In the Shadow of a Dream by Sharad Keskar

tamarin sauce, with salt, chilli and ground cumin.’ Asif brushed his mouth with the back of his hand and made a lip-smacking sound.
    ‘And you. Have you seen Bombay?’
    Asif shook his head.
    ‘Then how do you know about Bombay?’
    ‘As I said, I’ve been to Biwara. The butcher took me one day. There I met Yosef. We became friends. We went to the cinema house. We had no money to buy a ticket, but we climbed up to the roof and looked through a hole in the wall. He told me about Bombay. How he worked as a shoe-shine boy. Sitting on streets outside hotels and cinemas, listening to songs on the radio. Bombay streets are full of music… and you don’t have to sleep. Just walk the streets. There always something to see and do and even to eat…you can steal bananas and chikoos and guavas from fruit carts left overnight under sheet covers. Of course you can sleep if you want to…just curl up on pavements…Bombay has broad payments, Yosef said, and many railway stations giving you cover from the rain…also small jobs to do…and you can beg from the people who get off the trains…chase after them till they give you something.’
    ‘And the music? Is it like our village priests beating drums?’
    ‘No, donkey. Loud cinema music. Singing, dancing…pretty girls. I saw them that day in the cinema…’ Asif hummed a tune. He danced; swinging his hips and waving his hands. ‘And the girls shaking their big round…things.’ He pointed to his chest. A shout from a distance put an end to his antics.
    ‘Stop that at once or I’ll give you a thrashing to remember! You’re supposed to be teaching that boy herding. Get on with it.’
    ‘ Arrey baba , that is what I’m teaching him. Herding, I’m telling him it is not fun or games or like dancing. It’s hard work. He must be ready to run with goats and the bulls and chase after them with a stick.’
    Jaswant grunted, sat on his haunches, lit a bidi and inhaled deeply.
    Bal nudged Asif. He was trembling. ‘Will I really have to chase the bulls?’
    ‘Yes, why?’
    ‘I’m afraid of the bulls.’
    The older boy waved his arm in a gesture of dismissal. Then with a sudden jerk, he pulled the boy down and pinched his cheeks affectionately. ‘Come to Bombay with me. We’ll get rich in the big city. We’ll find jobs. Work for ourselves.’
    ‘What job can I do?’
    ‘You can be a tea boy. Stop shaking. Listen, when I’m gone you’ll be alone in the village. Nobody wants you. I know that.’
    ‘But Daadi…’
    ‘Do you really like her?’
    ‘Yes. She’s black and ugly; and she has only one tooth.’
    ‘Does she beat you?’
    Bal shook his head.
    After a moment’s thought, Asif said. ‘Anyway, she’s not your mother. You don’t have a mother; and many in the village believe you’re a half caste. There, put your arm next to mine. Look, see, your skin is different. Lighter colour. That’s why other children call you gulabi , “pinky”.’
    ‘But I’m not pink. My skin colour is not so different from yours.’
    Asif shrugged his shoulders. ‘ Is Daadi good to you?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘She is paid to look after you. But you can do better. We can do better.’
    ‘How?’
    ‘If we run away, we’ll be together. No grown-up to push us around.’ Asif boxed Bal’s arm affectionately. They giggled and wrestled together. Then Asif pressed Bal down flat on his back and kissed him hard on his cheek. Bal pushed him away.
    ‘I let you do that because you’re not-not gandoo ,’ Bal said sullenly.
    Asif laughed. ‘You learn fast.’ They sat facing each other, silent for a while. ‘Bal, Daadi is not going to live long. When she goes, no one will care about you.’
    ‘Stop fooling around! Kaam chor ! Lazy, time-wasting thieves!’ The boys started and turned round to find Jaswant glaring down at them. ‘Come here! You!’
    ‘No!’ cried Asif, defiantly.
    ‘What! You dare answer me back? You’ll feel the back of my hand in a minute.’
    Jaswant and Asif glared