They reach the toilet door, to find it double-locked. Smita tries to open it, bangs on it repeatedly with her fist. There is no point in trying, says an elderly, toothless woman with leathery, parchment-dry skin sitting on the floor nearby. They’ve been shut in there for hours. A whole family, looking for somewhere they could sleep and sit down. They won’t open up until the end of the line, everyone tells Smita. She hammers on the door, ordering then begging the family to come out. No point in shouting, says the old lady, others have tried before you. There is nothing to be done. My daughter really needs to go, whispers Smita. The old, toothless lady points to a corner of the carriage: just tell her to go there. Or wait for the next stop. Lalita looks paralysed; she does not want to relieve herself in front of all the other passengers; she is only six years old, but already she has an acute sense of personal dignity. Smita makes it clear that she has no choice. They cannot risk getting off at the next stop, there will be too little time. At the previous station, one family was caught out – the platform was packed with people and they had been unable to get back on board the train. It had left without them, abandoning them in the middle of nowhere, in an unfamiliar station with no luggage and no money.

Lalita shakes her head. She would rather wait. There will be a longer stop in an hour or two, in Jabalpur. She will hold on until then.

A foul smell fills the carriage as they make their way back to their bench. The mixed stench of urine and excrement. It is the same at every stop. For many of the townspeople, the edges of the railway lines are their toilet. Smita knows that smell all too well, it’s the same anywhere, it knows no frontier, it ignores rank, caste and wealth. She is used to it, but she holds her breath nonetheless, just as she did when making her rounds. She places a scarf over her nose, and does the same for Lalita. Never again. This is her promise to herself. Never again to have to hold her breath. To breathe freely, with dignity, at last.

The train pulls away. The vile smell subsides, leaving the suffocating but less nauseous reek of cramped, sweaty bodies. Soon it will be midday. The heat is unbearable in the packed compartments, with a single fan to stir the fetid air. Smita makes Lalita take some water and gulps a few mouthfuls herself.