Kishor tightened the string on his little cloth bag and took off. His sandals slapped the red-dirt track past the swaying paddy fields, and the rumble of a truck called him forward.
He chased it until the truck disappeared, lungs burning with each step. There and then, with nowhere to stop, the boy decided he would run far enough to lose himself entirely.
The road emptied into a town where buildings climbed so high the sun vanished behind them. A fruit seller pressed a warm mango into his palm — ‘Eat, beta.’ He smiled and slipped the bag onto his shoulder.
Shutters clicked closed one after another. Shadows stretched across the unfamiliar stones. The boy stood very still, clutching his bag, thinking: how big is this world anyway?
Night arrived softly. Kishor sat on a low stone wall, tracing its rough cracks with his fingertips. The town had gone quiet. Somewhere a temple bell tolled once… twice…
A scruffy dog trotted into the lantern light and curled beside him without asking. Its warm fur brushed the boy's leg. He did not move away.
Then a voice — thin and clear — cut through the dark. 'Kishor!' His mother stood at the edge of town on the field path. The boy sprang up in an instant.
He ran past the sleeping dog, past the shuttered stalls, past every shadow that had frightened him hours before. His only thought was: home, home, home.
His mother swept him up. Her cotton sari carried the smell of wood smoke and coconut oil. Kishor buried his face in her shoulder, fists gripping the fabric.
She carried him along the path, past sleeping fields and silent houses. Behind them, the first stars blinked awake over the quiet village.