Nearly forty-eight hours had passed since the hijra’s curse and the rain continued to fall. The walls had grown soft and bulged with dampness seeping from the roof. Govinda believed he was going to be washed away now. The wind was high and the rain poured down, hammering anyone unfortunate enough to get caught in the downpour. It was impossible to see past the verandah. The rain coursed into the building and formed little eddies at the bottom of the staircase. As water swirled near the entrance, Sunil Seth said to Govinda, ‘One of these days the river will wash us away. We have to move. We must get out of India.’ ‘Out of Calcutta?’

‘You will understand,’ said his father. ‘One day.’ Water started to collect on the verandah and seep into the house. Mumbles and Sunil Seth emptied the buckets of rainwater out over the railing. Govinda observed how each man tried to bail more water than the other. No words were spoken but Govinda found it disconcerting to see his father and Mumbles united in this way. The more they filled their containers with water and emptied them over the verandah the more competitive they got. ‘Come and help, Govinda,’ his father called as he poured water onto the rubbish heap at the back. Outside, beyond the lane and above the main road, clouds billowed like spilt ink across the sky. Veins of lightning streaked the heavens. Govinda filled several buckets and threw the water over. ‘Good job,’ his father said. ‘Let’s go inside and get dry or we are surely going to be drowned out.’

Another jagged fork of lightning slashed the sky and Mumbles prostrated himself on the floor. ‘If you lie flat on the ground the lightning can’t get you…’ he said quietly, tapping his hand on the floor beside him. Govinda couldn’t hear him very well, but since he was lying there on the wet floor, Govinda followed suit. He got on his knees and lay down beside Mumbles. His father looked down at them and started to laugh.

‘Which of you is the adult? You’re both equally stupid. Get up for heaven’s sake! We need to go inside,’ his father said, but for a moment Govinda and Mumbles lay quietly, side by side, mouths agape, as the sky erupted.

When they had dried themselves, Mumbles took off his dastar and untied his long hair, which fell to his knees. Govinda had never seen Mumbles without his turban. You have hair like a woman, he thought.

Sunil Seth went to the bathroom to change his clothes. While Govinda awaited his father’s return, Gitanjali tentatively approached Mumbles, who was drying his hair in a towel. She said, ‘My hair is long, too, and what a nuisance it is to wash.’ She held out a cup. ‘Try this coconut oil, I find it helps.’