Boys without Names by Kashmira Sheth

food,” Sita says after about twenty minutes.
    The storm of hunger whirls in our stomachs and can’t be stopped by games. “Let’s wash up. Then we will eat something,” Aai says. She doesn’t do anything, though; she just sits there.
    The noise of traffic and people escalated all through the morning but has faded a bit now. It is the hottest part of the day, and even though we are in the shade the heat is unbearable. I look around for a tree. There are nonenearby. The shade of a tree is different from the shade of a building. The building can’t fan you like a tree can.
    I close my eyes. All I can think about is food and water. My stomach is in knots and my mouth is quarry-dust dry. I try to moisten my lips with my tongue, but it feels as stiff as shriveled-up buffalo skin. Only my neck is clammy and sticky with sweat.
    I hope Baba gets back quickly. The sooner he returns with Jama the sooner we can leave the footpath. But in the meantime, we must drink water. I force myself to get up, take a pan, and go to a public faucet. The water doesn’t come with force like it did this morning when I washed my face, but trickles slowly. I fill up the pan. When I return, Aai, Naren, Sita, and I thirstily gulp the water. I wish we had some to splash on our faces but there is none left.
    Still, drinking the water makes me feel alive again.
    The twins stand close to the curb, gawking at a group of men who get out from a shiny car. When Aai and I sit down by our luggage, her sigh is as deep as the pond. “I thought your baba would be back by now. Where is he?”
    â€œNow what will we do?” I ask.
    â€œBuy something to eat. But then almost all of our money will be gone.” She opens a knot in her sari, takes out a crumpled five-rupee bill, hands it to me, and reties the knot. “Take this and get what you can. Bring the change back.”
    I take Naren and Sita with me.
    â€œDon’t cross the street,” Aai says.
    â€œWe won’t,” I reply.
    We turn left from the station and walk toward the handcart where Baba and I bought pakoras last night. Before we get to it, I see a man in a khaki uniform, black shoes, and bushy mustache. It is the same policeman who kicked me last night. My knees begin to shake.
    Naren and Sita pull me forward. “The other way is better,” I tell them.
    â€œWhy? There’s food right there.” Naren drops my hand. Before he runs and attracts attention, I grab him.
    I hold his hand extra tight. If the policeman sees us he might pounce on us again. Luckily, he is busy talking to a nicely dressed man. Aai used to tell us a story about a jackal who flattered the king of the jungle, a lion. The policeman reminds me of that jackal and he won’t leave that important man, a lion, to trouble us, little rabbits.
    We walk the other way and stop at a wooden makeshift eatery. The sign says PAV-BHAJI . It is a type of food I have never had before, but it smells good and people are lined up. There is no way I could carry this food back to Aai, so we return and get her and the luggage. Without Baba I have to carry the heavy jute sack while Aai carries the cotton bag and the one with the bedding. It makes me angry at Baba for not being back soon. I hope he and Jama are not sitting down and talking and have forgotten about us.
    A plate of pav-bhaji costs four rupees. It comes with two pav , bread buns. We split them so each of us has halfa bun. I tear pieces of pav , scoop the spicy bhaji , vegetables, as fast as I can and stuff it in my mouth. I want to be done before the policeman comes. “Don’t eat in a hurry,” Aai says.
    I slow down as I scan the street.
    Aai puts her hand on my shoulder. “Baba will find us. He knows we can’t be glued to the place where he left us.”
    She must think I’m looking for Baba and I let her think that. Aai’s got enough problems without worrying about the jackal policeman lurking on