'Then first swear that you will obey my every command.'
'Eketi swears on spirit blood.'
'Good.' Ashok softened. 'On that condition I will take you back to Little Andaman. But not immediately. I still have some business to finish here. Till then you will work as my servant. Understood?'
The Onge nodded.
'What were you doing in Allahabad?' asked Ashok.
'Nothing. I was simply passing time,' said Eketi.
'Did you visit the Magh Mela?'
'Yes. I am coming straight from there.'
'You are lucky to be alive. There was a terrorist attack, one of the biggest. They say at least thirty people were killed in the bomb blast.'
'Were you there too?'
'Yes. I care more about your tribe than you do. I came to the Magh Mela searching for the sacred rock.'
'So did you get it?'
'No,' Ashok said regretfully. 'A thief stole it from Swami Haridas's tent in the mêlée after the bomb blast.'
'Then is it gone for ever?'
'I don't know. I am hoping it will surface when the thief tries to sell it to someone.'
'So where are you going now?'
'To my hometown. To Jaisalmer. That is where you are also going, by the way.'
Their train arrived in Jaisalmer the next morning. The railway station was like a fish market, with a rabble of rickshaw- and taxidrivers chanting the names of their hotels, touts holding banners advertising all manner of guesthouses, and a mob of commission agents accosting passengers with offers of cut-price camel safaris and free Jeep taxi services, only to be driven back by policemen with sticks.
Ashok blinked in the blazing sun and wiped the perspiration from his brow with a handkerchief. Even though it was the last week of February, dry heat crackled in the air like electricity.
The welfare officer seemed to know everyone in Jaisalmer. 'Pao lagu, Shekhawatji,' he said to the superintendent at the station. 'Khamma ghani, Jaggu,' he greeted the owner of a corner cafeteria, who hugged him warmly and offered him a cold drink.
'This is my city,' Ashok wagged a finger at Eketi. 'You try anything funny and I will know in a second. Understand?'
The Onge nodded his head. 'Once Eketi has sworn on spirit blood, he has to keep his promise. An Onge who breaks his promise earns the wrath of the onkobowkwe. He dies and becomes an eeka, condemned to live below the earth.'
'I am sure you wouldn't want such a terrible fate,' said Ashok. They boarded a battered auto-rickshaw which made a racket as it navigated the narrow streets of the city.
Eketi saw scattered houses, some cows sitting on the side of the road and a woman walking with a pot of water on her head. All of a sudden he shouted, 'Stop!'
'What's the matter?' Ashok asked, clearly annoyed at the interruption.
'Look!' Eketi shrieked, pointing in front of him. Ashok saw a group of three camels lumbering down the road.
'You've never seen them before, but they are perfectly harmless animals.' Ashok laughed and told the driver to continue. Minutes later they were inside a street market. Rajasthani women in dazzling red-and-orange odhnis, their arms loaded with bangles, crowded around clothes shops and fruit vendors while the men sported colourful turbans and impressive handlebar moustaches.
And then, through the haze of heat and dust, a magnificent yellow sandstone fort rose in the distance like a shimmering mirage. With its majestic ramparts, delicately sculpted temple towers and myriad bastions suffused with honey-coloured light, the citadel looked as if it had sprung straight out of some medieval fantasy.
Eketi rubbed his eyes to make sure they were not playing tricks on him. 'What is that?' he asked Ashok in an awestruck voice.
'That is the Jaisalmer Fort. And we are going right inside it.'
The auto-rickshaw protested as it climbed Trikuta Hill, atop which perched the golden fort. As the fort neared, Eketi saw that the bastions were actually half-towers, surrounded by high turrets and joined by thick walls.
They entered the fort complex through a giant gate which led to a cobbled courtyard, from where a maze of narrow lanes led in all directions. The courtyard was full of pavement shops selling colourful quilts, stone artefacts and puppets. A turbaned musician played the sarangi while his similarly dressed companion peddled the manjira, regaling a flock of foreign tourists who flitted around them, snapping pictures.
As the auto-rickshaw travelled deeper inside, the fort became a city within a city, dotted with magnificent houses. Signboards, banners and electric wires disfigured many of these ancient havelis, but the intricacy of the carvings on their latticed façdes was nothing less than poetry in stone. The secret, serpentine alleys teemed with activity. Little corner shops sold everything from soap to nails. Roadside fruit-sellers sat with high piles of apples and oranges. Bearded tailors pedalled away at their sewing machines to the bleating of goats. Music blared from roadside restaurants and mingled with chants from the nearby Jain temples. Children flew kites from crumbling rooftops and cows masticated leisurely in the middle of the road.
As they passed a row of painted mud-and-thatch houses, Ashok directed the driver to his ancestral residence, a large, dilapidated double-storeyed haveli with latticed windows and a carved wooden door studded with iron spikes. The door was unlocked and they entered an open courtyard.
A lanky boy, around thirteen years of age, dressed in white kurta pyjamas, emerged from the veranda. 'Chachu!' he shouted in delighted surprise and ran to Ashok, who embraced him with surprising tenderness.
'How tall have you grown, Rahul!' the welfare officer said.
'You are seeing me after five years, Uncle,' the boy replied.
'Is Bhabhisa home?' Ashok asked.
'Yes. She is in the kitchen. I will call her.'
'No, let me surprise her as well,' Ashok said.
'Who is this fellow with you?' The boy pointed at Eketi.
'This is a servant I picked up from the island. He will work for us now.'
'That is excellent! Lalit, our last servant, ran away last week. But how come he is so black?'
'Didn't you see the photos I sent you? All tribes in the Andaman are like him. But he will be a good worker. Why don't you show him the servants' quarters at the back?' Ashok said and bounded towards the veranda.
The boy looked suspiciously at Eketi. 'Are you an adamkhor? A cannibal?'
'What is a cannibal?' Eketi asked.
'Men who eat other men. Uncle says the Andaman Islands are full of cannibal tribes.'
'Only Jarawas are like that. But I've never met one.'
'If you had you wouldn't be standing here today,' the boy laughed. 'My name is Rahul. Come with me.'
He led Eketi through the main door into a side lane which ran parallel to the house. A teenage boy in vest and shorts stood on the pathway with a large Alsatian, which began growling. 'Hey, Rahul, who is this kalu with you?' the teenager shouted, tightening the leash on the dog.
'He is our new servant,' Rahul replied.
'Where did you get him from? Africa?'
Rahul did not respond.
'Jungli! Habshi!' the boy heckled Eketi as he passed him. The dog strained to break the leash.
'Don't mind Bittu, he is always making fun of people,' Rahul said half apologetically.
The servants' quarters were at the back of the house, two dark, dingy windowless rooms with string beds and coarse blankets, separated by a common toilet. The haveli was perched close to the edge of one of the fort's ninety-nine bastions, and immediately behind the servants' quarters was a sandstone parapet where a cow was tethered. It basked in the sun, chewing and flicking its tail occasionally to keep off the flies. Eketi leaned over the parapet and saw the fort wall and below it a steep rocky slope. In the distance the city of Jaisalmer spread like a brownand- grey tapestry. Square houses with flat roofs lay in haphazard profusion, looking like matchboxes from this height. Close to the horizon he could even make out the sand dunes of the Thar desert, resembling frozen waves. He sniffed the air and was surprised to discover no hint of water near that sea of sand.