“Binu Estheppan: Murderer!” the headlines screamed. There was a dead Frenchman with kerosene in his gut, in Thalassery morgue in Kerala; kerosene that came from Binu’s tea stall. By the time the news hit, he was on a flight to Dubai as Babu Chacko. He had left India for good in July 2016.

“He who gets caught is screwed; He who runs is lucky.” This thought ran in his head, as a blistering hot Dubai wind hit him. The wind kicked up dust around him; smell of gasoline fumes and cigarette smoke filled the air. He missed the cool ocean breeze of Thalassery.

The Indian travel agent, who had procured his fake passport, had assured him, “Suresh, my man in Dubai, will take you to your hostel; A/C room, comfortable bed. You will have a good life there. Don’t worry. “

Suresh waved as Babu walked out of the arrivals gate.

“Babu oh? Travel agent Mani sir’s man?” he asked.

They took a taxi to Muhaisnah at the eastern edge of the city. He talked non-stop, oblivious to Babu’s silence. Babu was relieved that the man had not recognized him.

Muhaisnah is a sprawling camp filled with south Asian migrant laborers. People call it Sonapur- the city of gold. Just like El Dorado, Sonapur draws thousands with the promise of prosperity. People live in appalling conditions, while saving up to send money home. His hostel was a ramshackle building.

The travel agent had cheated him. There was no running water or A/C. He shared a hot apartment with two men, who were not happy to see him. Rent was half his salary, but he was thankful for the job. He hauled cement bags as a construction worker. By the time the 12-hour days ended, he could barely move a muscle. But that wasn’t to last.

His Armenian supervisor called him to his office one day; there was a layoff coming. Babu dreaded returning to India. The Indian media continued to keep the story of the fugitive tea-maker alive. Thankfully the Syrian war and the American elections dominated the headlines. But he knew there was a noose waiting for him if he returned.

One evening after work, Babu noticed Aziz Omani, an old Jordanian taxi driver, struggling to change a flat tire. He stopped to help the man. That little interaction quickly developed into a friendship. Aziz offered him homemade Falafel for dinner the next day. Babu brought him chicken curry in return. Soon, Babu was a regular at the Al-Jabra taxi stand, cleaning cars in return for driving and Arabic lessons.

Soon he could speak passable Arabic, and drive well. The taxi company offered him a job, which could not have come at a better time. The construction company had closed and he had 2 weeks to find a job, or leave the country. He gladly accepted the offer.

Months went by. The job gave him confidence; “You are no different than these people. So what if they own Bentleys, and oil fields? They still eat and shit like you,” he reminded himself. He lived alone after his room-mates, who had lost their jobs, left. He quickly made changes; a comfortable bed, AC, and a new wardrobe. People noticed and word spread.

Suresh pushed open the door and stepped in unannounced, one evening. Babu, who had been listening to an Arabic-to-Malayalam translation on his iPhone, looked up irritated.

“Endha? What is it?” he asked.

Suresh stared speechless, at the changes in the room. No more filthy mess of unwashed dishes, cigarette butts, and stench of urine. The pleasantly cool room smelled of jasmine, Sufi music filled the air.

Suresh stammered, “Hhhello? Babu sir?”  and surprised himself.

He considered the workers beneath him. He even held on to their passports to intimidate them.

“You are looking good. New job treating you well?” Suresh asked.

Babu smiled a bit warily, “Ok. Not bad”

“Not bad?” answered Suresh. “That’s not what I hear! Tell me, how did you find a job so quickly? “

Babu had expected it. “Ah it was nothing. It was the grace of god you know. I was just lucky that’s all.”

Suresh represented a life he wished to leave behind. He cherished his freedom and Suresh was a threat. It was time to cut all ties to his old life.

“Hey Suresh! I have urgent work to finish. We will meet soon. I will call you.”

Suresh could not believe it. The little twerp was pushing him out!  He had to show Babu who the real boss was.

“Babu wait! I am getting 2 guys next week to work at the refinery. They need to stay here, so I need the keys. And don’t forget, I need your passport too. Sonapur can be quite an unsafe place. These Arabs will kick you back to Thalassery if your passport disappeared.”

Babu, about to close the door, stopped. His face twitched a little.

“Really? How are you going to do that?” he asked, in a quiet menacing voice.

“Do what?” asked Suresh nervously.

“How are you going to keep my passport safe, when you are dead and buried in the desert?”