He dreamt of his mother and father walking in the late afternoon beside the river; his father was carrying a dark leather book under one arm. It was very old. From time to time he would stop to show his mother a passage from the book. His mother had two heads. He could see both these heads but which one was hers? Both faces were identical. From the expression on their faces the book must have been of great importance. His father walked on ahead alone. The track where they were walking filled with light. When Govinda woke up he was muddled and irritated by the dream. He got out of his bed. It was late. He wandered about the house to see who was there. He wanted to tell his mother about the dream.

Outside his mother and father’s bedroom he stopped and listened. He could hear mumbling voices and the tap flowing in the kitchen. Apart from the sound of an incoherent conversation and water flowing, the house was serene and silent. No voices came up from downstairs. There were no footsteps on the floor above either.

Though he was always free to enter his mother’s and father’s room he hesitated and felt uncomfortable, but at the same time inquisitiveness compelled him to turn the door handle – he felt that his mother was hiding a secret. He turned the door handle very gently and pushed the door open. The curtains were drawn and the room was dim. His eyes measured the dressing room. On the dressing table were his mother’s brushes. In a little tray were hair bands and pins. There was her special bracelet. Govinda saw a hair entangled in the bracelet. He pulled at it and the strand of hair unravelled. He pulled again and more hair unravelled. It was the longest piece of hair Govinda had ever seen. The room smelt of Gitanjali’s scent. He pulled open a drawer filled with her things and looked at them: there was gold, cash and two French perfume bottles among the linen. He heard a woman breathing. Someone else was in the room.

‘Govinda!’ called Gitanjali. ‘Why do you have to skulk? I can always hear you, you know. Now drink this water and go back to bed. Your father wants to take you to the zoo tomorrow for a special treat.’

‘I have had a first-class idea,’ he said.

‘It is too late,’ said Gitanjali.

‘Where is my father?’

‘He is away for work but he will be home soon.’

A short time later, Govinda lay awake in his own bed, under a belching fan. For all its noise the fan gave off little cool air. He feared it would fall on him and squash him flat but the fan droned on. His chest felt tight with fear. He was turning it all in his mind. His bed smelt of tigers, bears and elephants. He called out to his mother. Gitanjali and Mumbles came to him.