I'm a Master in India

Khana is a small village near Mirzapur, with fertile land, truly a land of fish and rice.

Everywhere there are lush green paddy fields, golden wheat waves, and clear ponds.

The ponds are full of lotus roots and water lilies, and buffaloes step on the muddy banks, chewing on the lotus leaves.

There is a small river outside the village, a tributary of the Ganges. Every week, boats come downstream, bringing various daily necessities from the outside world.

There is also a small street in the village, divided in half by a black drainage ditch.

A small market is built on the silt on both sides of the ditch, with two or three small shops, all looking similar.

They sell the same things: stale rice passed off as good quality, cooking oil, kerosene, cigarettes, and palm sugar.

At the end of the market stands a conical tower, its outer walls whitewashed.

The village lacks everything but lime.

Even the flagstones around the tower are coated with lime, and higher up, intertwined black snakes are painted.

This is the village temple, dedicated to a saffron-colored half-human, half-monkey creature, the monkey god Hanuman.

He is Rama's most loyal servant and the supreme god worshipped by everyone in the small village.

The monkey god Hanuman sets an example for the villagers, serving his master with absolute loyalty, love, and devotion.

That's right, the people of this village are born servants; they have carried the burden of a low caste, low as dust, for generations.

The lush green wheat fields belong to the landlord, the golden wheat waves have nothing to do with them, and they are not even allowed to bathe in the clear ponds.

"Muna! You little rascal, slacking off again!" The tea stall owner loudly hit the young boy's head with a large ladle.

Muna jolted, his vacant gaze returning from the pond, and he began to run around the table, begging for mercy.

He had to run; wherever the ladle struck, the hot syrup on it would leave many marks on his body.

His ears and arms were already covered in many small white spots from the burns; someone who didn't know might think he had vitiligo or some other skin disease.

"Sir, look, there's a new movie!" Muna, in desperation, pointed to a bicycle wobbling towards them outside.

A cardboard sign was tied to the back seat of the bicycle, with a large, brand-new poster for an adult film.

Oh, new stock!

The tea stall owner came to the door, and the rickshaw pullers curled up on the back seats of their rickshaws also widened their eyes.

The person riding the bicycle vigorously shook a bell, circling the tea stall three times.

The tea stall is the center of activity in this village; the bus from town stops in front of it every noon.

When the police come to the village to cause trouble, they also park their jeep here.

Every village in Uttar Pradesh has a similar tea stall.

In the north, the poor drink tea, and the rich drink coffee. In the south, the poor drink coffee, and the rich drink tea.

Of course, adult films are also an indispensable part of rural life in the north.

If a village doesn't have a theater showing adult films, what kind of traditional Indian village is it?

There is a small cinema across the river that shows these kinds of movies every night.

They are all two-and-a-half-hour, flashy feature films.

Things like "He's a Real Man," "Who Moved Her Diary," "Uncle's Good Deeds"—names that are particularly easy to remember!

The villagers are illiterate and cannot remember complicated names.

Just like the poster on the bicycle now.

Huh, Durga?

Everyone, from the tea stall owner to the rickshaw pullers, and even the half-grown boy Muna, had this word pop into their minds.

This doesn't mean they recognized the characters, nor was it Durga manifesting and silently reciting her title in their hearts.

It was because the woman on the poster looked very much like the Durga in the temple.

Muna recognized her at a glance; there was a Durga temple in town, and his mother had taken him there when he was a child.

It was just that this Durga was very special; her sari was wet.

Muna heard heavy breathing and turned his head. The tea stall owner was staring intently at the poster, like someone who had stolen the syrup from the ladle and was desperately thirsty.

The rickshaw pullers outside weren't much better, all scratching their heads and crotches non-stop.

"Durga..." someone muttered, almost moaning.

Boom! It was as if a fire had been lit in everyone's hearts, their faces flushed red.

They stopped the person on the bicycle, asking in a flurry when the movie would show and how much a ticket cost.

The ticket price for new movies like this is usually more expensive than those that have been shown countless times.

Indeed, the person on the bicycle made a gesture, immediately drawing a chorus of protests.

"8 rupees! I don't even earn that much today!"

"Too expensive!"

"The ticket I bought last night was only 5 rupees."

Muna also sighed; the price was prohibitive for him.

His daily wage was only 6 rupees, all of which he gave to his grandmother, leaving him without a single paisa of pocket money.

While the tea stall owner was inquiring about the movie, Muna also stared intently at the poster.

Unable to afford a ticket, he could only look at the graceful figure to satisfy his longing.

The curves beneath the wet sari captivated everyone, including the tea drinkers.

"Beep beep!", a car drove over.

The rickshaw pullers gathered around the bicycle poster scattered, then automatically lined up under the awning.

It was an Ambassador car, covered in dust. The glass of the rearview mirror was gone, and the front bumper was making a continuous "tap tap" sound.

The sound made the rickshaw pullers uneasy, with worried looks on their faces.

Sitting in the car was Honey Badger, short and fat, showing no emotion, with a pistol tucked into his waist.

Honey Badger is one of the landlords in Khana village, greedy by nature and cunning.

He exploits all the rickshaw pullers and controls the road. As long as you live off the road, you have to pay him a share.

These rickshaw pullers at the tea stall transport passengers getting off the bus, and they have to give him one-third of all their income.

Also sitting in the car was Honey Badger's brother, Crow.

His territory is a small hill nearby, full of gravel and unsuitable for farming. But the grass on the hillside is loved by sheep.

Shepherds grazing their flocks there also have to pay him a toll. If anyone refuses, Crow will use a pointed wooden stick to poke a hole in their back, which is the origin of his nickname.

These two beasts both live in a high-walled compound outside Khana village; they have their own estates. Apart from collecting money, they basically don't come out.

The rickshaw pullers lined up to pay, no one complaining, no one dissatisfied, everyone with a flattering smile on their face.

Honey Badger showed no expression, and those with meager incomes and who paid a meager share were even scolded by him.

Muna turned back to the tea stall, picked up the large lump of coal in the corner, and vigorously smashed it with a brick, blow after blow, until the coal was shattered.

His father used to be a rickshaw puller, but he couldn't stand the exploitation by Honey Badger and others, so he left the village.

Many men in the village also left; there was no other way, if the landlords didn't leave, they had to.

Those two beasts would squeeze every last drop of oil from the village until nothing was left.

Desperate villagers could only go elsewhere to make a living; every year, they would gather outside the tea stall waiting for the bus.

When the bus arrived, they would swarm it, squeezing into the compartment, tightly holding onto the handrails while standing, climbing onto the roof, and traveling all the way to Varanasi.

Once there, they would rush into the train station in droves, squeeze onto trains, climb onto the roof, and head to Lucknow and New Delhi to find a job to make ends meet.

A month before the monsoon season, they would all return from New Delhi and Lucknow.

They were thinner and darker, their originally full bellies now filled with resentment, but their pockets had a few extra coins.

The women waited for them at home, hiding behind the door, and when the men entered the house, they would jump out and let out a loud cry.

Like a wild cat seeing a large chunk of meat, the women would excitedly hit the men, wail, and scream loudly.

That was also Muna's happiest time; he would run to his father's side, climb onto his back, and rub his body, from his forehead to his neck.

Gradually, Muna's father became tired and bent over; he couldn't always find work outside.

He could only continue pedaling, pedaling in Lucknow, pedaling in New Delhi.

He was as thin as a rail, leaning forward off the seat, desperately pedaling.

At this time, on the back seat, he might be carrying a mountain of a middle-class man and his mountain of a wife, along with a huge pile of shopping bags.

His father was like a two-legged mule, a mule as thin as a reed stick.

Then one day, the mule coughed up blood, and there was no money for treatment. Muna went to beg the two beasts, but it was useless.

The beasts didn't do business that lost money; they knew the mule would die and that the usurious loans they had lent out could not be recovered.

The mule could only continue coughing up blood, one mouthful after another, until he died.

Muna resented the beasts, but he knew how to hide his feelings and would prick up his ears to eavesdrop on their conversations.

"What did they say in Lucknow?" It was Honey Badger's voice.

"Those bastards sold us out! A whole mountain, and a mine!" Crow's voice sounded very annoyed.

"Send some more money; those guys' appetites are getting bigger and bigger now."

"It's useless; the people from Varanasi want to build a cement factory here, and they got bank kickbacks."

"How much?" Honey Badger asked.

"A lot, more than us..."

Muna didn't hear clearly because Crow lowered his voice.

"Anyway, I won't just hand over my territory; that's my property!"

Crow was very angry, but Muna was secretly happy in his heart.

The few small hills nearby were Crow's territory; some were used for grazing, and some for mining.

The lime wash on the village temple came from there.

When villagers build houses, they also like to smear a layer of white lime on the mud walls, which looks like brick walls in the city from a distance.

But Crow didn't allow it; as soon as he found that a house's walls were coated with lime wash, he would go and collect a share, even if the lime wasn't dug from his territory.

Muna rarely saw Crow frustrated, which made him hit the coal with much more force.

"Muna, let's go see a movie tonight!" Raja came outside the tea stall.

"Where did you get the ticket?" Muna stood up in surprise.

"Grandma is the most devoted to Durga! I told her I was going to pray to Durga to bless Lina with a good marriage, and she gave me money and told me not to forget to do puja."

Raja is Muna's older brother and is of marriageable age. However, before that, his cousin Lina had to get married first.

According to traditional Indian family rules, before getting married, Raja had to hand over all his earnings.

But today was an exception; a movie telling the story of Durga was a very sacred thing for rural people.

Raja successfully tricked his grandmother into giving him money for two movie tickets, and as soon as the work in the fields was finished, he eagerly came to find Muna.

"Hurry up, it's getting dark, we need to get a good spot." Raja called out to his younger brother.

The tea stall closed early today; the owner also loved watching this kind of movie.