As he climbs into an autorickshaw, Ashesh remembers the Gandhi hater at the bus stop in Gamdevi. Imitating his squeaky voice he says, ‘In our times the rain didn’t fall diagonally like this. It came down straight. That Gujarati baniya changed not only the map of Hindustan but the rain as well.’

‘There has to be something wrong with you, Ashesh. You’re positively light-headed.’

‘Janaki and I are getting married.’

Anima gapes. Of course she knew something was on, but this is sudden. She reaches out for Ashesh’s hand, embarrassed that her eyes are moist.

‘She’s a bright girl. Sensitive,’ she says.

‘I’m nervous. There’s a big difference in age.’

‘Shouldn’t be a problem. She’s mature and you’re getting younger.’

As they get out of the autorickshaw, the sound of hammer on brick explodes in their ears. In Shankar Joshi’s front yard, three labourers are taking turns to bring down the Gandhi mandir. Sweat mixed with rain runs off their skulls into their eyes. Dr Bhaskar stands on the front veranda supervising operations. The men may not stop in their labours even for a second to wipe their eyes. That would break the rhythm of the work. Half-blinded, they bring their hammers down turn by turn on the mandir, accompanying every blow with a ‘ha’ and a ‘hai’.

Anima and Ashesh have turned to stone at the gate. Anima’s eyes stream with tears. She makes strange sounds in her throat like someone struggling to scream in a nightmare. Ashesh grips her hand tight. Dr Bhaskar notices them but, for some time, only stares without reacting. Recovering from his confusion, he calls to them more loudly than necessary, ‘Oh hello! It’s you. When did you arrive? You should have told me you were coming. I’d have sent the car for you.’

Anima and Ashesh walk numbly towards the house. ‘Ai?’

‘Come in, come in. Your mother’s resting upstairs. Come.’ His spectacles glint as he turns. He must be in his mid-sixties but his stride is of a forty-year-old.

‘We’ll be fine. Please carry on with your work.’

‘My work? It’s our work. Everybody’s work.’ He gives them a self-deprecating smile as he takes off his spectacles and polishes them.

‘Whatever.’ Anima’s voice is sharp. ‘These days many people think “I” is “everybody”.’

Ashesh studies Dr Bhaskar with great curiosity. Then he sniffs the air. Some scent is missing. He looks around.

‘The trees have gone,’ Anima says, following his gaze.

‘The bakul?’

‘Looks like it.’

Dr Bhaskar bows them upstairs. The doors to all the upstairs rooms are shut. One of them opens. A young woman with a cell phone stuck to her ear steps out. ‘Yes, sir, yes, sir. They’re here, sir.’ Her physiognomy is unmistakably Warli, but her dress is urban lower middle class.

‘Yes, come in,’ she says leading them into the room.