‘There are many stages in a life,’ resumed his father as he puffed his pipe. ‘When you are a child you are a king. You are royalty. You do not need to worry about things yet. But when you are my age you are expected to be a donkey and a donkey must work hard and do difficult things. I have to take care of you. That is my job. A father must look after, protect and sacrifice himself for his family. That is a father’s job.’ Outside it thundered. Govinda moved closer to his father.

‘Why don’t I have brothers and sisters?’ asked Govinda.

His parents looked at each other reproachfully.

‘It was too hard for us to have any more children,’ said his mother.

It rained for seven days. The streets were like rivers. People travelled in little boats to get from place to place amidst the roar of the wind. The lane fared poorly as the drainage system failed. Shops were washed away. The oxcarts disappeared and animals drowned. Beggars and street urchins were found dead beside their dogs.

The rain hammered the roof, and the wind felled a neem tree. It was said to be a lucky tree, a tree that healed. ‘It’s good there was no real damage to the house,’ Sunil Seth said. The servants inspected the fallen tree but the family stayed indoors. They ate rice and dhal and green mango pickle prepared by Gitanjali and Mumbles. After they ate, his father tied a string onto a stick in preparation for fishing. Being a novice, Govinda tried but he couldn’t tie the knot. ‘I will help you with that,’ his father said, and with his large hands he traced the line around the stick and expertly made a loop knot. Govinda sat beside his father quietly anticipating catching fish on the wet doorstep where the water had risen. ‘Will we catch some fish, Dad?’ he asked.

‘You never know,’ his father replied. ‘Fish are always worth fishing for. It doesn’t matter if we don’t catch anything. The rivers and lakes have all flooded and the fish have to go somewhere. Perhaps some have come all the way to our door.’

On the water making its way to their doorstep all varieties of flotsam journeyed: crockery, fruit, vegetables, flowers, toys, bottles, dead fish and excrement. Govinda wondered if he would see any lingering elephant remains. He feared seeing any part of the burnt elephant. Govinda and Sunil Seth spent many hours fishing together while the flood lapped at their front step. He was proud and happy to have so much of his father’s attention even though they never caught anything. ‘You are always so busy, Dad,’ Govinda said.

His father sniffed angrily. ‘There seems to be no way of getting past that.’