He was not at ease in Mabadmorpho. He tried sitting on the seashore attempting to establish the old familiarity with the waves, but his heart was still restless. He spent an afternoon with Jamila Miss, but he felt a disconnect with her. Although he had showed a lot of enthusiasm in front of her, showed off his new mobile phone and promised to keep in touch, something was missing. Miss showed him her new mobile phone that had a camera. Asrar praised it. Miss noticed that Asrar was a little dull that day. She thought that he might be worried because of his mother’s illness.

Asrar spent some time at Mohammad Ali’s house on the third day. His elder sister told him about Rashida, Mohammad Ali’s mother who had left her husband and son. The news was that she had married the man she had eloped with in Sangli and had lived in a colony on the banks of the Krishna River. The man had loved her immensely. He died of a heart attack ten years back. Rashida chose to spend her life on the banks of the Krishna River instead of returning to Mabadmorpho. She cultivated vegetables on the riverbank. Rashida lived on the money she earned by selling those vegetables. When she died, her dead body kept rotting for two days and no one came to know about it. There was a neighbour who was her friend. When she did not see Rashida come out of the house for two days, she got concerned. She gathered the people of the locality and broke open the door. Rashida lay dead on the floor. The blood that had oozed from her mouth had dried. People say that at that time, Rashida held Mohammad Ali’s childhood photograph in her hand.

Mohammad Ali’s sister started crying while narrating the story. She did not know why she was crying but she cried for a long time. Asrar’s eyes were also moist. He tried controlling his tears but in vain. He stood in one corner and cried while looking out of the window. He cried for a long time. After a few sobs, Ali’s sister said that they had found phone numbers and the address in Mabadmorpho in Rashida’s diary. The police had called to inform them about her death.

Asrar was in a state of shock.

He sat on the seashore late into the night, silent, sad and restless. He felt the absence of alcohol that night. He was thinking about the sorrow that would strike Mohammad Ali and what he would go through after hearing the news. On the other hand, when Mohammad Ali’s father had heard about this tragedy, he had dismissively said, ‘As you sow, so shall you reap.’ But Asrar knew that Mohammad Ali’s soul was anxious about his mother. He wanted to accept her, to meet her. In the life that he had known, his mother’s disloyalty was not a big issue. He respected his mother’s choice. He had realized in a very short time that sex was as blind as love. The one who drowned in it would also be allowed to resurface.