A Long Way Home: Chapters 6–8

When the fighting ended in Hungary, some of the villagers who had been displaced tried to go back to their homes, but Julie’s family decided it was too dangerous. Many Hungarians who did return found Russians living in their homes, and when they tried to reclaim them, they were shot down in the streets.

It was a turbulent period, with displaced people on the roads and on trains all across Europe.

The early years of her marriage were a time of change in Australia: the Whitlam Government was voted in after the upheavals of the sixties, and the social and political landscape was being transformed.

Even though Mum and Dad weren’t exactly hippies, they were attracted to the “alternative” ideas being bandied about.

Their progressive views helped Mum form the idea that one way to make a difference was to adopt children in need from developing countries.

Because of all she’d been through growing up, Mum had decided that there was nothing sacrosanct about families formed only by birth parents.

Though brought up Catholic, in a culture where women were expected to bear children, she and Dad thought the world had enough children born into it already, with many millions of them in dire need.

It was the first time in her bleak life that she’d experienced an overwhelming feeling of something fortuitous, and she held on to it.

It was the first time in her bleak life that she’d experienced an overwhelming feeling of something fortuitous, and she held on to it.

She felt the hairs go up on the back of her neck—she had an uncanny feeling that this girl could have been the child by her side in her vision as a twelve-year-old.

Only a few weeks after submitting their application, Mum and Dad received a call to say they had been allocated a child named Saroo, who didn’t know his surname or anything else much about his origins.

They gave me an ultimatum: leave school before Year 12 and get a job (as Mantosh later chose); work hard and get into university; or join the armed forces.

That was incentive enough to knuckle down: from then on I became a model student, shutting myself in my room after school to review the lessons, improving my marks, and even rising to the top of some classes.

Once I finished school, I chose a three-year accounting diploma at TAFE (technical college), with a view to using that to leverage entrance to university.

So when it came time to move out, the prospect wasn’t a momentous one. My parents seemed pleased that I was taking the initiative.

So I tried out my meager collection of clues on my friends. It was the first time in many, many years that I had conjured up my ignorant five-year-old's understanding of the geography of my childhood.

So I tried out my meager collection of clues on my friends. It was the first time in many, many years that I had conjured up my ignorant five-year-olds understanding of the geography of my childhood.

I didn’t think they were far enough away from Howrah Station for the journey I’d been on, although I supposed it was possible I’d been on a circuitous route.

Today it’s hard to imagine that you could fail to turn up information on any topic at all—regardless of how obscure—but it wasn’t long ago that the Internet was more the preserve of geeks and academics.

Slowly but surely, aerial images of each town appeared on the screen—the way Google Earth worked was exactly as I’d hoped.

I had to concede that changes could have occurred since my time there—maybe more irrigation had been brought in and the region had become greener.

Despite the comprehensive nature of this new resource—or because of it—it was clear that searching for my home was going to be a mammoth task.

I was at college to study, which required a great deal of my attention, and I didn’t want to squander it as a hermit at a computer the rest of the time.

I was at college to study, which required a great deal of my attention, and I didn’t want to squander it as a hermit at a computer the rest of the time.

Fate had delivered me from dire straits into a comfortable existence—perhaps I needed to accept that the past was past and move on.

Despite the diploma in my back pocket, it only took a few weeks for me to realize I’d lost interest in the hospitality industry. I’d had an inkling this was the case while still in Canberra, but I had wanted to at least complete the qualification, having come as far as I had.

Working with Dad and learning to be a salesman was great—I do it to this day—but my relationship with my girlfriend proved tempestuous and we went through a difficult breakup.

Although I was the one to end it, I found myself bereft and full of regret.

Even in the periods when I hadn’t felt that retracing my past was imperative, I’d never forgotten about it or ruled it out completely.

If Byron wasn’t home, I might spend a couple of hours musing over the various “B” towns again.

But as it dawned on me that I could turn this into a painstaking, deliberate task that simply required dedication, something clicked inside.

The general consensus was around seventy or eighty kilometers an hour.

Byron made sure I spent other nights out in the real world so I didn’t become an Internet recluse.

It wasn’t always easy for me to articulate, especially as I was trying to keep a lid on my expectations, trying to convince myself it was a fascinating exercise, not a deeply meaningful personal quest.

I couldn’t answer her questions any more than I could allay her fears.