Janaki doesn’t get it. There’s a sun, a moon and trees there. And a witch? She must find out what it means. Haridas stands behind her. ‘What do you think of it?’

‘Can’t get it. I’d love to write about it.’

‘If your paper publishes that, then I’ll know for sure.’

‘What?’

‘That your editor is in love with you.’

‘Love my foot! He’s shit scared of orders from above.’

‘It’s his skin he’s scared for. Now instead of writing about Warli paintings, if you wrote about my mysterious past . . . Do you want an exclusive?’

‘That’d be like killing the goose that lays all those golden eggs every other month.’

‘Goose? I am interviewed for the greatness of my work. But I’m offering you a golden egg. “Haridas Unplugged”!’ He laughs. Janaki joins in reluctantly. He catches Ashesh’s look over her head. ‘Guruji doesn’t like our frivolity.’

Janaki turns so suddenly that Ashesh has no time to detach his eyes from her. He goes red.

‘I don’t know about your editor,’ Haridas murmurs. ‘But this man’s a goner. This is a scoop. If I were your gossip columnist, I’d have written you a juicy snippet about Mr Bachelor being clean bowled.’

Janaki says coldly, ‘I’m hungry.’

Marli has arranged several bowls and dishes of steaming food on the table set against the kitchen wall. The aromas wafting out lure everybody in. It’s a colourful spread. There’s a white chicken curry in coconut milk, a red cauliflower–tomato gravy preparation, a curry of black gram with Malvani masala, a pale green salad of cabbage, cucumber, green peppers and raw mango—all made by Haridas. Then there are Anima’s soft, plump vadya. Everybody attacks the food. The world is silent.

Later, Feroze offers to take Anima home. But she’s staying at Ashesh’s in Gamdevi. ‘Why don’t you see Janaki home,’ Ashesh suggests. ‘She’s on your way.’

Shekhar and Sharada sit stiffly in their car, separated by a wall of fire.

‘Never again,’ Shekhar growls. Sharada stares ahead without a word.

‘He talks of only one thing. Himself. And talks incessantly. Courtesy and good form are so middle class, aren’t they? He’s the great artist. How could you bear to be with him for two whole years? I know love is blind and all that. But deaf as well?’