Their newly-wed love games struck her as a little incongruous amidst the vacant, deserted household.

If the flower of romance is plucked from the tree of life, it cannot sustain itself. Asha could also gradually see that there was a weariness, an ennui in their never-ending romance. It seemed to wilt every now and then—it was difficult sustaining it without the firm and liberal support of household life surrounding it. If romance has no link with other activities, play alone cannot bring out its true colours.

Mahendra tried to rebel against his family, lit all the lamps of his love-life all at once and tried to play out his grand romance amidst the gloom of his deserted household. He tried a dig at Asha, ‘Chuni, what’s the matter with you these days? Why are you so upset over your aunt’s departure? Isn’t our love enough to make up for all the loves in the world?’

Asha was miserable as she thought, ‘Then there must be a lack in my love. I think of my aunt so often; I am so upset that Mother has left us.’ She then tried her best to compensate for this lack in the extent of her love.

The household chores remained half done these days. The servants made hay and work was neglected. One day the maid claimed to be sick and was absent, the next day the cook was too drunk to come in to work. Mahendra said to Asha, ‘That’s great. Today we shall cook our own meals.’

Mahendra drove down to New Market to shop. He had no idea of what to buy and how much—he just picked up a lot of things and came home happy. Asha didn’t have a clue either about what was to be done with the horde that he had brought home. Trial and error drove the clock hands past three o’clock and Mahendra was amused by the end result—a variety of inedible dishes. Asha failed to join him in his mirth—her own ignorance and incompetence shamed her.

Everything was scattered about so untidily in all the rooms that it was difficult to find anything when it was needed. One day, Mahendra’s scalpel was used to cut vegetables and it took permanent refuge in the pile of debris. His notes were used to stoke the kitchen fire, whereupon they gave up the ghost on the ashen bed of the stove.

These and many other disasters gave Mahendra much cause for mirth while Asha continued to feel more and more upset. To the young girl such abandoned drifting of the household on the waves of confusion and waste was nothing less than a nightmare.

One evening the two were sitting on a bed they’d made on the covered veranda. Before them stretched the open terrace. After a spurt of rain the skyline of Kolkata was awash with moonlight on the horizon. Asha had gathered rain-drenched bakul flowers from the garden; she now sat with her head bent, weaving them into a garland. Mahendra was pulling at it, hindering her, criticizing and generally trying to pick a mock squabble. If Asha opened her mouth to chide him for such misdeeds, he immediately silenced her by a contrived move and nipped the reproach in the bud.

At this point the neighbour’s koel called out from its cage. Immediately, Asha and Mahendra looked up at the cage that hung over their heads. Their koel never let the neighbour’s koel go unanswered.Why was it silent today?

Asha was worried. ‘What ‘s wrong with the bird?’

Mahendra said, ‘It’s heard your voice and is too shy to open its beak.’

Asha pleaded, ‘No, seriously, please have a look.’

Mahendra brought the cage off the hook. He opened its doors and found the bird had died. After Annapurna left, the bearer had gone on leave. No one had looked after the bird.

Asha’s face turned ashen. Her fingers stilled over the flowers piled on her lap. Mahendra was saddened too; but he was more afraid of the mood being spoilt and so he tried to laugh it off, ‘Actually it’s all for the best.