Sewadars stood on raised platform under the blue tents, their heads covered with cloth as a mark of reverence, their hands holding colourful, big jugs with the milky drink. Rows of glasses were poured and consumed as mobs of people, primarily hungry and thirsty villagers, flocked to the compound.

The rose essence coming from the sweetened drinks intoxicated Rajjo. She could see Raahat handing out shiny steel glasses with the delicious pink drink to the patrons. She wanted to join him. But her mind was in turmoil. The constant screaming and chattering along with the stifling heat and unusual stillness bothered her.

In the middle of it all, a man drove a rickety blue scooter through the main gate. Riding pillion was a scrawny brown boy, bathed in sweat with just a dirty white singlet sticking to his wiry frame. Hunched in an awkward position he carried a bouquet of loudspeakers, his tiny limbs barely holding on to the four pieces of giant metal. The boy sat with his back to the driver, his shrivelled-up body resting against the man’s broad frame. One could barely see the face of the boy hidden behind the cluster of loudspeakers with green letters – Raj – Jalandhar.

Rajjo stood staring at the duo as they unloaded the loudspeakers. Most of the work was done by the little boy who looked barely eight. The man stood there as the little boy lugged the speakers before one of the workers thankfully relieved him of his burden.

The boy wore patched up pants, three sizes too big, rolled up towards the end. His shoes were two sizes big as his tiny feet clung on to the straps to move forward with every step, lest the shoes be left behind in a hasty step.

The workers got busy fitting the speakers on the giant poles. The thick-bellied man waited for the workers to approve the equipment.

The little boy moved his thin arms and shook them, like he was getting rid of some ants crawling under his skin. Then he looked at the crowd eating and drinking in the compound. Unsure whether he would be allowed to stand in the line, despite many villagers waiting their turn, the boy quietly sat across the road to catch his breath. He stared at his dirt-ridden black leather sandals and started wiping the mud off of them like they were some kind of prized possession.

Rajjo, drawn to the silent soul, crossed the road and stood next to where the lone small figure sat hunched up on the ground, now drawing circles in the mud with his index finger. They were just endless circles, all around him. This little being in oversized clothes was trapped and wanted to escape.

They seemed ominous to Rajjo as she finally cleared her throat and asked the boy, ‘You go to school?’

The boy shook his head and went back to adding more circles in the mud. Each one of them was in perfect shape, as if drawn with a compass.