Part 5: "Dreams on the Train"

Critter Merchant: Ladies and gentlemen, these young critters, a thousand times cheaper than NewBabel's, are the best guardians for your home!
Critter Merchant: Specially bred by our top caretakers! You won't find a better deal anywhere!
The merchant holds a confused critter high above his head, pitching it to the passengers as he passes them by.
The carriage is packed shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with sweat and the smell of critters in their cages.
A woman in a faded sari carries a baby strapped to her back. Barefoot men cling tightly to the entrance railings.
Children dart this way and that between the legs of adults, playing hide-and-seek and dodging would-be scoldings.
Kanjira: Wow. There are so many people here. Everyone is trying to be somewhere else ... somewhere new ...
Janardhan: Staying stuck in one place for so long makes you the rare creature, kid.
Janardhan: Nobody wants to stay put forever. Merchants, students, beggars, ascetics ... idiots or clever little pickpockets—everyone wants a peek outside their own little world. Otherwise, how would they ever figure out where they really stand?
Janardhan: People who never leave home never figure out who they really are.
Teacher: Excuse me, sir.
Janardhan: ...
Teacher: Stay close, kids! Eyes forward! No wandering off or stopping!
A teacher raises her hand high, leading a group of children into the carriage.
Student: Miss, wait ... M-My wallet's gone! My ticket was in there!
A boy digs through his pockets, calling out for help.
But in the chaos of the train, his small voice is swallowed whole.
Student: It should be here. I swear I put it in my pocket!
He fumbles helplessly, unaware that his teacher and classmates have already left him behind.
Kanjira: Punji? You saw what happened. That man took it?
The little snake hisses softly by her ear.
Kanjira looks toward the direction of its flicking tongue. A hunched man in a long coat stands there, not at all looking like a thief.
But she steps forward anyway.
Thief: What's the matter, kid? Starving so bad you've lost your mind? Be smart and back off. This one's my catch.
Before she even speaks, he already figures out who she is.
Kanjira: No. I just want the wallet back. And the train ticket. You can keep the money.
Thief: Heh ... And what if I say no? You out here trying to be a saint while picking pockets yourself?

More eyes gather, the crowd thickens, and escape looks harder by the second.
Thief: Tch. Damn it! Of all the rotten luck—had to run into a dumb little brat.
He tosses the wallet aside and vanishes into the crowd.
Kanjira steps up and taps the lone student on the shoulder.
Kanjira: Hey, kid. This yours? Looked like it fell.
Student: Uh! Thank you!
He thanks her but then glances down at her dirty elbows and scraped knees. His guard shoots right back up.
Kanjira: Heh, Punji's eyes never miss a thing—
Student: I-I have to go!
He runs without another word, a mix of fear and prejudice rattles in his voice.
Kanjira: Hey ... wait—!
That's when the man finally walks over.
Janardhan: You do realize, the moment he tells his teacher, they'll pin whatever money's missing in that wallet on you, right?
Janardhan: Thought you were smarter than that.
Janardhan: You know how the embers survive in a fire?
He lights a cigarette and stares out the window.
Janardhan: They hide under the wood that's burning faster.
Kanjira: I just wanted to tell him ... his book fell ...
She picks up the slim book from the floor and flips through it, eyes wide at the dense letters and bright pictures.
A hand snatches the book away.
Janardhan: You're gonna see a lot more of this world, kid.
Janardhan: But you won't learn anything useful with what's written in these things. They just make you soft, fill your head with sweet little lies about how things ought to be.
Janardhan: To trust things that won't protect you and to believe someone will always take care of you if you just behave.
Janardhan: Pretty words about justice, cooperation, and sacrifice. But words don't keep your belly full.
Janardhan: Open your eyes. Walk the earth with your own feet. And in the end, let your own gut tell you what's real—and what's just another lie.
He shoves the book back into her chest, dismissing it like old rubbish.
Kanjira lowers her head but then lifts it again.
Kanjira: So ... then you can read?!
Janardhan: ...
He raises his fingers to his temples and shakes his head with pure exasperation.
Kanjira: Ms. Sherjah was teaching us back home, but I could never get the words to make sense. Can you tell me what this story's about?
Janardhan: ...
He snatches the book back, flicks his cigarette out the window, and crouches down.
Janardhan: Promise me this—you're done "playing hero" on this train. No more trouble.
Kanjira: I promise!
Despite the noise of the train, she listens carefully to the story.
Janardhan: "There was once a tyrant king who decreed that anyone who could take a golden peacock feather in the palace without force would be granted wealth and glory."
Janardhan: "There's a clever cobbler named Kabir. He weaves singing peacocks from straw to lure the guards away."
Janardhan: "And then he uses grass rope soaked in turmeric to measure the golden peacock's height."
Janardhan: "Three days later, when the Tyrant King shows off the peacock, Kabir publicly proves the golden peacock's tail feathers are three fingers longer than the royal emblem allows—a crime of overstepping royal authority."
Janardhan: "So the Tyrant King is forced to break the golden peacock in front of everyone. Kabir picks up a fallen feather and says, 'See, king, now, I have your feather.'"
Janardhan: "And in the end, the cobbler wins the Tyrant King's treasure with his wits, trades it for food and shelter, and saves the poor from hunger."
He lets out a mocking laugh.
Janardhan: You know how that fool dies? Three years later, a new king takes the throne and wants his treasure back. But the idiot refuses to say where it is, so they tie him to some horrible torture rack—
Janardhan: The real world never matches the stories.
Janardhan: Only idiots believe in things like that. Keeping your own hide safe and being free—that's all that really matters.
Kanjira examines the illustrations in silence, chewing over his words and the story's like a plate of fish, searching tenderly with each bite for some thin sliver of wisdom like a bone.
What Janardhan said matches everything she's ever known, yet some stubborn part of her resists, in a part of her buried deep under layers of calluses.
The carriage, already noisy, grows noisier. People stand up all at once, pressing toward the windows.
Kanjira: What's going on, Janardhan?
Still mourning the cobbler's fate, she doesn't sound curious—just wary.
Janardhan: sigh
Looking into those wide, innocent eyes, he turns away, uneasy ... and somehow guilty.
Janardhan: Fine, over here, kid.
He crouches near the window, ignoring the grime on the floor, and offers his back.
Janardhan: Climb up.
Kanjira: Hm?
She thinks for a second, then gleefully climbs up his back, just barely reaching the window frame.
Her chin rests against the rusted sill. The air tastes sweet and raw, full of green and living scents.
The wind roars, loud enough to drown everything else out.
The train shudders hard as it rounds a bend, wet air rushing through the broken windows.
Fighting against the wind, Kanjira forces open her eyes—
Kanjira: ...!
A rainforest ripples under the folds of the wind. The tracks cut through waves and waves of wide tropic leaves.
The green tide that ebbs with the wind.
A distant waterfall roars, and birds call as they fly above them.
Her mouth opens, words caught on her tongue.
She feels like a sailor seeing land for the first time—ready to shout from the mast.
And then, like greeting a brand-new world ...
She lets out a raw and primal cry.
Kanjira: Waaahhh—waaahhh—