It was a humid day when the elephant came. I was twelve, Latika was thirteen. The mahout helped us settle on the top after my Grandma gave him ten rupees. Sitting on the red velvet howdah, we faced each other.

‍

Outside of the borders of our town, to the west, there lives a witch, in a ranch by a lake where no one ever goes. The boys watch her, lying on their stomachs behind the bushes, gravel biting their knees, dust clinging to their eyelashes.