The room was washed. The windows flung open. The fly trapped in the room since the night before perched for a moment on the window grille. Then buzzed a few circles in the air and flew away.

The neighborhood boys got together, held a meeting, and decided that Harbart’s bed and mattress should be used on his final journey. Ever since the Saha-da–Swapan case, the crematorium was insisting on burning the dead’s bed and bedding too. Let Harbart-da’s bed go with him.

But Dhanna-dada’s permission was vital in this regard.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Dhanna said gravely: “It’s so full of Harbart, best it goes with him.”

Then he began to remember. “That bed, that mattress—all bought for Binu. Binu died an unnatural death. And now Haru is gone too. What now? Take it, take it all. But, yes, the bed is a sturdy one. You want to take that also?”

“So many more beds will come, Dhanna-dada. Let this one go. All his time he spent on it.”

“Take it,” sighed Dhanna, “We’ll go to the crematorium too. Oh, and you boys had better take some money. There will be expenses, after all.”

“Don’t worry, Dhanna-dada. Harbart-da was our brother too. We’ll arrange for the car and all. Please, we beg you, don’t make a fuss now.”

Dhanna begins to cry again.

The boys get busy with their arrangements.

Lala in the neighborhood has a fleet of trucks. So a truck and a driver were easy. Then came the flowers, incense-sticks, scent, clothes—everything. The bed was lifted onto the truck. Then the mattress. The mattress was really heavy. They struggled quite a bit.

“Old-fashioned stuff, see? Packed full with coir. Feel the weight?”

Sticks of tuberoses were tied to the four legs of the bed. The mattress was covered with a new sheet and on it they placed a new pillow. In the end so many boys had gathered that they had to hire a small Tempo. The rest of the neighborhood who wanted to come had been told to go directly to the crematorium.

This lot set off for the morgue.

A huge crowd gathered to bid farewell to the truck-and-Tempo sorrow convoy. Onward, captain—destination Remount Road, Katapukur. In between, sips of country liquor. A blast down the throat, raw, then the bottle tucked away at the waist. The towel tied tightly over it again.

However, in the matter of alleviating their own sorrows, the spirits may be found to be entirely helpless or subservient. Therefore, some spirits, unable to endure that agony, manifest themselves before their near and dear ones, or, remaining invisible, send them manifold portents, in an attempt to urge them to perform those funereal rites which will ensure that they, the spirits, are able to rest in peace. This particular power of the spirits is remarkably well known to experts: English experts and Bengali experts—both have spoken of it, both have deliberated upon it, and both have not been averse to writing a variety of books to communicate their thoughts about it.