The next morning Mumbles’ wife returned the Seths’ washed and ironed clothes. She sat outside the front door, undid a knot, freed her bag and lifted fresh sheets out. She passed them to Gitanjali, who approved them. The clean sheets were folded on top of each other, and the shirts and trousers and dresses were starched. While the sheets were to be given away, the shirts and trousers and dresses were to be kept carefully and taken to Australia. Govinda said nothing; he watched the dhobi, in her old maroon sari hunched over, as his mother paid her. The sound of the constantly busy crows and mynas filled the trees outside. Meanwhile, servants laboured with mops and buckets, brooms and paints, shovels and garden-shears, fixing the mishaps of the party and the carnival.

Govinda followed his mother into the kitchen. Mumbles was making sweets. ‘Life in a happy kitchen is a comfortable thing,’ Mumbles said to Gitanjali. ‘You know I like my sweets just right. Cooked to a delicacy.’

Gitanjali had recently expressed a desire for Mumbles to cook only vegetarian food, but Sunil Seth said he would have to consider this, and now was not the time. Everyone was busy. Ashok and Nitesh were out. The headmaster was working in his study. Govinda complained. ‘I am so bored,’ he said to his father, ‘I wish I could go away from here.’

‘Where would you like to go, Govinda?’

‘I want to go out and eat some food. I don’t like the way Mumbles prepares food.’

‘I’ll take you,’ his father said. The muscles along his neck were tense.

‘No, I want to go with Mum,’ Govinda said quickly, and went to the kitchen, where his mother was busy making kul kuls with Mumbles. He looked at his mother laughing. It seemed as though all the sunshine was on her for a moment. The air in the room tasted of sugar and dough.

‘There shall never be a lover in the world like the Lord Krishna,’ Gitanjali whispered to Mumbles. Her comment made Govinda’s face burn. They had grown very intimate. She looked up at Mumbles and smiled, her eyes glittered as she explained. Govinda saw a new brightness about her. Why was his mother speaking so openly? Nor did he like this talk about Krishna.

Mumbles and Gitanjali kneaded the dough slowly. Mostly they took no heed of Govinda, though they were making his favourite. He could already taste them, so he stayed in the kitchen and continued to observe his mother and Mumbles laughing, flaming with blushes: occasionally their hands would brush up against each other while they cooked and neither would appear to notice. He’d also observed of late that Mumbles’ beard had grown and he looked like he was becoming more serious, more devout.