keep up, of course. anyone can run at this pace. but you think it's easy to run and to pull?
will you still pay me when he runs you into a ditch?
all right, you, come, step in here. hasari looks on max with enormous gratitude. ram puts the shafts down, has a short coughing fit, spits some phlegm, looks at max.
now, fine, pull, go. hasari tries to pull, but the center of gravity isn't easy to find. this is enormously difficult and hasari's very clumsy at it. the street is crowded. the traffic is beginning to back up behind them. the driver and conductor of the tram let fly a tirade of insults.
see, mister! what did i tell you? come on! what do you think this is -- some village street? you've got to move quickly. he turns to max.
you see, it takes a gift.
yes, yes, i am wondering, sir, we are, is it possible you might have something for my friend? ram indicates hasari, as if there might be some question to whom he's referring. ashoka attacks the pimple.
let me explain it for your ears, sir. my cousin from bihar has just arrived in our city --
oh yes! i have personally witnessed his excellence -- yes.
let hasari go! the line of rickshaw pullers turns to hasari. the other pullers wish him well as he comes forward. his heart pounds; ever so politely, he helps the school girl into his carriage. she gives him the address of the st. pius school.
feed the police! other pullers laugh, call after hasari.  and as he approaches the first corner, he manages to pull out a rupee and deposit it into the hand of the impassive traffic policeman and then turn right.
another few months, i'll be able to pay off the moneylender in my village and go home and open a grocery shop. all around me sacks overflowing with all kinds of dal and rice, aromatic spices, piles of vegetables.  and at night, i'll lie on my back beneath the trees sniffing fresh aubergines. this beautiful picture burrows into hasari's mind. for a moment, he goes there -- home, to the village.
if my wife will let me come within a hundred miles of the place where she herself resides. ram laughs, hasari smiles.
it was six hundred rupees only. he laughs at the impossibility of the price.
doctor big brother, i myself would be willing to accept a gift. could you give me five rupees in a note -- ten, perhaps. my ankle is badly swelled; the higher the number the more the swelling sinks. max has to laugh.
how much?
you can't do that. they're outcasts, they're unclean. there are murmurs of assent from the others.
it has come to me tonight to write a letter to my wife. ram produces a mangled one piece letter -- envelope.
please.
yes -- what is the word -- that word -- when land is watered.  with canals?
yes, yes, that word, i want that word in the letter. max looks at him, nods, waits. ram stares at max; waits.
well?
i don't know, max daddah. if i knew what to say to my wife, i'd never have left home. everybody laughs, though ram's remark hits max on a deeper level. manooj slides in beside him.
what i earn is yours, too.
yes, he is. ram has a small coughing fit.
yes, yes, but look at this. he points at the wheel of his rickshaw; the rim is cracked. scornfully, hasari walks on. max and ram glance after him. max digs out several rupees. ram takes them and goes. max looks after the two men as they disappear. when he turns.
doctor daddah, please, very important, only one moment.
so?
i was afraid. ram waits, his hands twisting each other.
oh that's very hopeful so far!
oh, i'm in love! my words brought tears to her arid eyes! what does that mean -- arid? manooj throws his hand up.
aaah!
at my wedding i became so frightened, my father gave me things to drink to calm me down. i went out to piss and fell asleep under the village tree. when i woke i thought it was the tree i'd married. i still love that tree. the laugh. but hasari's attention is on his daughter. he reaches a loving hand to her.
i'm wet and i'm cold. your daughter is getting married. time is passing. i want to go home to my wife.
all that stands between them now is the ounce of gold. max daddah, joan di -- is she a good reader?
she read this letter to me. but i think she must have read it wrong. she said my wife writes that irrigation has come to our village.
but it means i should go home to my wife.
yes, of course, i love her from here, yes; but, what if i go home and find i don't love her from there. shambu takes him by the hand and tugs him quickly to the edge of the tea shop. the little boy indicates max should bend close. max leans down.