The launch left Sadarghat an hour after the evening azan,
and by the time it crossed into the wider water I had stopped pretending to
read. There is an hour on the rivers of this country when the light gives up
all at once, the way a sick man gives up, and the far bank turns from green to
grey to a long black seam. The wind off the water in Bhadra carries a chill
that has nothing to do with the temperature.
I was travelling to photograph a house before the river ate
it.
That was the...
