Bishu loved talking to Mejda because it was Mejda who had taken the first step out of the village in Orissa—they belonged to the sweeper caste—and had come to Calcutta. He now had a “permanent” job in the Bengal Club, and was a kind of guardian to Bishu. They walked together away from the Esplanade area and K. C. Das, going down the road that led to the All India Radio building and the Governor’s house.

“What about the Money Order?” asked Mejda. “Borda wrote to me and said he had got no M.O. from you last month.”

“That’s right,” said Bishu. “Priti was sick, and there was a lot of expenditure. I had to take her to a doctor. But this month I’ve sent a hundred.” The usual amount he sent his eldest brother and mother was seventy-five rupees.

“Crops weren’t good this year,” said Mejda, as if explaining why Borda had sent him the letter.

“Everywhere there are problems,” said Bishu. “In the village there are problems, in the city there are problems.”

As they walked on side by side, Mejda a little taller, his pace more leisurely, Bishu quick-stepped, they discussed their youngest brother, Amal, a reckless boy who was in serious trouble in the village. Some people were saying that he or another boy had made a girl pregnant, though he was apparently less directly involved than the friend; nevertheless, he had fled to another village.

“That boy is always causing trouble,” said Mejda, somewhat tolerantly.

“Best thing to get him out of Khurda and bring him to Calcutta,” said Bishu.

They concurred. Then Mejda asked, “Bishu, are you hungry?” “Why, haven’t you eaten, Mejda?” “Work finished at three—I had no time to eat.” “Yes, I’m hungry,” said Bishu, as if merely deciding he was would make him so.

They had come to Dacre’s Lane, and they pushed past people coming from the opposite direction, and past fruit sellers sitting on the side. In kodai after kodai, aubergines in batter were being fried, men were fanning the smoke, in some stalls mutton and chicken rolls were being made on a tavaa. Mejda wanted to eat at the Chinese stall, where they served chili chicken and noodles—although, in spite of the fact that he worked in the Bengal Club, he had only a vague idea this food was Chinese. A man in a dhoti and vest served them the food, and they sat and ate on the benches on one side.