Aman’s stomach heaved—like a punch to the gut. His mother had chosen to leave him. He had no idea what had happened and what it meant. No . . . no, you’re getting it all wrong, he consoled himself, frantically looking for her.

He tried to fight back tears. His breathing quickened when he imagined fending for himself in an unknown place. How will I reach Uncle Deepak’s house? He looked out of the window as if the answers were there. The bus was puttering along the steeply curved shoulder of a mountain.

But there are no mountains on the way to Agra, he thought, wiping his sweaty hands. He still felt drugged. Staring at the empty seat beside him and feeling the bus taking him further and further away from home, Aman felt sick, as if he was in freefall, and soon passed out again.

The third time Aman woke up was because of the bumpy road the bus was on. He looked out the window to see that they were no longer on concrete. The bus seemed to be in a forest, traversing over fallen pine cones and large rocks. How long has it been?

After what felt like an hour of being jolted along, the bus slowed down. He opened the window to let the sweltering heat in, as though Aditya, the sun god, had decided to pay a visit. The unadulterated, crisp breath of the Himalayas coursed through the trees and broke against Aman’s face. He spotted deer and birds with glittering feathers in the foliage around the bus.

The bus came to an abrupt halt in front of a small, moss-covered bridge.

‘Oh, no no no . . .’ the bus driver cursed. ‘This is as far as I go.’

‘Give me some water,’ Aman said, looking at the swelling on his knee—now the size of a tennis ball.

‘That bridge will collapse if the bus goes on it. Out, boy. Now!’ the driver yelled at Aman.

‘Where are we?’ Aman asked him.

‘You have some nerve!’ The driver turned off the engine and stood up. ‘I’ve brought you here as asked. Now quit wasting my time.’ He stomped down the aisle, pulled Aman up by his T-shirt and, with little care for the boy’s injured gait, pushed him out of the bus. Then he got the cardboard box from under Aman’s seat and chucked that out as well.

‘Wait!’ Aman shouted, but the driver got behind the wheel and prepared to leave. The bus soon rocked out of sight. Aman gathered up the palm leaves that had fallen out of the box. ‘Is anybody there?’ he shouted repeatedly into the deserted forest. His phone’s battery was dead. He was by himself in the middle of nowhere.

Not knowing what else to do, Aman approached the moss-covered bridge, which smelt of rot and was aged in layers of dead leaves. The water below was calm and clear. He climbed the bridge to get a better look at his surroundings and find a way to get to the stream.