“This is it,” says Sami, his voice trembling.
“But we’re not coming with you,” I say. “Our journey doesn’t end yet … I have to find Papa.”
Attica grabs my sleeve. “You’ve been like my sister.”
I give her a huge squeeze. “Take care, won’t you?”
“We hope you find him,” says Taran.
“Look at the moon and think of me … I’ll be watching it too, far off in Moormanali in the foothills of the Himalayas.”
All the children surround us, pushing to say goodbye. They circle Jeevan, patting him on the back, and begin chanting, “Jeevan … Jeevan … Jeevan.”
“You were incredible,” say Sami and Taran at the same time.
He puts an arm around the boys, his face glowing, his smile the widest I’ve seen in ages. “Anytime.”
Sami and Taran gather all the children.
“I’ll ring the buzzer. They were really kind—don’t be frightened, anyone,” Sami says.
A large smiley woman bustles out of the street shelter. “What’s all this noise? Children … What’s happening here?” She comes closer to Sami, peering at him from behind the bars of the gate. “No! Can it be? Little Samir?” She unlocks the gate, clasping Sami’s face in her hands. “What happened to you? So long …”
Sami brushes a tear with the back of his hand. “It is me, Auntie Lakshmi.”
She pulls him toward her, wrapping her arms around him, kissing him all over. “Come inside … Wait till the others see you! Dev, Puja—quick, come here!” she calls out, and two people run out of the building toward us. “And your friends … Come off the street, all of you.”
“Quick, Jeevan,” I whisper. “Before she scoops us up too!” I duck and shuffle back onto the street, mingling farther into the crowd of children, pulling Jeevan along with me.
We stand outside the street shelter, a fierce pride blooming in my chest when I think of everything we’ve gotten through together.
I link arms with Jeevan, and when I shoot him a glance the feeling fades as quickly as a blown-out candle flame. I’ve put him through so much: His clothes are torn, his hair is gray from the dust and dirt of the dump, his hands are covered in cuts and bruises. If his ma could see him now she’d hardly recognize him. She always used to make sure his clothes were washed and ironed.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice small and gruff.
“We’ll find your papa.” He takes my hand. “You’re strong, Asha. Look what we did. We’ll find him and the three of us will go home together.”
Maybe if his ma saw him now, with that fearless look on his face, she wouldn’t be able to help but be proud.
Darkness is creeping into the sky, and even though it isn’t cold, a shiver trembles down my spine as we turn away from the street shelter and think about venturing back into Zandapur.
“I found some rupees in the truck. Why don’t we get a rickshaw?” asks Jeevan, sticking out his arm. “Look at that one!”
A motor rickshaw strung with glowing rainbow lights is slowing down, coming toward the street shelter.
“Remember what happened the last time we got a taxi?” I say. “But we don’t have much choice … wander alone in Zandapur or take another risk.”
“And you never know,” he says, “they might come prowling for us … Anyway, how else will we find Connaught Place at night?”
A singsong voice springs out of the rickshaw. “Connaught Place?” asks the driver, stepping out and yawning. “I was just finishing my shift and about to go home … but jump in and Raj will be happy to take you to your destination.” He looks at us with sad eyes.
His rickshaw could win a prize for the most colorful vehicle in the whole of the city, with its painted palm trees, golden sunsets, and elephants. Piled high on the roof and stuffed into every window are the most beautiful cushions I’ve ever seen. Even in the semidarkness the colors are electric. There are green-and-red ones, swirled ones, and striped ones.
“After what we’ve been through, I don’t know if we should,” I whisper to Jeevan, my heart beating hard. “Let’s think about it for a minute.” I run my fingers through my hair and try to brush some dirt out. My clothes are stiff with filth and we must both smell awful.
“H-how do we know you won’t take us somewhere else?” I ask.
He looks serious. “There are many bad people in the city—I am not one of those, I promise.” He begins to get back into his rickshaw. “It’s your choice … only if you want a safe rickshaw.” He opens his wallet and shows us a photo. “This is my daughter … and this is Lakshmi, my wife … and who’s this handsome fellow? Oh. It’s me,” he chuckles.
He sits at the wheel of his taxi and speaks to us through the window. “My wife makes cushions,” he says. “I deliver them around the city.” He looks in his mirror and makes a funny face as if he’s thinking. “I have a special big assignment.” He twists around. “You see the cushions? Big wedding, big cushion order.” And then he speaks more quietly. “Royal wedding. Hush hush. Palace at the edge of the city. Beautiful cushions for beautiful princess and guests’ big bottoms.”
I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to laugh, and I can’t help the giggles exploding … but the next minute I’m smearing dirty tears across my face. “W-we were trapped in a dump,” I blurt.
He gets out of the taxi again and smiles. “Squish in—Raj will take you. No more crying … OK?” He dabs at my cheeks with the cuff of his shirt. “Bit better, little one? You look like you have suffered enough … Would make my Lakshmi cry too.”
“W-we’ve come from Moormanali to find my papa.”
“He lives at 102 Connaught Place,” adds Jeevan.
Raj raises his eyebrows and
