These few excerpts represent only a very small part of the epic story told in The City of Joy. The book tells the stories of dozens of extraordinary characters, among whom are a young American doctor from Miami, an Indian godfather, a rickshaw puller, a Calcutta society beauty, a young Assamese nurse, a human bones exporter, a group of rag picker kids, a community of eunuchs, and scores of other inhabitants of this unbelievable place on earth called the City of Joy. Everyone--men, women, children, and even the animals--were anxiously staring at the sky. Usually a violent wind gets up a few days before the monsoon breaks. The sky darkens suddenly as clouds invade the earth, rolling one on top of the other like rolls of cotton and skimming across the surface of the fields at extraordinary speed. Then other enormous and seemingly golden-edged clouds succeed them and a few moments later a tremendous blast of wind explodes into a hurricane of sand. Finally, a further bank of black clouds, this time without their golden edges, plunges the sky and the land into darkness. An interminable roll of thunder shakes the air and the stage is set. Angi, the Fire god of the Vedas, protector of men and their hearts, hurls his thunderbolts. The large, warm raindrops turn into cataracts. Children fling themselves stark naked into the downpour, shrieking for joy, men dance and women chant their thanksgiving prayers in the shelter of the verandas.
Water. Life. The sky is rendering the earth fruitful. This is rebirth, the triumph of the elements. In a few hours vegetation bursts forth from all directions, insects multiply, frogs come out in their multitudes, reptiles are found in profusion, and birds warble as they build their nests. Above all, the fields are covered, as if by magic, with a blanket of the most beautiful green that grows ever sturdier and ever taller. Dream and reality intermingle until after one or two weeks, in a sky at last more peaceful, appears the bow of Indra, king of all the gods, lord of the elements and of the firmament. To humble peasants this rainbow signifies that the gods have made their peace with mankind. The harvest will be good.
A good harvest would mean that this year the Pals' field, which measured only half an acre, might perhaps produce one thousand pounds of rice--enough to feed the entire family for more than three months. While they waited for the next harvest the men would have to hire out their services to the zamindar [the owner of a large amount of land], a very aleatory employment, which provided at best four or five days of work per month but most of the time only a few hours. Such labor then earned only three rupees (about thirty U.S. cents) a day plus a portion of puffed rice and six bidis--these very slim cigarettes made out of a pinch
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