Collector Behera was gone too. Although he would probably not lose his job (which Patnaik was almost sure to), Behera was now posted to a southern district, on the border with Telangana. Korok had been told by other villagers that there were real Maoists just across the border, so Behera would not have an easy time there. At least, he would not be able to spend all summer inside an air-conditioned room.

Korok was going to Balangir now, but not to meet his father. Some things never change, and although after the Supreme Court’s order most of the undertrials were sure to be released soon, it had not yet happened. Korok had waited for so long. He was willing to wait some more.

He got off the bus at Balangir chowk and walked to the office of the Superintendent of Police. He walked up to the officer sitting outside the SP’s room, and said he had come to ask about his bicycle.

Korok was given a document and told to go inside the office. The room had not changed at all since Korok had last been here, on that day when Mishra had been arrested. But Patnaik was long gone. The new SP of Balangir was a much younger man, and he looked up as Korok entered. He looked at the document, and then he signed it.

‘Here it is. You can take the bicycle.’

Korok turned to go. Patnaik may have gone, but he still did not like to be near policemen.

‘You are from Deogan, is it?’

Korok nodded.

The new SP stared into the distance for a few moments.

‘I should be visiting it sometime soon. Yes, I should.’

Korok thought it would be better if no policeman ever came to Deogan again. He walked out of the office and gave the document to the junior officer, who signed it as well. Then Korok walked out to the lawn, where his bicycle was standing. He wheeled it out to the street, got on it, and began pedalling.

It was a long way back to Deogan by bicycle, but he had got it back. Someday, he would get his father back too.

Korok thought about the events of the past year. He knew a lot about weeds, and knew that just like weeds, the government, and the Company, and perhaps even the Maoists, would someday return. They never gave up. So the Gonds would have to be careful. The only people they could truly trust, and could rely on always, were themselves. Just as a gardener has to trust herself among the flower beds.