The man stared at the fiery young woman and muttered.

‘A wise man has said, if we are not stupid or insincere when we say that the good or ill of man lies within his own will, and that all besides is nothing to us, why are we still troubled?’

This was the first time he had smiled at Rajjo and Rajjo instantly liked him. His face was creased in wrinkles.

‘You can be the main counsel in this… I will come to you again to persuade you.’ Rajjo pressed harder.

The learned man laughed at Rajjo.

‘My name is Narendra Tyagi and I have been here twenty-five years. I will be here for the next twenty-five years, God-willing, so you can come as many times as you want, my doors will always be open.’

Narendra Tyagi’s statement left Raahat and Rajjo staring at him.

‘He sounded like Amitabh Bachchan in a dhoti, and what diet does he eat, if he is going to live for the next twenty-five years!’ muttered Raahat, chomping at some offerings he had received from the other priest.

‘Shut up… I like him.’

‘Because he is a nutcase and you like your kind!’

‘You are five years younger than me, behave.’

Raahat relented for exactly five minutes and started riling Rajjo again.

‘So where are we going next? You said we can have a sumptuous meal after this.’

‘We are going to my husband’s house and he will give us a meal.’

Raahat was stumped and without any further questions he trailed Rajjo as she hailed a rickshaw and climbed in resolutely.

‘So when was the last time you saw him…’

As the rickshaw neared her crowded lane, Raahat asked tentatively.

‘When I was half dead, beaten and raped by his politician friend, he saw me to the gate.’

Raahat’s face twitched.

‘Then why are we going there?’

‘To make him pay. He owes me one.’

‘How can you strike a deal with a monster?’

‘He is nothing to me – hatred towards him is useless. I don’t have time for that.’ .

As the rickshaw pulled outside, Rajjo saw the familiar gate, only with a fresh coat of paint. The mango tree looked shriveled up, the house seemed the same. However, there was a cheapness about the place now. It was a thoroughfare. Lots of scooters were parked in a haphazard manner outside the house. Bright yellow hoardings stuck on gate and walls of the house announced in blue coluor: ‘Hari Om’ Cables. Seth-ji had realized his dream; he owned a cable TV business. She could see a garish dish and other equipment protruding from the terrace.

Rajjo looked at Raahat who decided to stay put in the rickshaw.

‘I can come unless you…’

‘No need…’

As Rajjo resolutely walked through the familiar gate Raahat stood outside with the rickshaw puller and pulled out a cigarette.

It had been twenty minutes now, but there was no sign of Rajjo.