The sky above Marina Beach in Chennai was a heavy gray, clouds swollen with impending rain. Tukaram wiped and dabbed his brow with a dirty rag, though the effort was futile; the sticky humidity clung to his skin, seeping into his clothes. Jhumroo, his camel and lifelong companion, snorted beside him, clearly uncomfortable. The damp air along with the oppressive humidity was nothing like the crisp, dry wind they both missed from their homeland, Jaisalmer in Rajasthan. But this beach, this city, was their only chance of survival.
Tukaram’s gaze swept across the deserted beach before him. On days like
this, when the storm loomed over Chennai, people stayed away. The sea was
restless, its waves surging higher than usual, and the warning flags fluttered
ominously. There would be no camel rides today. No money for food.
He placed a comforting hand on Jhumroo’s neck, feeling the familiar roughness of his hide. “We’ll go back soon, Jhumroo,” Tukaram whispered. “I miss the dunes too. The desert sand, the sky so clear. But Amma and Bapu… they need us here. There’s no work back home.”
Jhumroo blinked slowly, his large eyes turning toward Tukaram as if he could
understand. In a way, he did. The scent of the ocean mingled with the smell of
wet sand—a far cry from the earthy petrichor of Rajasthan, where the rare rains
brought relief, not this relentless torrent.
For hours, they had walked up and down the shoreline, hoping against hope
that someone might want a ride, but the wind had picked up and the rain had
started to pour in earnest. Tukaram’s stomach growled, and he knew Jhumroo was
just as hungry. They had only a few rupees left, and the prospect of food
seemed distant.
The rain soaked through their clothes and fur, and soon, the policemen came.
“Go home,” one of them shouted. “The cyclone is coming! The beach is closed.
You can’t stay here.”
Tukaram nodded without protest. There was no point arguing with authority,
especially not here. With a sigh, he tugged at Jhumroo’s reins. “Come on, old
friend. We’ll find shelter somewhere.”
As they trudged away from the beach, the world around them seemed to shrink into a blurry mess of waterlogged streets and darkening skies. Tukaram's
thoughts drifted back to the warmth of Rajasthan, the sound of his mother’s prayers, and the memory of his father’s firm hand guiding him through the bustling market. He missed it all, yet he couldn’t go back. Not while his parents still needed him to send money home.
Jhumroo followed silently, his steps slower than usual. Even the rain, which had once brought them joy as it danced on the sands of the desert, now felt like a burden. His hooves splashed through the rising water, the salt from the sea stinging his skin.
In the distance, the roar of the sea grew louder, a sign that the storm
was nearing. Tukaram shivered in his soaked kurta, glancing at Jhumroo with
tired eyes. “We’ll be okay,” he said, though his voice trembled. “We always
are.”
But Jhumroo knew better. He could sense the heaviness in Tukaram’s heart.
They had come here with hope, but the days had grown harder, the struggle
heavier. Jhumroo felt it too. The hunger, the uncertainty. The yearning for the
dry heat of the desert, the familiar calls of their people.
As they found a small overhang to shelter under, Tukaram sank to the ground,
his back against the wall. He rested his head in his hands, defeated. Jhumroo
lay down beside him, his large body close for warmth. He wished he could do
more—offer something more than his companionship. But what could a camel do in
this strange, water-soaked city?
Through the relentless rain, Jhumroo looked at his master, his friend, his
brother. And in his camel heart, he mourned for the life they had left behind.
For the life they both deserved but could not afford. The storm raged on, but
it was nothing compared to the quiet storm of poverty that had gripped them
long before.
