‘Why not this evening?’

After a slight hesitation, Debashish replied, ‘This evening … well, all right, why not?’

The two of them left together. It was nearly dark. When they neared Nripati’s house, they heard the tinkling notes of a piano being played.

A trio of bright lamps lit up the living room. A solitary man sat before the piano that occupied a corner of the room, intent on his performance.

Nripati walked in with Debashish and announced, ‘See, Probal. We have a new member in our group—Debashish Bhatta.’

Probal moved away from the piano and said in a tone of indifference, ‘We don’t need an introduction.’

‘Are you already acquainted?’ Nripati asked.

‘Slightly,’ Probal replied, ‘as much, in fact, as a rich man could be acquainted with a poor one like me.’ Probal went back to the piano and began to play it in a desultory fashion. His odd behaviour made it very clear that he was not particularly elated to see Debashish. Probal was a couple of years older than him. He was of medium build and had a muscular physique. His face was unexceptional, but gave off an animal magnetism. His eyes betrayed displeasure. Whatever he might have lacked by way of looks, he had acquired quite a reputation as a gifted singer. Some of his gramophone records had become popular and he was often invited to perform over the radio.

Probal and Debashish had not seen each other in years. At one time, they had gone to school together and knew each other fairly well. Then Debashish had finished his schooling and gone away to Delhi. This was the first occasion on which they were meeting since then. During this period, Debashish’s father had started a cosmetics factory called Butterfly Cosmetics and had amassed a fortune. Probal’s father had died of a heart attack and, consequently, their fortunes had dwindled. Probal’s career in music was barely keeping the family afloat.

Probal’s words had embarrassed Debashish a little. Nripati led him to a sofa at the other end of the room and began to talk to him. He explained, ‘About five or six young men come to my evening sessions, but not everyone comes every day. A few of the others will be arriving soon.’

Nripati offered the cigarette tin to Debashish who shook his head and said, ‘No, thanks, I don’t smoke.’

Nripati lit one for himself and lowered his voice as he explained, ‘Probal Gupta is a musician and a bit prickly about certain things. Don’t take his words to heart. Things will settle down in a while.’

At this moment, another young man came in and paused at the door. Clad in a silk suit, he was a handsome fellow with the stamp of refinement on his distinguished features. He was around twenty-four years old and seemed to be a person with a mind of his own. Nripati called out to him, ‘There you are, Kapil. Let me introduce you to each other: Kapil