'Then what should I do?'
'You need to get a job.'
'Will you help me find work?'
'Yes. They are building a new five-star hotel. I'll take you to the construction site tomorrow.'
'Then will you show me a little of your city today?'
'Certainly. Come with me. I'll take you to the ghats of Kashi.'
Chowk looked completely different during the day. The area was full of shops selling saris, books and silverware, and roadside eateries selling sweets and lassi. The streets swarmed with people. Rickshaws jostled for space with cycles and cows walked alongside cars.
Eketi thought the people on the road were gaping at him, till he realized they were staring at Dolly. Women shrank away in horror as soon as they saw her. Men scowled and gave her a wide berth. Children made fun of her, making lewd catcalls. Some jeered at her by clapping with their palms meeting sideways. She ignored their taunts and guided Eketi through the crowded thoroughfare to an alley which led to a series of terraced stone steps going down to the Ganges, and the tribal had his first view of the ghats.
The river gleamed darkly, like molten silver, with little boats bobbing on its surface like dabbling ducks. The embankments were full of pilgrims. Some were sitting under palm-leaf parasols consulting astrologers, some were buying trinkets, and some were taking a dip in the river. Tonsured priests chanted mantras, bearded sadhus paid obeisance to the sun and stocky wrestlers honed their bodybuilding skills. The ghats stretched all along the riverfront, as far as the eye could see. Thin reeds of smoke hung in the misty air from the funeral pyres burning in the far distance.
'The river unites both pilgrims and mourners,' Dolly said. 'Our city is a celebration of the living as well as the dead.'
'A man told me that people come to this city to die. Why?' Eketi asked.
'Because it is said that if you die in Kashi you go straight to heaven,' replied Dolly.
'So when you die, will you also go straight to heaven?'
'There is no one heaven, Jiba.' She looked benignly at him.
'There are different heavens for different people. We eunuchs even do our cremations secretly.'
A day later, on 1 November, Eketi began his first real job. Dolly took him to what looked like the rim of a huge crater. The construction site inside resembled the ugly bowels of some massive beast. A thin line of women carrying heavy loads on their heads moved across the belly of the beast, and men with pickaxes carved up its entrails. Wooden scaffolds looking like giant swings had been erected all over the site and monster cranes reached for the sky with flickering tongues. The air reeked with the odour of sweat and clanged with the sounds of metal on metal.
Dolly knew the foreman, a man called Babban who had a permanent frown on his face. He took one look at Eketi's rippling muscles and employed him instantly. The tribal was given a shovel and told to join a batch of workers digging a trench.
It was tough going. The shovel kept slipping from Eketi's grip due to perspiration, and yellow dust kept getting in his eyes. The pit was like a furnace and even the soft lumps of soil felt like embers burning his naked feet.
At two o'clock a siren sounded, announcing lunchtime, and Eketi heaved a sigh of relief. The food was just thick rice and watery vegetables, but the brief respite in the shade made it palatable.
The labourers sat in a group and ate their meal quietly. 'Who is the owner of this hotel?' Eketi asked a gaunt-looking man with a permanent stoop squatting next to him. His name was Suraj. His clothes were tattered and dusty and smelt of stale sweat.
'How do I know?' the man shrugged. 'Must be some big seth. Why does it matter? We are not going to be living in this hotel.' He peered at Eketi. 'You don't seem to be from here. Have you worked on a construction site before?'
'It's my first time,' Eketi replied.
'I could see that. Don't worry. I have been doing this work for three years and still make mistakes. But look after yourself, otherwise your back will become hunched forever like mine. And don't inhale the dust. It will clog the pores of your body. Sometimes it comes out even in my shit. Look what this work has done to my hands and feet.' Suraj held out both his palms. They were calloused and as rough as coconuts. There were blisters on his feet and the soles had ruptured into rivulets of dried blood.
'Then why do you do this work?' Eketi asked.
'I have five mouths to feed. I need money.'
'And how much money do they pay here?'
'Just enough to get by.'
The siren sounded again and the labourers reluctantly stood up. All through the afternoon they worked, hauling bricks, loading mud, breaking stones, mixing cement, digging and filling, building the hotel with their bare hands.
When the foreman finally declared the end of the day's work at six in the evening, the defeated men hoisted their pickaxes and shovels to their shoulders, the drooping women picked up their baskets and babies, and lined up before the contractor.
Eketi too collected his wage, consisting of five crisp ten-rupee notes, and began the walk back to Dolly's house.
As he was passing in front of an upmarket shopping centre, his eyes were drawn to a poster adorning the display window of a shop. It showed a magnificent island, piled high with dense green trees and ringed by a turquoise ocean. He stood there for several minutes, and then boldly entered the shop. A young woman was sitting behind a counter doing her nails. A big map of the world was displayed on the wall behind her and a pile of brochures lay at her side. She looked at his dusty clothes and grimy face with frank distaste.
'Yes, what do you want?' she demanded.
'I want to go to the island whose picture is in the window.'
'That is the Andamans,' she sneered.
'Yes, I know. How much does it cost to go there by ship?'
She blew her nails and picked up a brochure with the same photo of the island on the cover. 'We have an organized tour for five days. The total cost for the cheapest package will be nine thousand rupees from Kolkata. Now go, don't waste my time.'
'Can I take one of these?' He indicated the brochure. The girl quickly gave him one, and shooed him out.
'So how did you like the work?' Dolly asked him as soon as he returned.
'I didn't come from my village for this,' Eketi replied, massaging his back. He took out the fifty rupees from his pocket and gave them to Dolly. 'Will you keep this money safely for me?'
'No problem,' said Dolly.
'And can you tell me how many days I will have to work to earn nine thousand?'
Dolly frowned and did a quick calculation. 'One hundred and eighty days. Say six months. Why?'
'I want to visit this island,' he said, holding aloft the tourist brochure like a hunting trophy.
It was the tantalizing promise contained in that glossy sheet of paper which made Eketi forget the ache in his back and the cramp in his legs. After dinner he lay down on the floor, gazing at the picture of the island, feeling the wind rustling through the tall palm trees, hearing the cicadas singing in the dense green jungle, savouring the taste of turtle meat on his tongue.
The next day he was back at the construction site, doing the same work. Soon his hands fell into a rhythm, so that by the end of the week he didn't need to look down at what he was digging. Even though the work became easier, Eketi still hated it and he hated himself for doing it.
His world now revolved between the eunuch's house and the construction site. He had neither the time to explore the rest of the city nor the inclination to get acquainted with the other residents of Dolly's colony. He even put the project of finding a wife on hold. Sunday and Monday, Diwali and New Year meant the same to him – five ten-rupee notes, which he diligently gave Dolly for safekeeping.
Two and a half months passed. As the hotel began rising from the ground, Eketi's hopes also started rising. 'How much money has accumulated by now, do you think, Dolly?' he asked the eunuch one evening.