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Prologue

1936

Setting: A village on the Bihar–Bengal border

All at once, Chuyia tired of playing with her clay dolls. Her mouth craved something sweet. She knew exactly where she would find some ripe gooseberries. She packed up her toys and pushed the box against the wall of the neglected thatched hut that lay at the far corner of their compound. The forest that came right up to the edge of their wall had claimed the hut with swathes of china-rose and a tangle of thick-stalked creepers.

Chuyia squeezed through a hedge of castor-oil trees and skipped along a path in her bare feet. A couple of days back, she had discovered the gooseberry bushes just off the narrow path that ran through some mango and jackfruit orchards and led into the jungle. She had walked a long way into the forest with her brothers but had never come to its end. The path held drooping clusters of fruit on the tamarind trees, and, once, she had come upon a clump of wild leechee trees. Chuyia soon found the gooseberry bushes and, after savouring the fruit’s tart sweetness, began collecting the berries in her skirt for her mother to pickle. But this proved cumbersome, so Chuyia ate the gooseberries instead.

Chuyia had wandered deep into the forest in search of wild leechees when she became aware of the distant whining and whimpering of an animal; it was in distress. Abandoning her search for leechees, she made her way through the undergrowth, which was for the most part taller than she was. Although it was midday, the rays of the sun barely penetrated the thick green canopy that formed a roof over her head.

Every now and then Chuyia stopped to listen to make sure she was heading toward the source of the cries. She had little fear of the forest, and was as familiar with it as a child brought up near the ocean is familiar with its shores.

As she drew closer to the sound, she became puzzled. Muffled by the dense vegetation, the yelping and mewling seemed to surround her—and yet she couldn’t locate the terrified creature. Chuyia pushed back branches and crouched to search through the thicket of plants mouldering underneath for want of sunlight. She thrashed through the young bamboo saplings and skirted the ancient drooping clumps.

Chuyia came upon a small clearing and, after parting the foliage and pushing back the creepers that concealed the ditch, she discovered a scruffy little pup that had fallen through. Barely distinguishable from the bed of decaying leaves, it was feebly trying to scramble up the steep sides of the ditch and slipping back.

“Tun-tun, Tun-tun,” Chuyia called softly.

Tun-tun was the generic name given by the village children to all the local mongrels that prowled the neighbourhood and from time to time attached themselves to the houses that fed them scraps. With their short, dun-coloured fur and straight-up tails, they were almost indistinguishable from one another, except for the grovelling bitches with swinging teats who slunk around with their tails between their legs.

The puppy cocked its pointy ears to look at her and increased the volume of its yelping. Holding on to a supple young bamboo, Chuyia lowered herself down the incline. The startled pup growled and backed away from the alarming proximity to the stranger. It bared its tiny teeth. Chuyia noticed the small protrusion low down its belly and decided it was a boy. She squatted at the base of the ditch and remained still to give the nervous animal time to get accustomed to her. She wanted Tun-tun to know she wouldn’t harm him, and was prepared to get acquainted with him on his terms.

After a while, she edged closer and held out her hand. “Tun-tun, Tun-tun,” she said softly, making gentle kissing sounds. “Come to me. Come,” she cajoled.

His tail wagging tentatively, the animal cocked its head to look at her but held its ground.

Wary of the sharp little teeth, Chuyia slowly reached out to touch its grubby head. At her touch, Tun-tun rolled over on his back and, his little tail thumping the dirt, twisted his body this way and that, as if posing for the cutest effect. Still squatting, Chuyia waddled closer and gingerly stroked his belly. The dog’s little tail thumped harder. What an adorable face he had. She tried again to stroke his head and the pup quickly licked her fingers with his wet tongue. Chuyia retracted her hand reflexively.

Bit by bit, each sized up the other.

Chuyia felt an overwhelming surge of tenderness and longing and, reaching out with both hands, picked up the pup. She did it so clumsily that the discomfited creature wiggled free and fell to the ground. She hunkered down on her heels, and the puppy began to sniff at her dusty feet. All at once, it braced its tiny paws against her knees and licked her face. Chuyia laughed. She cradled the little fellow in her arms and allowed him to lick her neck. Stroking and kissing the puppy, covering him with the flap of her blouse to protect him from the prickly twigs, she carried Tun-tun through the forest.