Then her mother had told her that Korok’s father was in jail for timber smuggling, although no one believed that, and Anchita’s father had asked the police to see if he could be released. Korok’s father used to be the gardener before, and Anchita’s mother was not comfortable making the boy work there, but at least he could earn money, which he clearly needed.

And, as both her parents admitted, Korok knew everything about flowers and herbs, because they had never seen a garden like that, nor anyone who could work on a garden like he did, hour after hour, every single day.

So here he was, digging under a flower bed. The website would load by the evening, perhaps not even then. So Anchita went out to see the flowers.

Korok was digging around a row of herbs. These had long and thin stems, six or seven brown-yellow bulbs to a stem.

‘Ca-ssia An-gus-ti-fo-lia,’ said a voice slowly behind him, reading from the discoloured bit of plastic on a cane stick. All the rows had these cards with the names of flowers and herbs written in Latin on them. A proper herbal garden would have more information on the cards, but even this was a big thing here.

Korok looked up from where he was sitting, frowned and looked down. He didn’t frown because he disliked people walking around in his garden; it was just that the sun was directly behind the girl just then. Besides, this was her garden, actually, although so far she hadn’t shown much interest.

The new epho, who had arrived a month ago, was a bit better than the earlier one. At least he had tried to talk to the police about getting Korok’s father released from jail. The earlier epho had just gone on with his work after Korok’s father was arrested. Maybe he had just been lazy, or maybe he had not wanted to upset Patnaik. Korok could understand that. Nobody wanted to upset Sorkari Patnaik, not in Balangir district.

The earlier epho had only let Korok work in the garden after a lot of pleading. Korok needed the money, but more than that, he needed the garden. He had been helping his father here for years and years. The garden was the centre of his life.

The new epho was different. He was still a government man, which meant Korok had to be careful around him, but his family, particularly his wife, had been kind to the boy.

‘What do you call this herb?’

‘This one? Senna. We call it senna. It grows all over the hill,’ said Korok, pointing at Devi Hills in the distance.

‘It is a medicinal plant? What is it good for?’