Raghuvir had rehearsed the words all morning as he walked his camel to the river. He would end it today—gently, finally, before the wanting killed him. Setting his jaw, he climbed the embankment. On the opposite bank, Manjari will be waiting. He will have to break both their hearts.

But Manjari wasn't there. Instead, Manjari's mother stood on the bank, wringing her hands,

"Mangu Ram's goons took Manjari with them. For unpaid rent."

"Where have they taken her, Ganga Bai?"

"To the safari camp. She stays until we pay the rent."

"That infamous camp? We must get her out."

"She has taken her dagger … Please do something …"

He was no favorite of Ganga Bai. Sheer desperation had made her come to him. But this was no time for past wounds. He had come to end it; instead, he decided to raid Mangu Ram's camp.

He patted Bijli, his camel's neck, and clicked his tongue, signaling her to kneel. Clambering up on her unsaddled back, he turned her westwards along the caravan route to the Sam sand dunes, past the scrubland of Pokhran.

A 30-mile ride through hot sand dunes without a saddle, the deadly goons at Mangu Ram's camp — none of these mattered because Manjari, his Manjari, was in danger.

Bijli paced fast on fresh legs; Raghuvir locked his knees to the camel's flanks and adjusted to her rolling gait, as he remembered their meetings.

He loved her. But in their world, a camel herding Banjara could not marry a Nat girl, a public dancer. Their different castes forbade it.

He remembered the thrill of their first kiss. The heady feeling of being in love, of being loved. But they had to meet in secret. Their stolen kisses and guilty caresses turned furtive and cheap in six months.

After much soul-searching, he chose heartbreak over dishonor. That morning, he planned to break off their affair. But now, he was racing to save her, for he couldn't live without her.

#

In the morning cool, Bijli ate up the miles. But as the pitiless sun rose higher, the sand dunes shimmered, and she labored to breathe. Raghuvir's thighs ached, the insides chafed raw. His half open turban waved like a banner behind him. To forget the pain, he pictured their first meeting.

Six months ago, he had come to water his camel at the Luni River, almost dry in the pre-monsoon heat. On the opposite bank, Manjari washed clothes as usual.

She stood in knee-deep water, her ghagra skirt tucked up, the top button of her choli undone, curly strands of hair plastered to her sweaty forehead. Raghuvir stared at this wild whiplash of a girl. He had seen no one so beautiful.

Instinctively, Manjari looked up and hurriedly adjusted her clothes. She saw a tall young man who pretended he was grooming his camel. He was also staring at her rudely. Gathering her half-finished washing, she left the riverbank in a hurry. But neither could forget the other.

Raghuvir veered sharply to avoid a thorny bush. Bijli was tiring. He patted her neck and spoke soothingly to her.

He squinted against the sun's glare. Every gust of gritty wind stung his skin and blurred his vision. Sand shifted beneath Bijli's feet. Twice she stumbled, once nearly throwing him. He clung on, teeth clenched, whispering old desert prayers to Balaji. He didn't slow down, but he knew Bijli must rest soon.

His father had warned him.

"Your camel mustn't overheat. Rest and water her every four hours, or she'd be lamed, even die." Seeing a small pool of water under a clump of trees, Raghuvir kicked Bijli's flanks to slow her down.

He watched dust devils raise a mini storm as Bijli rested. He remembered the storm his father had raised when Raghuvir spoke of marriage to a Nat girl, for Nats were a lower caste.

"No better than a prostitute." Roared his father. Manjari fared no better with Ganga Bai. She said,

"Impossible. We'll be outcastes." The two lovers discussed wild solutions. Raghuvir said,

"We'll run away to Jaipur. No one cares about caste in big cities." But Manjari said,

"I can't leave my old mother behind." And the gloom returned.

Raghuvir roused himself. He made ready for the last dash as the sun rode low in the west. Cooling himself in the pool, he tore his turban into strips to pad his sore thighs.

"I fear for her life … She has her dagger …" Ganga Bai's words spurred him on. As he climbed back on Bijli, he swore,

"If I die in these dunes, so be it—but I'll never let her get raped in that camp tonight."

#

From a distance, Raghuvir saw some camels at the camp entrance, waiting to be hired for rides. He came up to them, leading Bijli by her rope. His face dripped with sweat; he was tired and sore. He had no plan but hoped that the camel drivers would aid him.

A rough-looking camel driver stopped him,

"We have too many camels already. Get lost, kid."

Something was off. They weren't normal camel drivers. Standing alert, each showed a bulge at the hip. Raghuvir had never seen such camel drivers. Were they camp employed goons? Or could they be policemen in disguise? He scoffed at his own thought. Policemen in Jaisalmer came in uniform, sirens blaring. Whoever they were, he couldn't get through them. Worried, he went round the camp, looking for a rear entrance.

He was in luck. The boundary wall dropped lower at the back, and a recent collapse had created a climbable spot. Dropping across, he spotted a small tent at the far edge, near a line of shrubs. His heart beat faster, for he recognized Manjari, backlit by a lantern. She seemed unharmed.

With a sigh of relief, Raghuvir tied Bijli to a tree and clambered over. Rushing the last yard, he smothered her cry and dragged her into the tent. No one else was inside.

Their reunion was joyful but brief, for Mangu Ram's goons could come any minute. Manjari said,

"Some foreigner is here. A bear of a man. Mangu Ram was talking about 'merchandise' and 'delivery.' The guards are on edge—gun-running, maybe. Something big."

"But why drag you here?" asked Raghuvir, cold fear coiling in his stomach.

"For the foreigner," said Manjari simply.

"After my dance, a guard told me to keep my makeup on — for a special performance." She looked at Raghuvir, her steady eyes meeting his.

"But I shall save my honor … kill myself." The steel in her voice was unmistakable. Taking both her hands, Raghuvir said,

"Let's ride off right away, hide amongst the dunes."

"Hide where? They have Jeeps with searchlights. They'll hunt us down."

"How do we escape? Oh, Balaji, help us!"

Then Manjari had a wild idea. She held up a spare ghagra skirt and asked archly,

"How do you like the idea of becoming a Nat girl tonight?" She giggled as she explained her plan to Raghuvir.

Half an hour later, a guard called her. Inside the tent, a muffled voice replied,

"I know the way; go ahead, I'll follow."

"Try any tricks and I'll cut off your ears," growled the guard, walking away.

In a few minutes, a muffled figure emerged, wearing a ghagra skirt, a choli top, and a scarf. As she moved towards the foreigner's tent, her strides seemed longer, and her shadow seemed taller somehow.

#

Meanwhile, Ivanov, the Russian, had finished a bottle of Famous Grouse. His fingers juggled a machine gun cartridge as he glanced at the entrance. Through a drunken haze, he saw a veiled figure enter and come close.

"About time," he growled as he tried to pull her down on the bed.

Surprising him, the figure jumped on him and held a knife at his throat. The scarf slipped, and Ivanov saw the attacker was a young man.

He hissed to the Russian to be quiet as he looked for a rope. The Russian fought back, still drunk, trying to push the intruder off his chest.

Soon, the Russian threw Raghuvir on the ground with a tent-shaking roar. A short tussle, and Raghuvir was done. The Russian growled,

"Little shrimp! I was a former Soviet special forces commando." His giant hands closed round Raghuvir's throat.

Gasping for air, helpless, Raghuvir thought of Manjari's fate if he failed. Summoning all his strength, he thrust his fingers in the Russian's eyes. The Russian loosened his grip, yelling in pain. Abandoning stealth, Raghuvir shouted for help at the top of his voice. His kicks overturned the lantern, and the tent caught fire.

The tough camel driver burst into the tent. Raising his pistol, he yelled,

"Ivanov! You shall not escape this time. Hands up." It was a signal. Several camel drivers rushed in, brandishing pistols. They were a crack police team in disguise, tasked to arrest the gunrunner. The uncomprehending Russian complained,

"My eyes, I can't see."

#

Senior Police Superintendent Chauhan and his team shed their disguises as they handcuffed Ivanov. He was very pleased tonight. His team had played cat and mouse with Ivanov for months. To Raghuvir, Chauhan said,

"Congratulations, young man, you've helped to capture the most wanted gunrunner in India."

#

By dawn, the police charged Mangu Ram and his goons for immoral trafficking and abetting a dangerous criminal. Raghuvir, now changed into his own clothes, and Manjari, were called by Senior Superintendent Chauhan.

Raghuvir said,

"Manjari dressed me as a girl. I was to gag and tie up the Russian, to stop him from raising a hue and cry, while we escaped on my camel." Manjari said,

"Thank heavens the police came in time."

Laughing, Chauhan said, "You did a fine job on Raghuvir. He looked much better as a girl than he does now. Your knife?" Manjari said,

"Always carry one to defend my honor."

She looked dead serious, and no one laughed. Chauhan asked,

"Where will you go now? Neither of your clans will accept you."

Raghuvir looked sheepish. Chauhan slapped him on the back, saying,

"I see. You haven't thought things through." His look measured Raghuvir. He said,

"Why not join the force? We could do with stout lads like you—see me in my office tomorrow." That night, for the first time, they slept in the police barracks without fear. In the morning, their future began.

#

The paperwork took weeks, and the training months, but Chauhan kept his promise. One night, six months later, Manjari stood on the rooftop of their police barrack, looking up at the stars. They had aligned so well. She was in night school, while Raghuvir studied for the head constable's exam.

She missed her nomadic life, most of all her mother. Ganga Bai kept away for she didn't approve of a Banjara camel driver son-in-law.

Touching her belly, Manjari smiled as she whispered,

"You will bring mother running." Below, she heard Raghuvir's footsteps.

He was home.

-