HORIHOR’S ACCOMMODATION WASN’T particularly good. He had managed to secure two rooms in the damp, dark ground floor of a three-storeyed house. Even during the day, anyone coming suddenly out of the rooms was dazzled by daylight for a few seconds. Shorbojoya had never lived in such a joyless place. Their home in Contentment might have been old, but they had large doors and windows to let in unending amounts of air and light, and the walls remained dry throughout the year. This dampness and lack of daylight began giving her regular headaches.

Opu spent as little time as possible at the house. Much like a sapling, his body and mind turned towards sunlight and open spaces. He was raised in such spaces, amidst the sun, rain and wind. The rejuvenating greenness of Contentment’s fields, woodlands and sunbathed rivers had surrounded him all his life. He felt strangled in the damp darkness of the rooms. In general, Kashi had disappointed him. Yes, there were imposing houses and temples everywhere, and the roads and carriages had been impressive at first, but where were the woods? How could such a famous place be so bereft of trees? How was he going to gather things to play with?

In the middle of all this, the ballad singer visited Horihor’s place again one evening. After some polite catching-up, he asked, ‘Where’s your son? Doesn’t seem to be around . . .?’

‘Probably gone outside to play,’ supplied Horihor. ‘Somewhere around Doshashwomedh Ghat, most likely . . .’

The balladeer began untying something from a knot at the edge of his shawl.

‘I’ve become good friends with your boy,’ he told Horihor. ‘Had a long chat with him the other day. Said he loved cowries. So when I got this in my bowl the other day, I thought . . . Here, you keep them with you for now. Give them to him when he comes home.’

He held out two large sea cowries to Horihor.

Towards the end of the dry season, Opu pleaded with his father to go to school.

‘Everyone here goes to school, Baba! I want to go too. There’s a good school just around the corner, at the end of that lane . . .’

Horihor agreed. Though the school was a charitable institution, they did teach English. In all his years, this was only Opu’s second experience of classroom learning, the first being his stint at Proshonno Gurumoshai’s two-in-one shop and school.

Towards the end of that winter, the ballad singer visited Horihor at home again, this time with a piece of paper.

‘Take a look at this,’ he said, offering Horihor the document. ‘Do you think this will hold up?’

Horihor read the text. It was a document drawn at the behest of one Ramgopal Chokroborti, bestowing ten bighas of his own land—located in the village of Shwogram—to the ballad singer. It was witnessed by so and so, at Dasaswamedh Ghat at Kashi, on such and such date.