Boys without Names (2 page)

I wish I had a camera like the tourists in Matheran. I would take pictures of the
nimba
tree, our home, Mohan and Shiva, and the hills that surround our village. I wish I had colors and brushes; I would paint the forest, the pond, and birds.

Unlike regular
chinch
, which is sour and strong,
gorus-chinch
is sweet and mild. I bite the pink pods and suck on the fleshy part until I am down to the pebbly seed. I spit it out. It plops in the water, sending up a tiny spray. Soon, the water in the pond stills.

As I eat the last
gorus-chinch
my heart feels the same as my mouth, sour and sweet at the thought of leaving our village. School has just started, and my friends will wonder where I am.

I have sat on the
nimba
branch for a long time, and
the evening has fallen softly between the branches. The chirping of the birds has vanished, but the light of the moon shines through the leaves of the
nimba
. Even though I want to write more, it is time to go home. I close my notebook and sit for a few more seconds. When I climb down I go as slowly as I can because this is the last time I will do that. I want the bark to imprint on my palms just as it has imprinted on my heart.

The pond shimmers with moonlight. I look up. The sky is clear and the stars are packed together like people crowded in the temple courtyard at festival time.

I stand at the edge of the pond sucking on the last black seed of
gorus-chinch
. I'm ashamed that we have to leave in secrecy, without paying off our debt. It is not right. Baba knows that too. But he doesn't want me to split stones in the quarry like he does. I don't either. In Mumbai, I can get a good job after high school and won't have to starve.

Still, not paying the debt bothers me. The interest may be high, but we did borrow money and we must repay it. It is Baba's debt, but if I do well in the city, I will return the money with interest. That is the only right thing to do.

The bright moon lights the path. I take the long way back, passing the homes of my friends, Mohan and Shiva. Even though Baba didn't want me to, maybe I should see them and say good-bye.

I think of Shiva's baba, who killed himself last year
because he couldn't pay his debt. Like Baba, he was an onion farmer. If we stayed, Baba might do the same. The thought of life without Baba sends shivers through my heart. We must go. Someday we will return to the village and I will see my friends again.

I keep on walking.

W
hen I return home everyone is waiting for me. Sita puts her hand on her hip. “It is dark outside. Where were you?”

“You're not Aai. I don't have to tell you.”

“But you do have to tell her.”

“Only if she asks me.”

Sita and I look at Aai. Her eyes are moist. Was she cutting an onion? “Let's eat,” she says, giving each of us a
roti
with some pieces of onion. I peel back the thin top layer of the
roti
, stuff my onion pieces evenly under it, and cover it back up. That way each bite has onion in it. It is not as good as having
ghee
on the
roti
, but better than eating it plain.

“Can you do the same for me?” Naren asks.

“Here, take this,” I tell him. I exchange mine with
him and stuff the other one with onion pieces.

“Don't you want to eat it like us?” Naren asks Sita.

“No. My way is better.”

She is cross with me because I didn't tell her where I went. If it were any other day I would tease her and make her laugh, but today I am out of jokes.

 

“Tomorrow we leave early and travel by train,” Aai tells us all after supper.

“Where are we going?” Sita shrieks.

“To see Jama.”

“I love Jama!” Naren says. “Do you think he will have more presents for us?”

“Maybe.”

“Aai, can you put the red clip in my hair tomorrow?” Sita asks.

They are loud and can't stop bouncing. Baba gives Aai a sharp look—maybe he is afraid our neighbors will overhear our plans.

“If you both lie down I'll tell you a story,” I say to the twins.

“You never finished the one about the marble. I want to hear that one,” Sita says.

They both stretch out in one corner. I cover them with a blanket Aai has made by sewing patches of her two old saris together. My mind is so full of thoughts about our moving that I would rather tell them a story that I don't have to make up as I go along. But the
marble story will quiet them down.

“One day, a little boy went for a walk looking for a treasure. He didn't want silver or gold or money and jewels. All he wanted was something beautiful. He meandered into a forest where trees as tall as ships filled the land. Before long the boy saw something glint. It was under a pile of dirt, so he kneeled down to remove it.”

“Not dirt. You told us the marble was under the
gorus-chinch
leaves,” Naren reminds me.

I wish he would relax and fall asleep. “Sorry, under the
gorus-chinch
leaves. So he bent down and picked up the glinting thing. It was a marble. The most beautiful one he had ever seen.”

By this time Naren is up on his elbow. He shakes his head. “You have it all wrong. First the boy had to remove the leaves to see the marble.”

I give him a stern look, but his wide eyes shine like a pair of dark stones. I sigh. “I forgot. Yes, first he removed the leaves and then he picked up the marble.”

“All wrong.”

Sita rolls her eyes. “Just listen quietly.”

“But Gopal doesn't know it. Don't you remember? Once he removed the marble he saw a hole?”

Why does Naren have to memorize every word and interrupt me? I wish I had read a story from one of my books. That way there would have been no arguments. “I've made up the story, so I can change it if I want to,” I say.

“No, no, no. You can't change it if it is the same story. Are you telling the same marble story or not?”

“Well, I am.”

“Then—”

Baba kneels down beside Naren and Sita. “It is late and I want you both to sleep. Gopal will finish the story when we get to Jama's house.”

The twins look disappointed but they don't argue with him. I am relieved Baba got me out of this story telling.

When Naren and Sita are asleep Aai takes out her cotton bag to begin packing. Besides my clothes, the only things I must bring to Mumbai are my books. My book about the life of Buddha is almost new, but the
Akbar and Birbal Stories
looks like our frayed rug. Last year I collected the sticky
nimba
sap and used it to glue the pages back. These two books are like old friends—friends I don't have to part with.

I hand the books to Aai. She unfolds her sari, packs the cracked mirror and my books in it, and refolds it gently. She lays them at the bottom of the bag. Then she slips in our extra clothes and tucks in a comb, black ribbon, and a sliver of a soap wrapped in paper. On top she puts my notebook and her faded old sari.

“This way it's right there, if you need it.”

I give Aai a hug. “Thank you. There will be a lot to write about on our travels.”

“And once we get to Mumbai you will have even more.”

Aai is right. The city will be filled with people, shops, buildings, roads, buses, cars, noises, and even bookstores. “I—I can't believe tomorrow night we will be at Jama's.” My voice crackles with excitement.

Baba brings two jute bags that the grocery shop owner has sold him. They're large and must have held wheat, because a few grains tumble out as Baba and I shake them. Unlike the soft cotton bag, the jute bags are rough and scratch my fingers. Aai packs two bowls in one of the jute bags. We have three aluminum plates, one knife, and two spoons, and she packs them, too. On the very top, she puts three onions and a round container full of
bajra roti
she has made. It will be our food while we travel.

“What's the other bag for?” I ask Aai.

“For the rug, blankets, and pillows.”

“We can't pack them until tomorrow. We have to get up early, so let's go to bed,” Baba says.

I stretch out next to Naren. My thin blanket is too small for me, but in the warm weather it doesn't matter. In the winter I will have to curl up to be able to fit under it. Maybe by the time winter comes, we'll have enough money to buy a new one that is bigger, thicker, and warmer.

While we packed I was calm, but as soon as I lie down my heart quickens as if I have been running a race. I don't remember ever being this thrilled and scared, even when I started school or went to Matheran for the first time. And then I have a terrible thought. What will the moneylender
do once he finds out we are gone? Will he burn our hut in revenge? Will he find out where we are and come after us? Will he send someone to beat up Baba?

Now I know why Baba didn't want to tell anyone about our leaving. This way when the moneylender asks our friends and neighbors they can tell him they don't know where we are.

Still, our friends will be sad when they don't see us tomorrow. I know I would be if one day Mohan or Shiva and their families suddenly vanished. If we had told them about our move, said our good-byes, and hugged them, it would have been better. But that is not possible. Deep down in my chest I feel pain as if one of the
gorus-chinch
seeds is rattling in my heart.

I
t is still dark when I wake up and look out the window for the last time. Baba stands behind me with his hands on my shoulders. “It is such a shame….” Baba gets choked up.

I didn't realize he feels just as bad as Aai about leaving our village. Something moist and sad is stuck in my throat, too. I cough to clear it. “We will be back, Baba.”

Aai comes and stands next to me. I put my head on her shoulder and close my eyes. The three of us are silent, but I feel better. “We must leave soon,” Baba says.

I kneel down next to the twins. “Naren, Sita, get up.”

Usually I have to wake them up two or three times, but not today. They both bolt up as if they were already awake and were waiting for me to call them.

“How many days do you think we will stay with
Jama?” Naren asks Sita as we wash up.

“We'll stay there exactly for a month,” she declares.

I hand them
nimba
twigs. “Hurry up and brush your teeth or else we will miss the train.”

“Then we will just go tomorrow.” In the moonlight I can't see Sita's face well, but I can imagine her rolling her eyes.

Sita doesn't know about our debt. If we don't leave today Naren or Sita will tell their friends we are going to Mumbai, and if the moneylender finds out, he will stop us. “Let's see if I finish brushing first or you do,” I say.

Sita and Naren get busy. By the time we rinse our mouths Aai is ready and has tied up the top of one jute bag with string.

“I want to talk to all of you before we leave,” Baba says, scowling. It worries me. I try to remember if I did anything wrong.

“What, Baba?” I ask. Naren and Sita stare at him.

“In the city there will be a lot of traffic and many people.”

“How many?” Naren asks.

“You always interrupt. Just listen,” Sita says.

Baba puts his hand up. “In the city you must not fight about little things so you can pay attention. You must stay close to us. Be careful and don't let anyone know our names, where we come from, or where we're going. I don't want strangers to find out that we're new in the city.”

“Does Gopal have to do all these things?” Naren asks.

“Yes, all of you. Do you understand?” Baba asks us as he stuffs the pillows in the second jute bag.

“I do,” I reply.

“Naren and Sita?”

They nod. “
Ho,
Baba.”

I fold blankets and Baba puts them on top of the sack. Aai picks up the tattered rug. “Jama will have rugs. Do we need this one?” I ask.

Baba agrees with me. “We must travel light. Why carry more weight?”

“Better take it,” she insists.

Baba and I exchange a glance that says,
Why is she so stubborn?
But we pack the rug anyway.

“Can you put this clip in my hair?” Sita asks Aai.

“Not now. Just take it with you.”

“I want you to put it in my hair.”

Aai looks at me. “Gopal?”

I smooth Sita's hair with my fingers, gather it up, and fasten it with the clip. Some of the curls around her face escape and settle on her forehead.

“Don't forget your marble, Naren,” she says.

He pats his pocket. “It is right here.”

Baba picks up the sack with pans and dishes. “Let's go.”

“Shhhh,” Aai whispers as we walk out the door. She carries the cotton bag and I take the other jute bag with bedding.

The station is a good four kilometers away, so it will
take at least an hour to reach it. We move at a quick pace so we can be out of our village before daylight comes. “I want to—” Naren says.

Baba puts his finger on his lips.

Naren knows something is wrong because he holds my hand and whispers in my ear. “Why can't we talk, Gopal?”

I shake my head.

When we pass Mohan's house, Baba glances at me. I can't decide if I want to slow down and hope Mohan is up and sees me, or run down the lane so he doesn't. I clamp down my jaw and walk along with my family as we go as fast as the twins' short legs can.

No one spots us on the way to the station.

 

Baba has kept the ticket money ready. “Two full and three half tickets to Dadar Station,” he tells the ticket master.

The man counts the money. “This is not enough. Did you know that there was a fare increase on the first of the month?” The man points to the sign that says so.

Baba looks at the man like he has hit him over the head with a pan.

I read the notice. “Baba, it is true. The price went up only four days ago! Now what are we going to do?”

Baba looks down as he tries to hide his disappointment.

We huddle to the side. One by one, the people behind us get their tickets.

The train whistles and I know it will be here soon. If
we don't get on this train, we'll have to go back home and then everyone will know we were trying to leave. If the moneylender finds out about it, he might go to the police to complain. Baba might end up in prison. My heart sinks slowly as if it has landed in a muddy hole. Sweat beads form on my forehead. A man comes rushing through. “One for Thane,” he says in his out-of-breath voice to the ticket master.

I notice that the price of going to Thane is less than going to Dadar. “From Thane can we go to Dadar?” I ask the man.

“Yes, yes,” he replies as he walks away.

The platform vibrates under my feet. The train is almost here.

I count in my head. “Baba, we have enough for us all to go to Thane.”

“Then how will we find Jama? He told us to go to Dadar.”

“That is our only way. From Thane we can find a way to go to Jama's place.”

Baba hands the money to the ticket master and buys the tickets, just as the train slows down.