Free City of Ghosts by Bali Rai

grew less clear as each year passed. The image of a small house encircled by plants and bushes that were bright with flowers seemed to have lost its vibrancy. What had once been the faces of two people was now just separate pairs of loving eyes, looking down on him. And there was the smell of citrus, neither orange nor lemon but a sharp infusion of both. The recollection made him happy and sad at the same time: there was a vast, empty hole that he carried in his soul; a void that could only be filled when he found himself a new family. Tears welled in his eyes, and with a sense of shame he turned his head away from Jeevan and Bissen.
    â€˜The soldiers shot him,’ he told Bissen, hoping that he wouldn’t see the tears. How stupid he felt, crying in front of his friends. But thinking of the emptiness he held inside always brought tears to his eyes. It wasn’t something he could control.
    â€˜Why?’ asked Bissen.
    Jeevan sighed. ‘He was hiding a gun,
bhai-ji
.’
    Gurdial wiped his eyes, then turned back to his friends. ‘The dust is always getting in,’ he lied.
    Bissen and Jeevan said nothing. All three were lost and longing to find some sense of belonging. That was the nature of their friendship. It was why they were brothers. Not that they had ever discussed it. It was just something that was there between them, as silent as a ghost, and as loud as thunder too.

15 February 1919
    JEEVAN WATCHED AS the couple who ran the orphanage hugged Udham Singh with unconcealed delight.
    â€˜You have returned!’ cried Mata Devi, her eyes streaming with tears.
    Mata-ji was a large woman, and as she sat on a stool by the open fire, the overspill from her buttocks obscured its legs. Her dark hair was scraped back and tied into a ponytail. Her face was warm and generous and her eyes still held the mischievousness of the young girl she had once been.
    â€˜It has been so long,’ added her husband, Sohan Singh.
    Sohan was as thin as a cane of sugar and his clothes were tatty and torn. His greying turban was loosely tied and seemed too big for his head. Grey whiskers spread across the lower part of his face and his brown eyes danced with intelligence. His skin wasthe colour of sheesham wood and seemed parched.
    Udham Singh, who was a few years older than Jeevan, seemed a shy, quiet man. He stood only a few inches taller but his frame was stocky with it, whereas Jeevan was reedy and waif-like. Udham’s arms were thick with muscle, his hands like clubs, covered in dark hair. He wore a thin moustache and had jet-black hair and his eyes were as black as coals. Compared to Udham, Jeevan felt like a little boy.
    â€˜It has been too long,
chacha-ji
,’ Udham replied to Sohan. ‘Are you both well?’
    The couple nodded.
    â€˜And who is this?’ he asked, nodding towards Jeevan.
    â€˜Another one like you,’ sighed Mata Devi. ‘There are so many boys whose lives are empty.’
    Udham smiled at Jeevan. ‘You look like you could use some more of Mata-ji’s food,’ he joked.
    Jeevan, unsure of himself, shrugged. Udham was well known to the boys at the orphanage. He had been sent there as a boy, along with his brother, who had died soon afterwards. But despite the hardships he’d faced, Udham became a hard-working member of the group, and to some of the boys he was a role model. At the age of sixteen he’d left for Basra in Iraq to work as a carpenter for the British. But he was soon sent back to India, although he’d never fully explained why. Now he found work in and around the city and had yet to turn twenty years of age.
    â€˜Do you have a name?’ asked Udham.
    â€˜Jeevan. You used to call me and my friend Gurdial monkeys when we were younger. We annoyed you all the time.’
    â€˜Ah! I remember you two! Well, in that case, my brother, would you kindly pour me some tea?’
    A smile burst onto Jeevan’s face. ‘Yes!’ he