News

Sushila came out of the kitchen and set a plate of flatbread on the table. She looked at the grandfather and grandson without a word, then turned and went back.

After dinner, Aditya sat alone beneath the kerosene lamp and opened the ledger.

He had memorized all the figures in the ledger and calculated the interest. He had worked out Patel's deadline, too.

He had searched every cupboard, drawer, and wooden chest in the house. Apart from his father's old clothes, a razor, and a few old books, he had found nothing else useful.

In three generations, the Mishra Family had never produced anyone who could "make their way in the outside world." The family had fallen into severe decline in recent years.

He sat on the charpoy with the lamp still burning. His mother knocked softly on the door from outside, and he answered. Sushila came in, set down a bowl of ginger tea, and left.

Aditya lifted the ginger tea and took a sip. The ginger flavor was strong. As though he had remembered something, his expression changed, and he clutched his backside and hurried to the toilet.

A long while later, Aditya returned with his mouth twisted in a grimace, looking as though he had nothing left to live for.

Aditya took out a radio, the only valuable thing he had found in recent days.

His father had left it behind. It was a National, with a patch of paint chipped off its casing and even the tuning knob loose.

He picked up the radio and opened the battery compartment. There was still a moldy battery inside.

He dug two fresh batteries out of a drawer and put them in.

Then he turned the switch. The radio gave a hiss. Good, it still worked.

He turned the tuning knob. The static grew louder and softer, with voices cutting in and out. Aditya extended the antenna, stood it upright, and turned it in another direction.

"Crackle... crackle!" Then a voice suddenly came through clearly.

"All India Radio evening news."

The announcer's voice came through the radio's speaker, carrying a faint electrical hiss.

"...the minister of agriculture told parliament that the government was studying a proposal to reform the fertilizer pricing mechanism..."

Aditya's hand stopped on the knob. He pricked up his ears.

"Fertilizer, reform, prices."

Aditya's eyes lit up. Rupees flashed in them.

He sat on a low stool with the radio on his knees and its speaker pressed to his ear. The announcer continued reading other news.

The rupee exchange rate, international oil prices, the monsoon forecast.

But Aditya was no longer listening. That one sentence had been enough.

"Fertilizer, reform, prices."

"That's it. I have a direction."

Aditya spoke in a lowered voice, his expression full of excitement.

That night, Aditya listened to the radio for a long time.

When All India Radio finished broadcasting, he switched to the BBC's overseas service. The BBC signal was poor and full of static, so he leaned his ear closer to listen and guessed at what he could not make out.

He also used a pencil to jot things down on blank pages in his notebook.

Fertilizer, subsidies, rupees, imports, controls, reform.

Early the next morning, Aditya went to the county town by bullock cart. The bullock belonged to Raju's family, and Raju drove.

The bullock cart was slow, and the road was full of potholes. Water had collected in the ruts, and when the wheels rolled through, it splashed onto the cart bed, soaking half of Aditya's trouser legs.

But none of that dampened Aditya's excitement.

"Young master, what are we going to the county town for?" Raju asked, looking back.

"To read the newspapers."

Raju asked no more questions. He drove the bullock, and the bullock pulled the cart.

There was a tea stall outside the county town's post office, with four small wooden tables and several benches. The owner was a thin, dark-skinned man in a gray shirt.

Aditya sat down on a bench. The owner brought over a cup of tea, put it on the table, and left.

The tea had been boiled with cardamom. It was dark brown, with a layer of fine foam floating on top. Aditya picked it up and took a sip. It scalded his mouth and tasted awful, and he sucked in a breath of cool air.

"Clean and hygienic!" Aditya took another sip. This time, it tasted a little better.

There was a newspaper stand outside the post office. He sent Raju to buy a copy of The Economic Times and spread it out at the tea stall.

Aditya went from the first page to the last, finding every news item related to "fertilizer, agriculture, subsidies."

He copied everything useful into his notebook.

Raju squatted outside the tea stall, watching people come and go.

Someone at the tea stall happened to be talking about fertilizer. Aditya put down his pencil and pricked up his ears.

"Have you heard? The county tax officer told someone the government's going to open up imports so farmers can buy cheap fertilizer."

"No, I haven't. Why's a grain trader like you paying attention to this?"

"..."

The voices gradually grew quieter, and Aditya picked up his pencil and resumed copying.

An old man in patched trousers squatted on the curb, eating roasted chickpeas wrapped in newspaper, pinching up a handful and tossing them into his mouth.

A cyclist passed with two bundles of sugarcane tied to his rear rack, their leaves scraping the ground with a rustle.

After a long while, Aditya finished copying from the newspaper and closed his notebook.

"Raju."

Raju stood up from the curb and patted his backside. "Young master."

Aditya stood up and said, "Let's go!"

The bullock cart creaked as it carried the two of them back.

It was already dark when Aditya got home. He went into the main room, lit the kerosene lamp, and spread out his notebook, comparing what he had copied that day with what he had heard the night before.

The BBC had said, "Controls on phosphate fertilizer imports may be lifted in the second half of the year."

The Economic Times had written, "The government is assessing a proposal to reform fertilizer subsidies."

A commentary in the Hindustan Times had said, "The window for reform may come after the rainy season ends."

The grain trader chatting at the tea stall had said, "The tax officer's spreading word that they're going to open things up."

Aditya arranged these pieces of information along a timeline and found that, from the radio to the newspapers to the tea-stall chatter, they were all talking about the same thing.

This was a complete chain of information. Rumors of policy upstream flowed down into the county tax officer's ears, then passed into the mouth of the grain trader at the tea stall.

The direction was right. The key was phosphate fertilizer, the lifting of government controls, and the timing was the second half of the year.

He wrote a line at the end of his notebook: "Watch closely. Wait for a specific date."

The next morning, his grandfather sat drinking tea beneath the mango tree in the courtyard. Aditya brought over a low stool and sat beside him.

"Grandpa, I have a plan. If it works, we won't have to worry about the debt, and we might even make some money."

His grandfather put down his teacup. There was no joy on his face as he stared at Aditya.

Aditya looked back at his grandfather and said quietly, "I've heard some rumors. Word outside is that fertilizer policy might change. I want to wait for a specific date before making a move."

His grandfather, Patil, did not ask how he had heard this, nor did he ask what he would do once the date came.

He put down his teacup, remained silent for a long time, then said:

"Times really have changed, but we Brahmins can't just sit and wait to die. Aditya, I've already handed the Mishra Family over to you. I won't interfere anymore. Handle it as you see fit."

After saying this, he stood up and slowly walked back inside with his teacup. In the sunlight, Patil's retreating figure disappeared behind the half-length curtain at the main room's entrance.

Aditya sat for a while, then stood and walked to the courtyard gate.

Raju lay beside the woodpile at the foot of the courtyard wall, his elbows resting on his knees. The sunlight did not reach this spot, so it was a little cooler.

"Raju!"

Raju hurriedly stood up. "Young master."

"From today on, you'll work with me. Not in the fields. You'll run errands, listen for news, and watch what's happening outside. Can you do that?"

Raju glanced at him, then immediately lowered his head.

"Yes."

"You can't read. I'll teach you to recognize numbers."

Raju froze for a moment, but soon nodded. "I'll do as you say, young master."

Aditya looked at him for two seconds, then handed him some rupees.

"First, go buy something for me."

"What?"

"Batteries. For the radio."

Raju stood up from beside the woodpile, brushed the dust off himself, and turned toward the village entrance.

Taking the batteries Raju had bought, Aditya told him to attend to his own business and said he did not need to stay here all the time when there was nothing to do.

Aditya returned to the main room, opened his notebook, and looked again at that line: "Wait for a specific date."

He did not know when that specific date would be, but he knew the direction was right.

Aditya sat on the stool, the radio resting on the table with its antenna extended to its full length.

Outside, it was nearly dark. The mango leaves in the courtyard rustled in the wind. His grandfather's coughing drifted faintly from the inner room.

The Ganges glowed yellow once more.

He waited for that date to emerge from the radio, from the newspapers, or from someone's mouth.