When Bishu got back to his room, he sat on the floor and repeated every detail to Uma; Uma listened silently, while Priti still sat nearby, absorbed, playing. He slapped his forehead with his hand, and said, “That serpent was always in our house, and I does not know it? Hai, what happened!” He could not even properly remember Jagan anymore, just the yellow check shirt and the dhoti he had worn on the day of arrival, and his ordinary, lined face, a face like so many others, of people struggling and arriving in this city and looking for work. “The man is a serpent! Quietly stealing bicycles, and I does not know! There was gun inside his trunk!” he said, as if he himself had seen it, which he now thought he had, so clear and vivid and treacherous it seemed to him. “Now, when I thinks of it, I never sees him in his room when I comes back at night—he must be doing all his dirty business at night!” Then he said, angry and hurt: “Dadababu blames me! I does nothing, but, for no reason, he tells me to go! No, I does not want this job!” The injustice of it shocked him. Uma could hear the cries of shaliks and mynahs and crows increasing with the afternoon. She felt sorry for Bishu, who was, after all, younger than she, and on whom the burden of his small family had fallen unexpectedly.

Evening was full of activity. Bishu went to his friends in the building at the end of the lane, South Apartments, which was even bigger and more impressive than Southern Gardens Flats—it had come up two years ago. He told his friends to see if there were any jobs available. It turned out that a Mr. Chatterjee in one of the flats needed a helper in the house, and one of Bishu’s friends took him to see the gentleman. Mr. Chatterjee saw Bishu and did not dislike what he saw; it appeared there might be a chance for a job. Meanwhile, Uma, carrying Priti in her arms, went to didimoni to tell her of what had happened. Didimoni was aghast. “But what will you do now?” she asked. “The worst that can happen is we will go to Manecktala where we used to pay rent for a room. That room is still there,” said Uma. Mr. Sengupta, didimoni’s husband, said: “Bishu doesn’t seem to be to blame. If it comes to that, I could have a word with Mr. Banerjee and ask him to reconsider his decision.” At the same time, he was not sure if interference in another’s affairs was wise unless absolutely necessary. Nevertheless, Uma went back reassured, and with a lightened heart.