The ground below my feet is unstable and each step I take makes me sink farther into the mass of slush. I begin to collect the shards of metal that spike into my thin sneakers and drop them into the sack, slipping one into my pocket in case I need it later.
I scan the junkyard, searching for Jeevan everywhere, but I can’t see him.
One of the men throws an old shoe, which hits a boy on the leg. The boy clasps his leg in pain and cries out, but everyone carries on working; not a single person looks at him or bothers to see if he’s all right.
When I finally spot Jeevan on the far side of the mound, the tight knots in my stomach uncurl and I want to rush over immediately, let him know I’m still alive, but instead I tread cautiously toward him, afraid that they’ll lock me away again.
I pick at pieces of trash with my stick, keeping my eyes fixed on Jeevan, pretending to search for the things I’ve been told to as I steadily move closer to him …
It’s only when I’m nearly there that I dare to let out a whisper. “Jeevan!” I keep my head down. “Over here.”
He looks up straightaway.
I let out a shuddering breath. “What have they done to you?”
One side of his face has a deep purple bruise flowering below the eye and his lip has a long gash with dried blood clots all along it.
“What happened?” A fire of fury burns in my chest and I fight back angry tears. I want to touch his eye, make it better.
“Asha,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes low. “You’re safe!”
“What did they do to you?” He looks so battered it makes me insane with anger.
“They … pushed me around.” His voice is quiet, flat. I follow his gaze toward the guards. “They threw me against the wall.”
“Oh, Jeevan, I’m so sorry.” I risk touching the bruise lightly. “I’m going to get us out.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I … I don’t know yet, but we’ll do it somehow … We’ll do it together.” I feel for the sharp bit of metal I hid in my pocket, glance up, and keep picking at the trash. Jeevan’s face looks so painful. “Does it still hurt?”
“It’s not too bad.” He can barely move his lips.
I know he’s not telling me the truth. His hair has come undone and hangs around his shoulders; his shirt is bloodstained and torn.
I pause and press my pendant to my chest, close my eyes for a moment, try to connect with my ancestors … and then I feel the rhythm …
Asha, my dear girl. Do you remember what I told you about being special? There is a reason for everything and even though it may not seem fair that you are here, it was your destiny to come … Even in the vilest of places there is beauty, and it is your task to find it. Remember that I was always by your side, even when you were too small to know, and I sang to you and loved you.
The vision disappears quickly but it gives me a boost and I move closer to Jeevan. “We’ve got to at least try to get out,” I say. “We can’t just give up.”
He shrugs and looks away, but not before I see the defeat in his eyes.
We work all day until my hands, blackened from touching the dirt and trash, are scratched all over, until the sun hovers overhead and burns an orange hole in the gray sky, and all I know is that I must think clearly. I must make a plan to get away from here and find Papa.
A shrill siren sound fills the air and suddenly everyone stops working. A crowd of children surges forward, pushing and shoving each other, shouting to get ahead.
My feet are barely touching the ground as we get carried along with the others toward a barrel of water at the foot of the mound.
A boy elbows Jeevan hard in the ribs. “That’s my spot, newbie,” he yells, shoving himself in front. “And you—get out of my spot, both of you.” He glares at us.
I pull Jeevan back. “Just leave us alone.”
“Yeah, leave them alone, Taran,” says a skinny boy wearing a filthy T-shirt and tattered shorts. He turns to us. “My name’s Samir. Don’t pay any attention to him.” He forces a smile. “My friends call me Sami … and this is Attica.”
A girl who reminds me of Roopa pushes forward. “Hi,” she whispers.
“But you’re too young to be here,” I say.
Attica wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “I used to live with my uncle but he lost his job and said he couldn’t afford to keep me anymore, so he sold me … That’s how I ended up here.”
“Sold you?” I can’t believe what she’s saying—but I guess that’s what happened to us, isn’t it? The lady in the car exchanged us for money.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get out,” she replies, her voice on the edge of tears.
“But I look out for you, don’t I?” says Sami, putting an arm around her shoulder.
“Yes,” she says. “We look after each other … It’s the only way.”
We move along the line for water, all the children jostling and grabbing each other.
“Keep going,” cries one of the men, stomping up and down, using a long stick to jab anyone who takes more than a few gulps of water.
I push Jeevan forward. “You go first. You’ve been working for longer than me.”
He doesn’t even bother to argue. He finishes quickly and gives me the cup, and I pour the water into my mouth. I’m so thirsty I don’t want to stop, but I barely start the first sip before the man pushes me away.
“Hey,” he says, “what are you, an elephant? Get back to picking … useless mongrels!” He snatches the drink away.
I clench my jaw
