Abedali looked ahead as far as his eyes could see, but the road just seemed to go on and on. He had heard that if one went down this road, one would first pass Raghunathpur, and after that came Mathurapur, and then Mirganj. Once you went past these three large villages you reached the marketplace of Madarteker Haat, and after crossing that and advancing further there was the Baliyadangi police station. But what came after that?

He did not know. Because Ramjan Fakir, the shaman who attended to people and cattle, had only said so much; he hadn’t mentioned any place beyond. This was the last place he had spoken of sitting under the shade of the mango tree in the marketplace, spinning tales of his sorcerous prowess to the mischievous youths. Was there really nothing after that? And the road c

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