The village roads of Bangladesh are extremely bumpy and unpaved; they are as bad or as good as village roads in most parts of eastern India. We swallowed dust as we travelled and drew the curious stares of onlookers—it was clear that our presence and the car were novelties. We were not foreign-looking, certainly not by the colour of our skin. But the intense gaze of the people showed that they thought we were babus from Dhaka. It is apparent that not many babus or netas visited these parts except perhaps at election time—we also noted the trees of either side of the road that blocked out the hot sun and enabled the Bengalis to indulge in their favourite vocation: lounge and talk, a pastime known in Bangla as adda. This is something that is common to Bengalis on either side of the international divide, of all castes, creeds and dialects. Basically, they just love nothing better than a long gossip session,

We finally rolled up at Bepari Para very dusty and tired by the evening. We asked for Keramat Bhai and were told he was at evening prayers in the village mosque. So we chatted among ourselves and walked into the village to wait. At this point, Mamon came up and said he was surprised by one thing: many of the young men of the village spoke Assamese or Ashamiya as he pronounced it. We talked to a few young boys; they could not have been more than eighteen, or a little over. They spoke Assamese reasonably well and had been travelling to Assam over the past years. ‘Our fathers had gone there before us and we continue to go,’ one of them said.

At this point, there was a sudden rush in the small lane from the mosque as the azaan ended. Children scampered out; a few graybeards slowly followed them. In the second, slow-paced group was Keramat Bhai too, in fez cap, lungi and shirt.

His face lit up with a delighted smile, revealing two rows of paan-stained teeth.

‘Ah, saar, apuni ahile? Ami to pura din apunar karona roi asilu. Kali khobor palo je apuni ahibo. Kintu bahut deri hol, iman deri kiyo hol?’1 In slow but clear Assamese, Kermat Bhai asked after my health, and added that they had waited the whole day for me since they had got word of my coming the day before. ‘But it has become very late? What happened?’ he asked.

We elaborated on the difficulties of locating his place, besides our meetings with the politicians and the teachers. All this while, Mamon smiled indulgently and listened to our conversation, surprised that he was hearing this at all in his own land.

My faithful researcher, Raquib of Dhaka University, had come to the village a couple of times and to Chilmari Ghat to talk with Keramat Bhai and his friends. He had given news of me and sent word that I would also be coming to the area at some point. ‘He was a good boy, very patient, he asked a lot of questions,’ said Keramat Bhai as the villagers crowded around.