That ever-benevolent doctor cured me. Within seven or eight months, I recovered. I sat for my exams, and the results were good. When the illness was gone, I felt a deep sorrow, as if my main weapon in the battle had become blunt—what would I fight with now?

Speaking of that exam, one thing comes to mind especially today, when I see even parents searching for question papers for their children, unhesitant in cheating and forgery. Since it wasn’t decided in advance that I would take the exam, Baba had set the Sanskrit question paper himself, but when I did sit for the exam, he resigned from his post as examiner. He had prepared the question paper, he had taught me as well, but I couldn’t understand a thing about what was in the questions... After the exam, Baba laughed heartily—“So, you couldn’t understand anything beforehand, could you?” Today, this might sound like an impossible, far-fetched tale. In those days, parents wanted their children to truly learn, now they only want degrees. That is indeed a change in the country!

Nine or ten months passed, or maybe a year, and in that time, I heard nothing of him. Khoka didn’t come either. Even when I went to his bookshop, I couldn’t catch him. I had a little sister now. My uncles had left, after a big quarrel with Baba—not face to face, they didn’t have that courage, but they scolded Ma, and Ma, taking her husband’s side, argued back. I was angry with my uncle too, I quarreled as well. Kakima had gone back to her father’s house, beyond our reach. I never understood the real reason for Kaka’s anger, but his leaving like that made me very sad; I loved him so much, I vowed never to see his face again.

Ma said, the household had begun to break apart. The home she had arranged with relatives, dependents, guests, which had sparkled for the past year with stories, laughter, poetry, and joy—Ma was the queen of it all, and now, one by one, it was as if each lamp was being extinguished.

One day, I was standing by the stairs when Baba came out of the sitting room—“Mircea came yesterday.” My heart began to pound—oh God, what am I about to hear? “He’s grown a beard, a full beard. He’s become an ascetic, I almost didn’t recognize him. Ha ha ha.” Without answering, without turning to face Baba, I started down the stairs. Baba called out, “Ru, Ru, he’s going back to his country—put his curios that are lying around into the car.” I wondered, why did he grow a beard? Is it out of grief? I couldn’t do anything for him. I didn’t even cut my hair. Selfish me, so selfish.

When Mircea had once gone to Darjeeling, he brought back some beautiful, large Tibetan curios, which were displayed on the stair shelves—I used to see those tokens. Today, with my own hands, I put them in the