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Read more by Siddhartha Sarma for young adults

The Grasshopper’s Run

103 Journeys, Voyages, Trips and Stuff

103 Historical Mysteries, Puzzles, Conundrums and Stuff

In the banyan is the cat

In the peepal Mirchak Rai

In the deep gully Bhutuk Rai

In the Hutang Spring is Kaniyat Rai

Greet them well.

—Muria Gond song

1

APRIL

The bus was late.

But ‘late’ and ‘early’ are words you can only use if you have a watch. If you have a watch, time becomes a number, and a bus becomes late or early or even—why not? on—time. None of the five persons who stood by the road had a watch. So the bus was an idea that would happen some time.

There was just one bus in these parts; one vehicle that went from Deogan and neighbouring villages to Balangir town fifteen kilometres away and back, from morning to night. Balangir was the headquarters of the district. The bus followed its own rules, so it arrived when it did. There were some days when it just didn’t arrive. But, as every villager here knew, it would always come when it was needed.

It was late morning and the sun was warm. There was just a thin tree by the road and Korok, by shifting both feet into a difficult angle, was trying to get under its shade. Even the leaves had given up trying to stick to the tree.

Korok was going to Balangir. He would have avoided it if he could, but he had to meet his father and he had to get his bicycle. He couldn’t avoid it. Either his father, or the bicycle, yes, but not both.

And here came the bus, a wonder of engineering, about thirty-seven sheets of metal hammered over an ancient engine. Over the bad parts of the road—and there were many—the passengers could feel the sheets trying to break away. Someday they would, and the bus would be just two rows of seats behind an engine.