The night before, she had had very little sleep. That too had been a restless one. Now, as the radio played soothing music, her eyes drooped.

She was startled by the telephone ringing away. She opened her eyes and noticed the tiny phone in a corner of the room. Dipa switched off the radio. It must be Debashish calling. After a moment’s hesitation, she picked up the receiver.

‘Hello.’

The voice at the other end asked, ‘Dipa, do you recognize my voice?’

Dipa’s heart beat faster as she answered breathlessly, ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Is there anyone else in the room?’

‘No, I am alone.’

‘Fine. Have you told your husband about us?’

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Did he bother you last night?’

‘No.’

‘Did you sleep alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Carry on this way for a few days.’

‘For how long?’

‘Just for a while. Don’t you worry; everything will sort itself out. Do you remember the vow?’

‘Vow?’

‘You swore in the Lord’s name never to disclose my identity to anyone, remember?’

‘Yes, I remember.’

‘Your husband may coerce you into revealing my name.’

‘He doesn’t want to know and even if he did, I would not tell him.’

‘Good. I’ll call you from time to time in the afternoon when your husband isn’t home.’

‘All right.’

Dipa hung up and came back to her seat. She felt drained of all strength.

Debashish came back from the factory at five p.m. Nakul answered the door. Dipa had heard the doorbell from upstairs and waited with bated breath.

Debashish came upstairs and found Dipa sitting by the radiogram in silence. As soon as he entered the room, Dipa turned her startled gaze on him and rose to her feet. Debashish approached her hesitantly and stood before her. Neither of them had a word to say to each other. But how long could they stand there facing each other? Finally, Debashish asked, ‘Has Nakul been looking after you?’

Dipa nodded and answered, ‘Yes.’

‘Have you had tea?’ Debashish asked her.

‘No,’ she replied, shaking her head.

Once this exchange was over, Debashish was at a loss for words. Meanwhile, Dipa was trying her best to offer something effortlessly casual by way of conversation. But what could she possibly say? What had she left to say? Finally, a thought occurred to her. She looked up at Debashish and asked, ‘Where do you have your lunch?’

‘There are good arrangements for lunch at my factory,’ he replied. ‘All the staff and workers have lunch at the canteen there. I do the same.’

Dipa simply said, ‘Oh.’

‘Well, give me a minute to change,’ Debashish suggested, ‘and then we can have tea.’

‘Sure,’ Dipa replied in a voice laced with uncertainty.

As Debashish was making for Dipa’s room, he asked her, ‘May I carry on using your bathroom?’

At the door, he stopped short. Coming back into the room, he lowered his voice and said, ‘There’s one thing I thought I should point out. It looks odd if you address me formally as you would a visitor. It’s all right for you to do so when we’re alone. But in the presence of Nakul or anyone else for that matter, it would be better if you used the more intimate form of address—just to allay suspicions that all isn’t quite as it should be.’

Dipa averted her gaze and remained silent.

‘Well?’

With obvious reluctance, Dipa said faintly, ‘All right.’

Debashish went in for his bath. As she continued to stand there, Dipa pondered, ‘Is it that easy to switch from the familiar mode of address in public to the formal one in private?’ Perhaps stage actors could manage it. She felt herself slowly sinking into a bottomless quagmire.

Ten minutes later, Debashish emerged from the bathroom, fastening the buttons on his kurta. ‘Come,’ he invited, ‘let’s go down for tea.’

Dipa followed Debashish downstairs and the two sat at either end of the dining table. Nakul placed plates of puri and vegetables before them. Debashish began to eat, but Dipa sat there, looking self-conscious.

Nakul asked, ‘Dada, should I fry an egg?’

Debashish glanced at Dipa. She shook her head. In her parents’ home, she had been forbidden to eat eggs. Eggs were taboo for single women.

Debashish told Nakul, ‘It’s all right. Don’t bother.’

Nakul came in to serve tea and exclaimed, ‘What’s the matter, Boudi? Aren’t you going to eat?’

Dipa bowed her head, then looked up at Debashish in desperation. He understood the reason for her discomfiture. He laughed and explained, ‘Nakul, she is probably not used to eating in the presence of men.’

Debashish finished his meal quickly and left the table. Once he was out of the room, Nakul approached Dipa and explained, ‘Boudi, in this house, women and men have always had their meals together. This custom has prevailed from the time the old master was alive. Since you are now the new bride and a member of this family, you’re expected to follow the customs as well. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it by and by. Come now, do eat. Don’t they eat eggs at your parents’ place?’

‘The men eat ducks’ eggs,’ Dipa explained, ‘but the eggs of hens are taboo.’

Nakul nodded wisely. ‘All eggs are the same, whether they come from the duck or the hen.’

Dipa finished her tea and snacks while Nakul stood by to see that she didn’t skip the meal. When she emerged from the dining room, she found Debashish standing at the foot of the stairs, leaning his elbows on the balustrade. When he saw her, he asked, ‘Would you like to go out? You’re cooped up in the house all day. Come, let’s go for a drive.’

Performing for the benefit of others was all very well, but one had to draw the line somewhere. Dipa looked at Debashish squarely and her answer was a firm, ‘No.’

Debashish didn’t seem to mind. He accepted her decision with equanimity