Sabhrai and her maid-servant aroused no comment; only the pimps stopped talking and turned round to see them. (Vice responds only to vice; it seldom dares to accost virtue.) Shunno drew her veil across her nose, came alongside her mistress, and whispered an angry comment on the profession of street women. Sabhrai ignored her remark and started mumbling her prayers. Shunno dropped back. She cast surreptitious glances at the women and tried to overhear the negotiations between them and their patrons. They came out of the bazaar and its warm smell of stone and sewage to the grassy cool of the municipal garden. It was bathed in silvery moonlight; the fragrance of the lady of the night pervaded the lawns. The women quickened their pace. Save for the croaking of frogs and the challenging cries of watchmen from the roofs of neighboring houses, it was still.

When they got home, everyone was asleep. Mundoo lay on the kitchen floor. Shunno kicked him with her bare feet till he woke up and sent him to the servants’ quarters. She went up to the roof with her mistress.

Sabhrai said another short prayer sitting cross-legged on her bed. When she lay down, Shunno began massaging her feet and legs.

‘Go to sleep. You must be tired.’

‘It doesn’t matter. You will sleep better if I press you a little.’

Sabhrai knew that the maid-servant wanted to say something. She did not openly encourage Shunno to gossip; neither did she discourage her more than to occasionally call her a gossip-monger.

‘Everyone is asleep,’ said Shunno to reassure her mistress.

‘I thought Beena was stirring,’ whispered Sabhrai to indicate that she knew what was on Shunno’s mind.

‘Beena Bibi, are you asleep?’

There was no answer.

‘No, she must be asleep. It is long after midnight,’ assured Shunno. After a few minutes, she spoke again.

‘Bibiji.’

Sabhrai mumbled inaudibly.

‘Bibiji, are you feeling sleepy?’

‘No.’

‘Bibiji,’ continued Shunno in low tones ‘One shouldn’t say such things, but . . .’

‘But what?’

‘If you don’t take it ill, this house our Bibi Beena has started going to, the one with those hairless Hindus, is not a very good one.’

‘Bus, bus, enough! You know nothing about them.’

‘I am just telling you what I have heard, it is my duty. If something happens don’t blame me for not telling you what people say.’

‘What do they say?’

‘The son is said to have bad habits. One hears he spends his time playing cricket and going to cinemas. He has other habits too . . . . One hears his wife is very unhappy.’

‘Bus, bus! You are always slandering people . . . . Who told you?’

‘Who told me? All the world knows.’

‘Accha, accha! Go to sleep and don’t gossip.’

‘Whatever I say is gossip,’ grumbled Shunno. ‘As you wish! Sat Sri Akal.’

‘Sat Sri Akal.’

Shunno heaved herself up and went down the stairs praising the Guru.