Entering a doorway, Pulok and the group stood transfixed. What looked like a tiny house from outside was actually a large two-storeyed structure!

After a long pause Narayan said, ‘Salute, C Hoi dada! You have built the house in a really different style.’

‘But nobody can see the house from outside,’ Rameswar complained.

C Hoi shook his head, ‘What is the need of showing it to others? It should only be comfortable to live in. Come, I’ll show you the upper floor.’

Near the courtyard was a polished staircase to the upper floor. Step by step, they saw how artistically C Hoi had built his house.

‘Who reads all these books?’ Pulok asked, noticing two cabinets full of Chinese books.

‘I do. These were my father’s books. He was a learned man. When he came to India from China he stayed in the house of his father’s elder brother in Calcutta. He learned carpentry there. My father told me that some Chinese doctor in Calcutta taught his father’s elder brother how to read and write. His name was Lum Kwa. My father knew so many things but I could not learn anything from him,’ C Hoi said, submerged in the past. ‘My father told me that most of the old bungalows of Assam were constructed by Chinese carpenters. My father was very skilled, yet he never had enough money. His whole life he worked under a contractor. I feel sad whenever I think of him. He never got a chance to live in a nice house.’ C Hoi sighed.

Around Cheenapatti, people from other communities also lived together with the Chinese. The Bihari mason Bholu Singh, Raghuwa Mahato, the carpenter Gati Karmakar, village headman Ramlal, and Banarasi Prasad Jaiswal also lived in this area. There was a Kali temple nearby.

A few yards past the Kali temple lived Banwari Lal Chowkhani, the owner of burra gola – the big all-purpose store that everyone knew as Murli Gola. Just opposite the house was a large walled compound owned by the Chowkhanis, enclosing a big cowshed and a godown to store tea seeds. The police station was near the main market as well. When Pulok and his friends reached the area, Thakur Prasad and his friend Rajendra were coming out of the police station. Both were startled to see them and hurriedly retreated. Pulok and his friends laughed and went on their way.

Like all other houses in Cheenapatti, in Yiu Yi’s house, preparations for the festival were in full swing. After cleaning the entire house and bathing the children, Yiu Yi’s mother was busy decorating. In a corner of the spacious front room was an altar at which offerings of tea and fruit had been laid. Candles had been lit and incense was burning.