A river town at first light

The town is awake before its people are. By half past five the river is already carrying the night away, and the ferry bell has begun to count the hours that nobody else keeps.

The landing

The bus leaves you at the top of a slope, and the road runs down to the water as if it has somewhere to be. At the bottom is the landing: a strip of worn stone, three boats tied with blue rope, and a man asleep on a bench with a towel over his face. Nobody wakes him. The boats will not leave until there are enough people to fill one.

The market

Behind the landing, the market is setting up. Baskets come down from heads and onto the ground: green bananas, bitter gourd, a heap of small silver fish that the river gave up an hour ago. Prices are not written anywhere. You ask, you are told, and if you look surprised the price comes down a little on its own.

The bathing steps

Further along, broad steps go down into the river. Women wash brass pots there, scrubbing them with ash and a handful of tamarind until they shine. The steps are old and smooth, and the lowest ones spend half the year under water.

The ferry

When the boat finally fills, the boatman does not row straight across. He lets the river take the boat downstream first, then turns and works it back up along the far bank. Ask him why and he laughs. Fight the river, he says, and the river wins.

The last lamp

By evening the town turns to face the water again. Lamps are lit on the steps, one by one, and set on leaves to float away. The last one goes round the bend and out of sight long after the light has gone.

The town in this piece is not one place but several, put together for this site.