Nanda had been acting crazy ever since Hersh's arrival. She was no longer of this earth, walking on air, oblivious to time, unaware even of Gita's existence. How quickly she had changed! When would Hersh leave? No telling how many days of vacation he had left. For three of four days now there had been no sign of his leaving. By bringing him home from his hotel, Gita had added to her own troubles. When those two stood before her, she appeared very happy on the surface. She laughed at their deviltry, at their jokes, and sometimes even teased them herself; but an uneasy feeling was building up somewhere within. It wasn’t jealousy, as it was that time with Miss Raymond, when the ferocity of a lioness had sprung up within her. She rather enjoyed seeing Hersh and Nanda together, but somehow a helpless feelingof inferiority continued to prick her.

What time was it now? Gita flashed a look at the watch on the table, as if having forgotten about the time for awhile even though she had deliberately taken the watch from her wrist and placed it on the table so as to keep an eye on it. A quarter to ten. She looked at the food on the table, and realised that it must have grown cold. How late the movie must be lasting. There was still no sign of them. They were probably strolling by the lake, arms around each other's waists. After they had left, Gita had busied herself with preparations for dinner, and had set the table only half an hour ago. In fact, she had kept Khoka's mother there late so that the dishes could be washed. Otherwise they'd be swarming with flies by the morning.

How long should she wait? Khoka's mother herself had asked, "When is this man going to leave? He smokes such a lot. Look over there - ashes all over the place. What's he to her?" Without revealing any interest, Gita had settled the matter. "Who is he? He's her man. He's come to make up with her. At least go and wash up the kitchen utensils and the spice grinder. You can do the pots in the morning."

Gita opened a book on the dining table and tried to occupy herself. The light from the bulb above, the glare from the China and the white plastic tablecloth, all dazzled in her eyes. The floor sparkled. From the inner room, the bed in front of the dressing table was visible, half through the open door and half in the dressing table mirror. All night long she would lie awake on that bed with no witness but the mirror. She marvelled at herself for having helplessly consented to this whole state of affairs. Not only had she stood by through this irresponsible business of theirs, but she had calmly accepted the entire disgraceful situation. She might be angry while they were away, but when they stood before her it always seemed as if they were just little children, and that it was up to her to look after them and see to their meals.

She knew that they would return apologising for their tardiness - they couldn’t find a taxi, or they were delayed by the crowd on the bus. If nothing else, they would say it had been raining heavily. Yes, and this Calcutta was such a big city that there could be rain in one section and no sign of it in another! And where would Hersh sit at the table? When they showed no interest in a meal, Gita would tease, "So you've already eaten?" and they would smile guiltily at each other. Gita would forget her own dinner and sit watching them fondly, a strange affection filling her heart. Seeing or even imagining them together, they formed a symbol of happiness for her. Then all her accusations would be forgotten, and she would completely forget that this was the same Nanda for whose sake she had alienated her family, and over whom various scandals had arisen. It seemed to her that she was struggling to find a bit of vicarious happiness in the life of this innocent girl.

Mrs. Kunti Mehra, mentioning Nanda for the first time, had said, "Didi, she's a poor, lonely girl. She ended up in someone's home, but she's very unhappy there. She works as a typist for some firm. You live alone yourself these days, don’t you? Why doesn’t she come and stay in one of your rooms? And then you'll have her company.. No no, she won't disturb you. She is so quiet, so melancholy, she hardly speaks to anyone!"

Gita's first impression of Nanda had indeed been that of a quiet, lonely girl. She had pleasant features and a fair complexion, but her whole manner had seemed harsh and indifferent, not so much as a result of her character, but as a result of having lived a solitary, introspective life. The end of her sari stopped short of her waist, and her hair was tied close, as if she thought that this was "smartness". What difficulty and scheming it had required for Gita to change her tastes! Although Gita herself preferred to wear simple, white clothing, she wanted people to be unable to take their eyes off Nanda when they were together. It was the first time that Gita had given way to contradictions. A thief had sneaked into her unloved heart, and, because of Nanda, her passion for simplicity had been destroyed for the first time.

And now look at that same Nanda : a black sleeveless blouse, a peacock colored sari from Bangalore with the border trailing over her arm all the way to her sandals, a string of enormous white seed pearls, and a loose plait in the shape of a figure eight. Such a figure, and such grace! Ever since attaching herself to Hersh, Nanda walked on air as if in a dream. When she blew a kiss from her lightly painted lips, it was enough to make Gita squirm. She was beginning to find Hersh's presence unbearable at times.

- translated from Hindi by Kenneth E. Bryant