He was in his forties, dark and neither thin nor fat. He did have a moustache, but it was brushy and trimmed and modest. It was the moustache of a man who wanted to keep one but not make a big show of it. What made him remarkable was how he saw himself in the world. It was in his walk. It was in the way he looked at everyone. Here was a man who knew himself, said the look, just as well as he knew everyone around him. Sorkari Patnaik would find a criminal by looking at him and seeing inside his head with all its secrets, whether they existed or not. Patnaik was never wrong. He was never, ever wrong. Patnaik would have been a dangerous man if a committee had elected him as the official Village Idiot. And he was in charge of Balangir district.

Sorkari Patnaik, in short, was why Korok preferred to walk from one end of the Tel River to the other end, wherever it was, rather than visit the office.

And so it happened that Patnaik strode into his office—it was the government’s, but actually it was his—and saw Korok.

‘You! You … Gonds! It is not enough that the government gives you free food all the time, now you want to steal chickens from your own village!’ Patnaik screamed and slapped Korok so hard that the boy would have fallen if the police officer hadn’t been holding him by the shirt.

‘You, stop fiddling around with that Daily Diary and put him in the lockup. Now these people can’t even wait to be eighteen years old to be criminals. And you,’ said Patnaik, turning to a head constable standing at attention in a corner, ‘get me a cup of tea.’

The inspector came off from his desk and rubbed his hands, unhappy. He hated having to explain things to Patnaik in front of everyone.

‘Sir, um, this boy didn’t steal the chickens. Those two over there, they had a dispute over the chickens …’

‘So where’s the thief?’

‘Sir, um, there is no thief … that is, the chickens were not stolen … that is … they are … there …’ said the inspector, pointing outside.

Patnaik found a new point to take up. ‘What is this? I thought you had caught a chicken thief. Don’t waste my time with these small problems.’ He shrugged and turned to go to his office down the corridor, dismissing the incident.

‘Patnaik-sir …’ said Korok, calling up every last bit of his courage. He really did not like having to talk to Big People. He just did not know how to do it. In front of Big People, he felt even smaller than he usually did. ‘I have come about my father’s bicycle. It is in the yard and I was told I could take it home …’