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By Root 1037 0

with medals and all the local dignitaries in ceremonial costumes had come running at the invitation of the begum, a slight woman hidden beneath the folds of a burkah, * who ruled over the sultanate of Bhopal. The festivities went on for three days and three nights. Along railway tracks decked out with triumphal arches in the red, white and blue of the British empire, crowds of local people had gathered to greet the arrival of the first seven carriages decorated with marigolds. On the platform stood a double file of mounted lancers, companies of turbaned sepoys and the musicians of the royal brass band. Alas, there was no radio or television in those days to immortalize the speeches exchanged by the representative of Victoria, “Empress of her subjects over the seas,” and the sovereign who presided over this small corner of British India. “I offer up a thousand thanks to the all-powerful God who has granted that Bhopal enjoy the signal protection of Her Imperial Majesty so that the brilliance of Western science may shine forth upon our land …” the Begum Shah Jahan had declared. In response, the envoy from London extolled the political and commercial advantages that the railway would bring, not only to the small kingdom of Bhopal, but to the whole of central India. Then he raised his glass in a solemn toast to the success of the modern convenience, for which the enlightened sovereign had provided the funds. A firework display crowned the occasion. That day a piece of ancestral India had espoused itself to progress.

For a long moment the Nadars hesitated without daring to take a step, so overwhelmed were they by the scene that greeted them as they got out of the train car. The platform was packed with other dispossessed peasants who had come there, like them, in search of work. The Nadars found themselves trapped in a tide of people coming and going in all directions. Coolies trotted about with mountains of suitcases and parcels on their heads, vendors offered every conceivable merchandise for sale. Never before had they seen such sumptuousness: pyramids of oranges, sandals, combs, scissors, padlocks, glasses, bags; piles of shawls, saris, dhotis;* newspapers, all kinds of food and drink. Padmini and her family were bewildered, astounded, lost. Around them many of the other travelers appeared to be just as disoriented. Only Mangal the parrot seemed completely at ease. He never stopped warbling his joy and making the children laugh.

“Daddy, what are we going to do now?” Padmini asked, visibly at a loss.

“Where are we going to sleep tonight?” added her brother, Gopal, who was holding the parrot’s cage above his head so that his parents would see him in case they got separated.

“We should look for a policeman,” advised the old man Prodip, who had been no more able than his son to decipher the contract the tharagar for the railway had given them.

Outside the station, an officer in a white helmet was trying to channel the chaotic flow of traffic. Ratna cut a way through to him.

“We’ve just arrived from Orissa,” he murmured tentatively. “Do you know if anyone from there lives around here?”

The policeman signaled to him that he had not understood the question. It was hardly surprising; so many people speaking different languages got off the train at Bhopal.

Suddenly Padmini spotted a man selling samosas, triangular fritters stuffed with vegetables or meat, on the far side of the square. With the sixth sense that Indians have for identifying a stranger’s origin and caste, the little girl was convinced she had found a compatriot. She was not wrong.

“Don’t worry, friends,” declared the man, “there’s an area around here occupied exclusively by people from our province. It’s called the Orya Bustee * and the people who live there are all from Orissa like you and me, and speak Orya, our language.” He waved an arm in the direction of the minaret of a mosque opposite the station. “Skirt that mosque,” he explained, “and continue straight ahead. When you get to the railway line, turn right. You’ll see a load of huts and sheds. That