One by one, the windows of the Chinese houses in Cheenapatti opened. The light of red lanterns and candles illuminated every house and everyone sat together for the reunion dinner. On this special day, happiness and contentment filled their hearts. The stream of life that had begun with the long years of pain and the anguish of slavery and indentured servitude had reached the plains of peace and joy. They lived a happy life in a free country. The bad times were a thing of the past.

After dinner, they moved to the front room of the house.

‘I am going to open the door now,’ Yiu Yi’s grandfather announced.

The moment the front door was opened the children jumped with joy. They went out and lit the firecrackers hung outside. All of Cheenapatti, including the compound of K. P. Lee, Ming and Company and the Chinese Club, reverberated with light and sound. Most of the non-Chinese neighbours also came out to join the festivity including Pulok and his friends. The Chinese New Year ushered the message of good luck, happiness and prosperity into every home. The jubilant sounds of the children filled the air.

‘Hey, Ramlal, sing a song for us,’ someone shouted to the village headman.

‘Eh, what will I sing? Why don’t you ask Lilu? He knows a lot of songs.’

Ramlal’s brother Lilu, when pressed to sing, feigned bashfulness for a minute, before starting soulfully:

‘Dhoni re, chole jay jeeban boro dukhe.

Chara din kaam kori,

Khun ke pochina kori,

Tobu bhore paino dui chokhe.

Dhoni re, chole jay jeeban boro dukhe.

Life goes by in sorrow.

I toil away

With the sweat of my brow,

Yet my eyes don’t see fulfilment.

Life goes by in sorrow.’

The crowd became quiet.

‘Don’t sing sad songs today. Sing something joyful,’ Lee Chang said.

‘Joyful songs?’ Lilu stopped for a moment, then started a different song. With unsteady steps the men danced the jhumur. The girls laughed watching them dance.

‘Sing a Bihu song. Hey Pulok, sing a Bihu song.’

Pulok looked at Mei Lin. She was looking at him, her eyes bright with amusement. Staring at her for a brief moment Pulok started to sing merrily,

‘Porbotor dhekia thorali oi thorali

Thorali oi thorali

Hatee powaliye khaai

Ratir pore pore

Toloi monot pore

Toloi monot pore

Chokulo bagori jai …

Every hour of the night I think of you

Think of you

My tears roll down …’

‘Aai oi, dehi oi – O my dear, O my darling –’ a youngster in the crowd cried out while the rest cheered. Sounds of laughter touched the sky. Mei Lin blushed and hid her face. Pulok was also blushing, but he stood there with a smile on his face. These were his own people. These were Mei Lin’s people.