In Hua qiao Nonchang, his position was the best of all. His allegiance to the Chinese government was above all doubt. He was a pure communist. He was the only person in Hua qiao Nongchang who was happy. Though he was provided with the same amount of food as the others, his work burden was not heavy. He had to teach and interpret speeches and other things during the meetings. He was also given the responsibility of educating the elderly people of the farm about communism. His name had been recommended by the Overseas Chinese Affairs Commission. There was a possibility that his name would be sent for the election of CPC’s local committee.

The guardians had come to collect their children, who were too young to take the classes on communism. Liang Ching Wan spoke to everyone with the solemnity of a protector.

‘Ahma, when shall we go away from here?’ asked one of Pramila Gogoi’s grandchildren.

‘Why did you ask that, dear?’ Pramila looked at the boy.

‘I don’t like staying here, Ahma. I feel scared! Let’s go from here. I remember Makum so much. I remember Achin so much. I feel like crying. Let’s go from here.’

Pramila Gogoi didn’t say anything. This was not a new question. In the beginning, the children exhausted their parents repeatedly by asking these questions. Even now they did. The boy said again, ‘I feel so hungry! I don’t get to eat! Let us all go away from here.’

‘Yes. He said the right thing. We won’t live in this place. So difficult!’ Babu’s younger brother said.

‘We cannot go even if we wish to. Don’t say these things to anybody. They will beat you. They will beat us too,’ Chow Chi Yong said.

‘I know that. I won’t tell.’

‘When I become big, then I will go to India again. I will go to Makum. I left my friends there. I think about them so much!’

‘Yes. I remember them, too. I don’t feel good here. People abuse here. I’m always scared.’

Mei Lin came inside.

Anjali was sitting gloomily in a corner. Her best friends were not there. She didn’t feel good talking to anyone.

As Mei Lin sat beside her, she smiled cheerlessly, looking at the baby. Mei Lin hugged her close. Anjali seemed to have grown up. But she lacked youthful zest. She had got her mother’s lovely complexion, beautiful eyes and straight black hair. Adolescence seemed to have caught her unawares. Having been uprooted from the joyous atmosphere in Makum, she had become lonely and lifeless.

After talking to Anjali for a while, Mei Lin approached Pramila Gogoi.

‘Please give me a book. Any book will do, aiee,’ She said. Some people, who had joined them in Madras, had brought some Assamese text books with them. Pramila Gogoi used these to teach the children.

‘What will you do with the book?’