In the evening, before going upstairs, he stood outside Jagan’s door and called: “Jaganda, are you there?” A voice came from inside: “I’m here.” Bishu went in, saying, “It’s just that mali was asking me about you—he hasn’t seen you for a few days.” Jagan was lying on the bed; he said, “I began to feel ill two days ago, and I haven’t been well—it’s these rains.” His voice was hoarse, and Bishu went up to him and felt his forehead. “You have fever,” he said. “Yes, it came a few days ago,” said Jagan, “but it’s getting better.” “Okay, then you rest tomorrow,” said Bishu, turning around to leave. Then he saw a mat rolled up against the wall, and Jagan said, “My aunt’s son is staying with me for a few days. He needs a place to stay, and I told him to stay with me for a few days. I don’t know the ways of this place—is it all right?” Bishu thought for a few seconds; he knew it wasn’t done, but he decided not to give it too much importance. “It’s all right, Jaganda,” he said. “You don’t worry.”

One night the following week, when Bishu had returned to the outhouse after some work in the mansion, he noticed three bicycles on the landing, leaning on the wall by the staircase. They seemed quite new; the bicycle spokes glinted sharply in the light of the bulb. Bishu wondered what they were doing there—had the watchman put them there? No, it must be Jagan. He listened outside Jagan’s door, but there seemed to be no one inside the room.

He went up to his room, and a little later Uma brought him his dinner of rice and daal and vegetables. He ate without talking much, thinking of whether he should tell Mr. Banerjee about the bicycles. “Something seems to be on your mind,” said Uma. “No, it is nothing,” he said, rising to wash his hands. “Nothing.” He decided to dismiss the thought from his head.

*   *   *