'What is this island you keep talking about?'

Eketi dropped his voice to a whisper. 'I will tell you if you promise to keep it a secret.'

'Allah kasam. Promise.' Champi pinched her neck.

'I am not really Jiba Korwa from Jharkhand. I am Eketi Onge from Gaubolambe,' he said conspiratorially.

'Where is that?'

'Little Andaman.'

'And where is that?'

'That is in the middle of the ocean. You get there on a big ship.'

'Then why have you come here?'

'I have come to take back a sacred stone which was stolen from us.'

'And what will you do once you get your sacred stone?'

'I will go back to my island.'

'Oh!' said Champi and fell silent.

'At first I wanted to stay,' Eketi continued. 'I thought I would start a new life here, get a wife. But now I want to go back. The people here behave as if they own the world. And they treat me like I am some kind of animal.'

'I don't think like that,' said Champi.

'That is because you cannot see me. I am not like you people. I am different. And every time someone calls me blackie, something curls inside me. I feel as if I have committed some kind of crime. But the colour of my skin is the colour of my skin. There is nothing I can do about it.'

'I agree. Just as I cannot do anything about my face. It is God's will,' Champi said and slowly raised her right hand. With her index finger, she traced the contours of his face, memorizing every angle, every shallow curve and declension. 'Now I can see you.'

Eketi shivered from her touch and looked into her unseeing eyes. 'Tell me, are you married?'

'What kind of question is that?' Champi giggled. 'Of course not.'

'Neither am I. Will you come with me to my island?'

'And what do you promise me there?'

'Lots of fish and fruit. No one to trouble you. And absolutely no need to work!'

'I would love to visit your island one day, but not now.'

'But why?'

'My family is here. Mother and Munna. How can I leave them?'

'Yes, you are right. I also remember my father and mother a lot.'

'But you must speak to Nokai about me.'

'I will. And if you cannot come with me to Nokai, I will send Nokai to you.'

'What do you mean?'

'Nokai can fly out of his body and go wherever he wants.'

'Ja Hut! Now you are sounding just like Aladdin in the TV serial.'

'Honest, I swear on Puluga. Nokai even taught me the trick, but I haven't tried it yet.'

'The things you say!' Champi laughed and made her way back to the house.

Eketi didn't see her again that day, but she remained in his mind, a joyful presence which lent a spring to his step and made him daydream. At night, he lay down on the stone floor of his shack, took out a lump of red clay, mixed it with pig fat and began making delicate designs with his finger on the wall. If Ashok had seen it, he would have recognized it as a wedding pattern.

Four days later, Ashok Rajput paced up and down the marble floor of his guest room. A heady excitement was building inside him, stemming from the latest piece of gossip he had picked up from the neighbourhood tea stall. Vicky Rai was planning to host a big party on 23 March, just over a week from today. This would be his opportunity, he was convinced. All that was required was to give Eketi some elementary electrical training. Slowly but surely, his plan was taking shape.

The same afternoon, two men barged into Eketi's hut at noon. One was in his forties with ginger hair and a scruffy beard, and the other was younger, with an athletic build and spiky black hair. Dressed in nondescript trousers and shirts, they had identical brown jute bags hanging from their shoulders.

'We have heard that you are from Jharkhand, is it true?' the older man asked Eketi.

'Yes,' he replied, feeling a little scared. 'I am Jiba Korwa from Jharkhand.'

'Hello, Comrade Jiba. My name is Comrade Babuli. This is Comrade Uday.'

Eketi nervously fingered his cap.

'Comrade Jiba,' the older man continued, his eyes scanning the room, 'we are from the Maoist Revolutionary Centre – MRC for short – the most progressive revolutionary group in the country. Have you heard of us?'

'No,' said Eketi.

'How can you be from Jharkhand and not know our group? We are the biggest Naxalite organization in the region. And we are fighting to awaken people like you.'

'But I am already awake!'

'Ha! You call this being awake? Your lives are controlled by the imperialist rich. They employ you and pay you a pittance. They grab your land and rape your women. We will change all that.'

'Yes. We are going to destroy this corrupt and hollow bourgeois society and its institutions and replace them with a completely new structure,' the younger man added. 'We are going to create a new India. And we want you to help us.'

'Help you? How?'

'By participating in our armed revolution.'

'So you have come to offer me a job?'

'Comrade Jiba, we are not a government department. We are not offering you a job. We are offering you a lifestyle. A chance to become a hero.'

'And what will I have to do?'

'Become a revolutionary guerrilla. Participate in our people's war. We shall even give you a gun.'

'I don't like guns.' Eketi shook his head. 'They kill people.'

'Comrade Jiba, try to understand,' said Comrade Babuli impatiently. 'Our struggle is to make your life a better one. Tell me, what is the one thing you want most in life?'

'A wife.'

'A wife?' Comrade Uday glared at Eketi as if he had committed heresy. 'Here we are, trying to promote a revolution, and all you can think about is a bloody wife?'

The elder comrade tried to soothe matters. 'It is all right. Comrade Jiba, we understand your needs. We have plenty of girls in our organization. All young revolutionaries. We will find you a wife. All we want from you at this stage is to consider our offer. We will leave behind some literature for you. Have a look, and then one of our associates will contact you. Comrade Uday?' He gestured to his younger colleague.

Comrade Uday delved into his jute bag and handed Eketi a fat bunch of leaflets.

Eketi felt the paper. It was nice and glossy, like the tourist brochure he had picked up from Varanasi, but this one had gory images of severed heads and men in chains.

'I don't like these photos.' He shuddered. 'They will give me bad dreams.'

Comrade Babuli let out a sigh. 'Is there no one around here who believes in our cause? You are the tenth person who has turned us down today. We thought, being from Jharkhand, at least you would support us.'

Comrade Uday, however, wasn't prepared to concede defeat. 'Look, you black bastard,' he snapped. 'We can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way. We just killed a hundred policemen in Gumla District. If you don't cooperate with us, we will go to your village and bump off each and every family member that you have. Am I clear?'

Eketi nodded fearfully.

'So think about our offer. We will contact you again in two weeks' time. OK?'

Eketi nodded again.

'Good. And another word of advice.' Comrade Babuli lowered his voice. 'You better not tell anyone of our visit.'

'Otherwise your family…' Comrade Uday made a slashing motion across his neck.

'Red salute,' said Comrade Babuli and raised a clenched fist as he stepped out of the shack.

'Lal salam,' said Comrade Uday and made the V sign.

'Kujelli!' said Eketi and closed the door. He decided not to tell anyone about these strange visitors.

He continued to meet Champi every day. They would sit on the bench, Eketi would regale her with funny stories about his island and Champi would laugh as she had never laughed before. Most often, however, they would be quiet, sharing an unspoken communion. Their friendship did not need a vocabulary. It grew in between their silences.