“Today I’m just going to meet her. I will shift my things from the college hostel next month.”

They passed a beggar slumped upon a small wooden platform fitted with castors, which raised him four inches off the ground. His fingers and thumbs were missing, and his legs were amputated almost to the buttocks. “O babu, ek paisa day-ray!” he sang, shaking a tin can between his bandaged palms. “O babu! Hai babu! Aray babu, ek paisa day-ray!”

“That’s one of the worst I’ve seen since coming to the city,” said Ishvar, and the others agreed. Omprakash paused to drop a coin in the tin.

They crossed the road, asking again for directions. “I’ve been living in this city for two months,” said Maneck, “but it’s so huge and confusing. I can recognize only some big streets. The little lanes all look the same.”

“We have been here six months and still have the same problem. In the beginning we were completely lost. The first time, we couldn’t even get on a train — two or three went by before we learned how to push.”

Maneck said he hated it here, and could not wait to return to his home in the mountains, next year, when he finished college.

“We have also come for a short time only,” said Ishvar. “To earn some money, then go back to our village. What is the use of such a big city? Noise and crowds, no place to live, water scarce, garbage everywhere. Terrible.”

“Our village is far from here,” said Omprakash. “Takes a whole day by train — morning till night — to reach it.”

“And reach it, we will,” said Ishvar. “Nothing is as fine as one’s native place.”

“My home is in the north,” said Maneck. “Takes a day and night, plus another day, to get there. From the window of our house you can see snow-covered mountain peaks.”

“A river runs near our village,” said Ishvar. “You can see it shining, and hear it sing. It’s a beautiful place.”