Janaki wishes she hadn’t come. Ashesh’s mother looks terribly, terribly ill. But why is she dressed up like this? Something really bizarre is going on here and she wants desperately to laugh. She steals a look at Ashesh. He stands there, lost for what to say to his mother. Anima too is rooted to the spot. At last she asks the redundant question we ask acquaintances for the sake of good form. ‘How are you feeling, Ai?’

‘Who’s there, girl?’ Sindhutai asks and begins to gasp immediately.

‘Your daughter, son and daughter-in-law.’ Sandhya giggles. ‘She forgets.’ At which Sindhutai rasps, ‘I don’t forget. I can still remember old songs.’ She begins to sing a Manik Varma love song in a weak, tuneless voice.

‘I swear upon my life dear heart . . .’

She coughs, but goes on.

The cup of honey is at my lips

I have not taken a single sip.

Don’t snatch it away from me so soon,

Don’t betray me, oh please don’t.

She leans back in her chair panting hard, her head lolling back. Anima rushes to her side with a sob. ‘Please, Ai.’ She kneels beside her and pleads with her not to strain herself. ‘You must lie down, Ai. Ashesh, tell her.’

There’s a light knock on the door and Dr Bhaskar comes in. ‘Sindhutai.’

She can barely open her eyes. ‘So you’ve come at last. I’ve been waiting so long for you.’ She raises her right hand and struggles to screw the nose ornament into the hole pierced in her nostril. With a mighty effort of will, she succeeds. Dr Bhaskar puts one arm under her knees, the other under her neck and lifts her bodily, like a feather. Signalling to the others to follow, he begins to descend the stairs. The invitees are gathered in front of the veranda, dressed in gold-embroidered, nine-yard silk saris and dhotis. A gasp of awe mixed with fear goes up when Dr Bhaskar emerges on the veranda with Sindhutai in his arms. When he sets her down in a chair, lumps rise to the women’s throats to see her brilliant sari, choli and nose ornament. One woman whispers, ‘She looks like a goddess, doesn’t she?’