Miss Jamila was cooking in the kitchen and Asrar was completing his homework in the drawing room. Miss felt that it was getting dark outside and it might rain. She asked Asrar to bring the clothes inside and shut the doors and windows. While closing the windows he stared at the old-fashioned houses of Mabadmorpho which were now shrouded in a mysterious darkness. The sea looked black, as if it were merged with a sky made of coal tar. The grey clouds were spreading in the sky and the west winds were dancing through the trees. A few birds flew and vanished between the mango and tamarind trees. There was a jamun tree adjacent to the window. A bat lived on it. On one branch sat a tiny, golden-feathered bird. She would sing softly at short intervals. Her voice made the body of the bat vibrate. It was widely believed in Mabadmorpho that the tree where bats dwelled was a meeting place for the wandering souls of the dead. Asrar looked at the bat and started thinking about the golden bird. What if she was a soul waiting for someone?

He closed the window and predicted, ‘Jamila Baji, it looks as if it is going to rain quiet heavily!’

‘Yes, it has suddenly got dark outside.’

Before Asrar could continue the conversation, the wind became stronger, and it started pouring.

He drew the curtain aside and looked outside the window. Jamila Miss lived on the hill. Mabadmorpho started from where the slope of the hill ended. The boundary of the small village merged with the Arabian Sea. From the window he could see the dancing waves of the sea as well as the drenched roofs of the houses in Mabadmorpho, but it was dark outside, and everything was a blur that day. He moved on to stare at the bat on the jamun tree. When the wind changed its direction, the raindrops could be seen falling on the windowpane. When he turned towards the television, he saw black dots covering the screen. ‘Miss, the cable is gone,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘Then switch off the television,’ instructed Jamila.

Asrar switched off the TV and started reading his book. The sound of the rain was getting increasingly louder. His concentration kept slipping as he wanted to look out of the window. The book felt like a burden to his eyes. He kept it aside and drew the curtains of the window again. Miss also came into the drawing room. He sat on a table, gaping at the beautiful and blurred sight across the glass window. Jamila put a chair next to the table and went back into the kitchen and returned with a cup of tea and a plate of bhajiya. She called out to Asrar. He turned and immediately jumped off the table to grab the plate from Jamila’s hands and said, ‘Miss, aap bhi na [Why did you have to take the trouble?]!’

She smiled.