After finishing his work, Ho Han went to the section where Phulmati was working. She was waiting along with the others near the weigh house with her basket of tender leaves. They were all busy picking out the mature, hardened leaves from wicker baskets. Ho Han came up to Phulmati, and asked in a low voice, ‘Why don’t you ever smile?’

The girls standing near her smiled, but Phulmati flared up, ‘I’ll do as I please. How does it matter to you?’

Ho Han smiled gently, ‘Don’t you understand how it matters?’

Phulmati looked at Ho Han for a moment, then moved away. Ho Han waited there for a while before walking towards the manager’s bungalow. A strange emotion stirred somewhere deep down in his heart for a girl from an unknown, unheard-of place.

Almost all the workers were standing in front of the manager’s bungalow. The workers from the factory would be here after their shifts.

Today was pay day.

The European manager appeared on the verandah of the bungalow and stood there. The workers were not supposed to look up at him. There was a long tin pipe tied to a rope hanging from the verandah about two and a half feet above the ground. Below the verandah sat a clerk. One by one, he called out the names of the labourers. As each labourer came up to the pipe, he held out the upper part of his garment to receive his salary, which came hurtling down the pipe. Earlier, when they had just arrived, Ho Han and his companions also received their wages in the same humiliating manner. Now, they were paid with the other employees of the garden. On each salary day, Ho Han felt helpless with anger and frustration. Today, seeing the labourers receiving their wages in this demeaning way, he felt the same restlessness. He stood watching for a while, and slowly walked away.

Ho Han, Ho Yen and Ah Chin lived together in the same house. Today, for the first time after coming to Assam, Ah Chin seemed happy. Dressed in new clothes, he looked tidy and clean. Seeing Ho Han, he smiled shyly. Soon, other Chinese workers from the neighbouring gardens started pouring in, each bearing a gift for Ah Chin. The Chinese man who had come to Assam from Calcutta and had started working as a contractor, arrived with his family. Another Chinese man came with his wife – she belonged to the local Kachari community. The canister-makers and paper-makers, too, brought their families. A few of them had been to Calcutta to marry Chinese girls while some had been to China to marry or to bring back their families who’d been left behind. Many had married local women. All of them were now in Ah Chin’s small house.

After tea they all headed towards the Ranchi line. It was filled with people in their best clothes waiting to welcome Ah Chin. Dukhi’s house had been given a makeover. The walls of the house had been freshly plastered with mud and decorated with various colourful drawings of flowers. Hibiscus garlands hung on the door front and a charpoy covered with a sheet awaited the bride and groom, while the guests were all seated in the verandah. Dukhi, wearing a sari dyed yellow with turmeric, sat on the charpoy. Her forehead, arms and neck were adorned with various kinds of silver jewellery. These were pieces that she had secretly brought with her from her village home. She did not let go of these even under the most dire circumstances – these were her most cherished possessions.