Today, however, it was empty. Through the village there were the usual sounds of a community setting about its daily business, but if it is possible for a place to be quiet, Deogan was.

And in the northeastern corner of the clearing was the house of the headman, the mahji, with its back to Devi Hills.

There is very little to distinguish one house in a Gond village from another, except tin and thatch roofs. Most old Gond houses, however, have a central pillar made of saja wood. It is the first pillar that goes up while building the house, and the only one kept by the owners while rebuilding it. The mark of a prominent Gond is how old the saja pillar in his house is. The mahji’s house had been built, roofed and re-built many times, but it was said the saja pillar was the oldest in all the villages here. Korok’s family had been through hard times longer than anyone could remember, and if they had a saja pillar before, it was long gone.

Korok found the mahji behind his house, brushing his remaining teeth noisily at his water pump. There was a small vegetable patch beyond the pump. Around the house, the mahji owned some potato fields, and along the river, outside Deogan, some millet and cereal fields. At any time of the day, he could be found either along the riverbank or here at his house, tending his cows.

It was said that long ago, the mahji had had his fill of the dubious delights of Balangir town and decided not to step out of Deogan if he could help it. Korok could not remember a time when he had left the village. Nor could he remember a time when the mahji looked any different than today: a stick-thin man with a face like an extra-dry walnut. He never aged, never changed and never lost his stubble. He could always be counted on for advice, but also always gave the impression that he would rather spend time with his cows and potatoes than with people. At village meetings, he would always look like a trapped kitten and would be so relieved when official business got over that he would invite everyone for mahua alcohol and stale biscuits, as much as they could fit in.

Korok, seeing the headman, realised he had forgotten to brush his teeth, but this was not a daily event and was of no importance to him.

‘Ei, Korok, how is your father?’

Korok assured the mahji that his father, as far as was possible for an undertrial to be, was well.

‘Yesterday,’ said Korok, ‘I met some sorkari men near the hill. They have put up a signboard and are saying they will dig up the hill and move us away. What is happening, mahji?’