“As soon as it gets here, we’ll fool them by jumping on in the middle of a crowd,” says Jeevan, shifting around impatiently.
At last, a crackly announcement from the speaker blares on the platform.
“Train to Shimbala arriving next. Stand back, stand back.”
My heart begins to pump wildly as the heaving and chugging train pulls into the station, hundreds of waving hands sticking out of the small square windows. The train hisses and screeches as it comes to a standstill, the iron wheels sending sparks into the air.
“Come on, Jeevan—quick, while they’re all busy.” We merge into the crowd as it surges toward the opening doors and begins squeezing into the carriages.
“Keep close to me,” I gasp, clinging to Jeevan’s sleeve. “We mustn’t lose each other.”
The rest of the passengers begin climbing aboard too, shoving their bags, suitcases, and bodies into us so I can barely breathe.
I propel myself toward a family right in front with lots of children. “Let’s get on with them.”
“OK … let’s go,” says Jeevan in a muffled voice.
“Tickets, please, tickets, please,” someone barks in front of us, just as we’re about to step on.
A uniformed guard takes one from the father in front and peers at it. “How many?” he asks. “Those two boys as well?”
The man glances at us, then puts his arms around his children. “Only these,” he says.
The guard waves them in and fixes us with a scowl. I’m filled with fear and disappointment. “And you?” The guard lowers his face. “Where’s yours?”
I pretend to search in my pockets for the ticket I know isn’t there.
“It must have fallen out,” I say, looking at Jeevan.
“Fallen out?” The guard makes a disgusted face. “More like never bought; now, get off.” He spins me around and places his hand in the base of my back, pushing me off the train and back into the crowd, making me knock into a woman carrying a basket of fruit, which tips all over the ground.
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” she shouts angrily.
I begin to pick up some of the fruit but Jeevan tugs me by the sleeve and pulls me away from the woman, who swipes at me. “Let’s get out of here,” he urges.
We shove our way through the hordes. “What are we going to do now?” I ask, full of frustration. “We must get this train.” I look up and down the platform. One end is much emptier, with hardly any guards. “Come on.”
We hurry toward the quieter end of the platform and stop beside some carriages that don’t have any windows.
“These must be for cargo,” says Jeevan, jumping at the sound of the whistle.
“Jeevan!” I shout. “The train’s leaving. We have to get on.”
We run beside it as it jolts forward and stops.
“Quick.” I force my fingers into a small gap in one of the doors and yank with all my force, but it won’t budge.
“Move!” shouts Jeevan, trying to prize it open.
“No, let me. My hands can fit in the gap.” This time I shove until my face turns hot and feels like it’s about to explode. “One, two, three.” I strain one more time and the door rolls open, stabbing splinters into my skin. I press my palms into the carriage and heave myself in, Jeevan following closely behind.
“Urgghhh!” he pants, lying on his front. “We did it!”
We push the door closed again and, despite the bright sun outside, there isn’t much light in here. A dank smell of wet straw hangs in the air, and in the shadows there are dark shapes pushed against the back of the carriage—sacks, I realize.
“Let’s hide behind these,” I say, just as a shrill whistle sounds in the distance. We stoop behind the sacks, and a low shudder vibrates through the floor as the train picks up speed and rattles over the tracks.
Jeevan grins at me.
My body fills with excitement and fear. “We’re going to find Papa … at last.” I kneel behind the sacks and watch the whitewashed buildings of Sonahaar flash by through the small crack in the door. “And we’ll face all the dangers together.”
Jeevan digs into his bag, pulls out a green banana leaf package, and hands it to me.
“Look what I brought you from the dhabba stall.”
I unwrap the large ridged leaves as carefully as if it were the best present in the whole world. “So you were thinking about me.” I cram the spicy pastry into my mouth, the salty potato filling melting on my tongue. “This is so good … thank you,” I mumble, savoring the last mouthful.
“I think you should twist your hair into a topknot,” I add. “It’s gotten so long recently. Then we’ll both look different.”
Jeevan pulls his hair off his face and holds it up. “What do you think? My ma always wanted me to grow my hair and be a good Sikh boy.”
I give him the band from my braid and he ties his hair up.
Sweat suddenly slicks my palms. As if from nowhere, a horrible thought flashes through my mind. “What if the police track us down before we reach Papa? We’ll be in such trouble and all for nothing.”
“We can’t let that happen,” says Jeevan, squeezing my arm. “We’ll find your papa and everything will be OK. You’ll see.”
My head is heavy with sleep as the train follows the long, slow curve of the steep mountain path, creaking higher and higher, jolting me awake. The golden light from the setting sun hooks into the crack and spreads like honey into the carriage.
Ma will definitely have found my second note by now. She’ll wonder why I haven’t lit the deeva at the shrine and go to do it herself, and when she looks down at Lord Shiva’s foot she’ll wonder who’s slotted a piece of paper under it. She’ll let out a scream and Rohan and Roopa will start
