. The building can't fan you like a tree can.

I close my eyes. All I can think about is food and water. My stomach is in knots and my mouth is quarry-dust dry. I try to moisten my lips with my tongue, but it feels as stiff as shriveled-up buffalo skin. Only my neck is clammy and sticky with sweat.

I hope Baba gets back quickly. The sooner he returns with Jama the sooner we can leave the footpath. But in the meantime, we must drink water. I force myself to get up, take a pan, and go to a public faucet. The water doesn't come with force like it did this morning when I washed my face, but trickles slowly. I fill up the pan. When I return, Aai, Naren, Sita, and I thirstily gulp the water. I wish we had some to splash on our faces but there is none left.

Still, drinking the water makes me feel alive again.

The twins stand close to the curb, gawking at a group of men who get out from a shiny car. When Aai and I sit down by our luggage, her sigh is as deep as the pond. “I thought your baba would be back by now. Where is he?”

“Now what will we do?” I ask.

“Buy something to eat. But then almost all of our money will be gone.” She opens a knot in her sari, takes out a crumpled five-rupee bill, hands it to me, and reties the knot. “Take this and get what you can. Bring the change back.”

I take Naren and Sita with me.

“Don't cross the street,” Aai says.

“We won't,” I reply.

We turn left from the station and walk toward the handcart where Baba and I bought
pakoras
last night. Before we get to it, I see a man in a khaki uniform, black shoes, and bushy mustache. It is the same policeman who kicked me last night. My knees begin to shake.

Naren and Sita pull me forward. “The other way is better,” I tell them.

“Why? There's food right there.” Naren drops my hand. Before he runs and attracts attention, I grab him.

I hold his hand extra tight. If the policeman sees us he might pounce on us again. Luckily, he is busy talking to a nicely dressed man. Aai used to tell us a story about a jackal who flattered the king of the jungle, a lion. The policeman reminds me of that jackal and he won't leave that important man, a lion, to trouble us, little rabbits.

We walk the other way and stop at a wooden makeshift eatery. The sign says
PAV-BHAJI
. It is a type of food I have never had before, but it smells good and people are lined up. There is no way I could carry this food back to Aai, so we return and get her and the luggage. Without Baba I have to carry the heavy jute sack while Aai carries the cotton bag and the one with the bedding. It makes me angry at Baba for not being back soon. I hope he and Jama are not sitting down and talking and have forgotten about us.

A plate of
pav-bhaji
costs four rupees. It comes with two
pav
, bread buns. We split them so each of us has half
a bun. I tear pieces of
pav
, scoop the spicy
bhaji
, vegetables, as fast as I can and stuff it in my mouth. I want to be done before the policeman comes. “Don't eat in a hurry,” Aai says.

I slow down as I scan the street.

Aai puts her hand on my shoulder. “Baba will find us. He knows we can't be glued to the place where he left us.”

She must think I'm looking for Baba and I let her think that. Aai's got enough problems without worrying about the jackal policeman lurking on the next street. More than five hours have gone by since Baba left. I wonder how much longer it will take for him to return with Jama.

“Did you see the two girls selling things this morning?” I ask Aai to get my mind away from Baba.

She nods.

“Those girls were not much older than I am. I can do that.”

“You can, but first you need the money to buy the magazines or toys or whatever they were selling. No one will give you those for free, Gopal.”

“Money, money, money,” Sita mumbles. “Why can't we have a pile of it, just like this?” She snaps her fingers.

“I'll become a magician and turn that pile into money,” Naren says, pointing at a heap of garbage near the sidewalk.

We ignore the twins. “I can ask those girls how they got started.”

Before Aai can answer, Sita says, “No magician can make money out of garbage, right, Aai?”

“Well, you can't make it by snapping your fingers,” Naren says.

“I sure can.” Then she sticks her tongue out and moves her head back and forth like a puppet.

Naren whines, “Sita can't, Aai, and she keeps saying she can.”

I hate when the twins hijack our conversation. I raise my hand as if to slap them. “Naren, stop whining! Sita, shut up!”

They look at me with their eyes wide-open. Sita's tongue still dangles out of her mouth. I have never been this sharp with them. I give Aai a sideways glance. I think she is going to be mad at me, but instead she ignores all of us.

Once we are done eating we pick up our luggage and move away from the stall. Down the street there are fewer people, and one of the shops is closed. Aai takes out the frayed rug and spreads it on the footpath in front of the shop, and we both sit down. I hand the deck of cards to the twins and they settle on the bedding sack.

I watch two girls a little older than I get out of a car on the curb in front of us. They are wearing sandals with heels and their nails are painted red. “Come in an hour,” they say to the driver. They walk into the shop next to the one where we are sitting. I get up and stroll past the store. The shop windows are full of fancy sandals—a pair of
red with beads and shiny stones, a brown one with heels so high that you can trip over them, a gray pair with tassels. The girls must have gone to buy sandals even though they own nice ones. I guess when you have money you can buy more than you need. Someday, maybe I can buy a nice pair of dark brown sandals.

I see Aai twisting her sari and I come back and sit down by her. The twins are playing with cards and I silently thank the Card-Man for giving them to me. I take out my notebook, open up to a new page, and hold the pencil in my hand. Nothing comes to my mind. So I flip the pages without reading anything. I don't know how long we sit there, but it must be an hour because the girls come out each carrying a large bag. One of them pulls out her phone. “We are here,” she says in Hindi. A few minutes later their car comes by and they get in.

After a while Aai motions me to follow her. She walks a few steps away to the edge of the footpath and scans the street. I join her. “I wonder how long it takes to go to Dadar and find Jama's home,” she says.

“And come back here.”

For a few seconds we both are silent. The sun is in the west and it will set soon. If Baba does not make it back tonight we must find a place to sleep. Maybe we can spend the night right here. “I'll be back,” I tell Aai, and walk over to
pav-bhaji
stall. “Do you think we can sleep here tonight?” I ask the vendor.

“This place gets full at night. The people who usually
sleep here might kick you out. Maybe you should look for a place farther away from the station.”

I thank him and return. “Aai, we have to find a place farther away from here, just in case we have to spend the night again,” I whisper. “Should I look around before it gets dark?”

Aai nods, but from her face I can tell she doesn't want me to. “Don't go far, and come back soon,” she says.

I stroll down the street away from the station. There doesn't seem to be enough space for all of us to sleep. Some of the stores' steps might work once they are locked up, but if someone is already sleeping there, they will throw us out.

Maybe I can find something on a side street. I peek down one of them.