A few people were drinking sherbet near the signal. Right next to them a path descended into the sea. If one walked a few kilometres further on the road, one would see Haji Ali. Around that area were beggars looking like Sufis, babas, saints, rogues and notorious boys, and poor people wrapped in rags. Women, children and youngsters begged in the name of God and Haji Ali. Asrar stood at one end of the road and stared at the clouds heading towards Worli. He looked at the pilgrims and rogues who sat on the sea wall and were laughing loudly. A groundnut and pea vendor came to him; he bought groundnuts for Rs 10 and continued his walk towards the dargah. He was surprised to see comparatively few beggars on the way. The level of the sea had also fallen. He could see huge rocks behind the structure of Haji Ali. The sea beyond seemed to have a yellowish hue.

Asrar sat with folded legs in one corner of the dargah. The smell of lobaan (incense) was in the air. One could distinctly smell rose and mogra flowers. He tied a handkerchief around his head, remembered his father and offered litanies for him. People were offering prayers inside the dargah. Women whose prayers had been heard looked elated. A few people were busy reading the Quran. Two burqa-clad women were praying in the outer part of the dargah. A woman was beating her chest wildly and a young man was crying with dry eyes. Perhaps the sound of the cries had burdened his throat and raised his heartbeat. It was as if a huge wound had opened in his heart and dried his tears. Asrar was observing them silently. He looked at the clouds from the courtyard and realized that they had covered the entire city. He was oblivious of the fact that it was already raining cats and dogs in Malad, Andheri, Dadar, Borivali, Mira Road, Kurla, Chembur and Mumbra. Milan subway at Santa Cruz was already overflowing.