Goel led a quiet bachelor’s existence. Although he was new to the town he had already made his acquaintance with a few locals, one of them, Ed Faleiro, a novelist whose books he greatly admired. Faleiro was much younger than him. He lived in a crumbling, colonial house, not too far from the secretariat where Goel worked. Goel often drove down to his place after office hours. He never stayed for long, usually leaving after a cup of tea. The novelist, on his part, didn’t mind Goel’s visits. He led an isolated and solitary life. He welcomed the half-hour interruptions, three or four times a week.

On the occasional clear day, when it wasn’t raining, they would sit on the terrace, sipping lemon tea, not saying very much. Goel would have loved to talk about Faleiro’s novels but he wasn’t encouraged in this.

At thirty-six, Faleiro had written four novels and exuded the air of someone who had been writing for decades. He was not excitable in the least, spoke very little and seldom moved out of the house. At around half six in the evening, he’d walk down to the baker at the corner of the street and buy a loaf of wholemeal bread. On the way back, he might pick up a pack of cigarettes or a dozen eggs from the grocer’s. Faleiro was a quiet, routine-bound man who hated casual banter. The baker and the grocer had learnt to keep their mouths shut and refrained from making unnecessary conversation about the weather and inflation.

Faleiro never spoke about his personal life. Sometimes, when Goel went to his place, he’d find a young woman who’d come visiting from Delhi or Bombay or even abroad. In front of Goel, Faleiro and his lady friends always maintained a formal distance. It was impossible for him to tell if they were lovers, ex-lovers or friends. Goel knew it was none of his business, and that he shouldn’t be interested in people’s private affairs. Still, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t help wondering.

Lying alone in bed at night, Goel often thought about the life he was leading: a bachelor posted in small towns, working like a dog, filling his day with files. He was an honest officer. Every now and then his honesty had got him into trouble but he never let it get to him. He liked a bit of push and pull. His uprightness didn’t stem from idealism but habit and convenience. Rules were meant to be followed. Things were simpler that way.

The continuously falling rain, the darkened mornings and afternoons, the rain worms crawling out of cracks in the old floor tiles, the snails torturously making their way across the verandah of his house—all these things had conspired to fill Goel with strange desires.