Dipa’s heart tripped twice. In one shot, she was thrown back from her dream world to reality. She took a deep breath and said, ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yes.’

‘No problems, I hope?’

‘No.’

‘What sort of a man is that husband of yours?’

‘Not a bad sort at all.’

‘Is he forcing himself on you in any way?’

‘No.’

‘Not even a little bit?’

‘No.’

‘Hmm. You’ll have to carry on like this for a little while longer.’

‘How much longer is that?’

‘You’ll know when the time comes. All right?’

Dipa hung up and went back to her armchair. She leaned back and closed her eyes. The radio murmured away. A few minutes earlier, Dipa had been lost in thought about the garden. But now, it seemed to have moved far away.

At around three-thirty that afternoon, the doorbell rang. Dipa opened her eyes. Someone had come calling. Was Debashish meant to come home early today? But it wasn’t Saturday, was it …?

Dipa went to the head of the stairs. Nakul had opened the front door. She heard a woman’s voice: ‘I am a friend of Dipa’s. Is she home?’

Before Nakul could reply, Dipa called down, ‘Shubhra, come on upstairs.’

Shubhra came up the stairs and enfolded Dipa in a hug. ‘The last time I saw you was on your wedding night when I dressed you up for the occasion and went away. I’ve been staying away all these days to give you some privacy with your husband. Today, the thought struck me that you weren’t a blushing bride any more and must be queening it over your house by now. So I told myself I would drop in to see how things were. My dear, I hope I’m not interrupting anything? Your husband is away at work, isn’t he?’

‘It’s fine, really. Come, let’s go and sit in that room.’

Shubhra was a few years older than Dipa. She had got married the year before. A plump and jovial young woman, she had a good singing voice. Perhaps because they were so unlike each other, Dipa and she were very close.

The two entered the living room and went and stood by the open window. Shubhra gave Dipa a thoroughly assessing stare and smiled, ‘You’re just the same. Marriage still hasn’t changed you a whit. But why aren’t you wearing more jewellery? Just a pair of bangles on your wrist, tiny eartops and a thin chain … A bride ought to wear more than that.’

Dipa lowered her lashes, then looked up at her friend again. ‘I thought you just said I wasn’t a blushing bride any more.’

Shubhra retorted, ‘As far as wearing jewellery is concerned, you are still just that—a blushing bride. But what’s the secret here? “Jewellery steals the lover’s heart”?’

‘What on earth is that?’

‘Oh, don’t you know? The poet, Govinda Das, is supposed to have said that at times jewellery can become one’s rivals for one’s