It was a warm summer afternoon, with no sign of wind. All still and silent, the air felt heavy with the smell of mangoes. The only sound that broke the quiet was Kanta Rao’s snores, which could be heard from half a kilometre away. He was a man who wandered around the village, looking for shops to buy beedis and snacks, on loan, promising to pay as soon as possible, but he was not a man who kept those promises. Today, he found a new shop where he didn’t owe any money. After a few beedis, he thought he could rest on the slab. In a few minutes, he was deep in sleep, drooling away, his stomach heavy with the fish curry that his wife made for lunch, or maybe it was just rice and pickle. It really didn’t matter, he eats whatever there is, he’s not picky that way.

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