I reach into the pocket of my jeans and pull out the piece of broken cup. I feel its rough surface. “I’ll make you proud, Ma, and be back soon with Papa.”
Jeevan’s fallen asleep, his back resting awkwardly against one of the sacks. His mother will be waiting for him to come back from Sonahaar, and his papa will probably be searching for him through the streets. But we have to be each other’s family now, and I’ll look out for him like I know his little brother would have, his brother who died before Jeevan even had a chance to get to know him properly.
I take a peek outside at the jagged snow-crested mountains as they stretch upward into the sky, toward Galapoor and the wildernesses of the high Himalayas.
Papa told me it’s the land of amber-eyed tigers and snow leopards, and when it rains in our village in the foothills, it snows up there. Sometimes, he said, the snow falls unexpectedly, in gigantic drifts, especially at this time of year, trapping people for weeks.
I feel a sudden panic and try to imagine how we’d ever survive under the layers of snow.
The train begins to slow down, its brakes finally screeching as it comes to a sudden halt. Perhaps we’re in Galapoor already, or maybe another station?
“Jeevan.” I shake him gently by the shoulder. “Jeevan, wake up.”
He blinks. “What?”
“The train’s just stopped but I don’t know where we are.”
The thud of footsteps on the ground outside the carriage sends me into a panic. “What if it’s the police looking for two runaways?” My heart is pounding so hard I think it might explode.
Seconds later, a hand pulls the door open and we curl ourselves as small as possible behind our sacks, out of sight.
“Load them over here.”
I make myself as invisible as I can. Please don’t find us.
Light floods into the carriage and shines right where we’re hiding, and I think we’re going to be discovered, but the people outside carry on talking and laughing, loading more sacks into the train.
For a moment, I think we’ve made it—but then I hear Jeevan breathing to stop a sneeze. I will him to smother it, but he can’t and it comes out in a huge blast.
My heart speeds up as I hear sacks being dragged across the floor and the one right in front of us being lifted.
“What’s this?” The man looks confused.
I pull Jeevan up by the arm and we both start to run but the man easily blocks our exit. My palms turn clammy. What will he do with us? “Don’t tell the ticket collector,” I plead.
He hesitates for a moment and backs out onto the platform, and for a second it looks like he’s about to close the door. “Sorry.” He shrugs.
A train guard scurries up behind him. “What’s going on?” he asks.
“I was loading the cargo,” he says. “Found these kids hiding behind the sacks.”
“Stowaways?” asks the guard, his narrow eyes turning to slits as he catches sight of us. We get ready to run. “Hey!” he yells, grabbing me roughly by the arm before I can slip past. He pulls me out of the train.
My ankle twists as I land on the hard ground but I don’t shout out, even though the pain sears up my leg.
Jeevan jumps out of the carriage and lands next to me. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I say, scrambling up.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you two boys have been thieving. What have you got in there?” He tries to prod his hand into my bag.
“We’re not thieves,” I say, snatching my bag away. “Get off me.”
“Come on, Asha.”
The doors slam shut as the whistle blows and the train snakes away from us, toward the snowy mountains of Galapoor, while we’re left behind on the platform with the guard.
“Please let us go. We’re not thieves,” I say again.
He looks at us, eyes even more narrowed, but he must decide to believe me—or maybe we’re just not worth the trouble. “Get out of here,” he says, “before I call the police.” He stands with his arms folded, watching as we walk away from the lonely station.
“What shall we do now?” asks Jeevan.
“I don’t know,” I say, trying hard not to cry, my ankle throbbing with each step. The evening is strangely still, the eerie call of a single hunting owl piercing the silence.
“How far do you think it is to Galapoor?” asks Jeevan.
“Maybe it’s not too far.” My voice is small. “Let’s look at your map. A boy in the market made me drop mine in a huge puddle before I even left Sonahaar, and anyway yours is way better.”
“The sign at the station said ‘Lahan,’ ” says Jeevan, cheering up a little.
After a moment’s searching, I put my finger on the small town where we’ve been thrown off. “We’re here.” I can’t bring myself to say it but we’re miles away from Galapoor, from the mountains, and from Zandapur on the other side.
Jeevan looks at the map and then at me. “So we’re not very close.”
As we speak, dusk spreads its dark cloak around us and we know that nighttime with all its terrors will soon follow. “No,” I say, wishing we could sprout wings to fly. “We’re not very close at all.”
We trudge away from the station, along the rough, dirt-packed road, shivering against the cooling mountain air, our hopes of making it to Galapoor by nightfall in tatters.
Jeevan won’t meet my gaze, keeping his eyes fixed to the ground. “I didn’t mean to sneeze … I tried, but I couldn’t hold it in.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say. I’m annoyed at what happened, but I know we have to put it behind us.
He gives a deep sigh. “Papa will be back home by now and he’ll have to tell my ma what I’ve done.”
I’ve never spent a single night away from home
