S atyaboti came and stood at Byomkesh’s side with a cup of pomegranate juice. She said, ‘Here, can you please drink this up?’

I glanced at the clock; it was exactly four o’clock. The clock could be set by Satyaboti and her ministrations.

Byomkesh was sitting in his easy chair reading a book. He stared gloomily at the proferred cup for a while and then said, ‘Why do I have to drink pomegranate juice every day?’

Satyaboti said, ‘Doctor’s orders.’

Byomkesh grimaced and said, ‘The doctor can go to the blazes. I don’t like drinking that stuff. What good is it, anyway?’

Satyaboti said, ‘It’ll increase your blood count. Please, dear, drink it up.’

Byomkesh stole a quick glance at Satyaboti’s face and asked, ‘What’s for dinner tonight?’

Satyaboti replied, ‘Toast and chicken broth.’

The frown on Byomkesh’s face deepened. He said, ‘Hmm, broth. And who, pray, will eat the chicken?’

Satyaboti hid a smile as she said, ‘Why, your dearest friend, I suppose.’

Hastily, I pitched in, ‘Not all by himself. Your better half will also get her share.’

Byomkesh glared at me once and then screwed up his face and drank up the pomegranate juice.

It was a few days since we had arrived in this town, which was located on the western fringes of Bengal, for a change of air. Byomkesh had been afflicted by a serious illness in Calcutta and was bedridden for a while; it had taken Satyaboti and me two months of constant care to bring him back to health. The toll of nursing him had begun to tell on Satyaboti who had been reduced to skin and bones. I was not much better off either. So, at the doctor’s advice, we had set off in search of the rejuvenating climes of the Santhal district around the middle of December. The results of the change had been miraculous too. Not only had Satyaboti and I regained our health, but Byomkesh too was getting better by the day. His appetite was increasing rapidly as well. After the long indisposition, he had turned into something of an unreasonable child; he craved for food every waking minute of the day. The two of us were having a hard time restraining him.

We had thus far made the acquaintance of only two gentlemen in the town. The first was Professor Adinath Shome; it was the ground floor of his house that we had rented. The second was the local doctor, Ashwini Ghatok. Since we had arrived with a convalescing patient, the first thing we had done was to look up the nearest physician.

There were many other Bengalis in the town, but we hadn’t had a chance yet to meet any of them. We hadn’t been able to go out much in the past few days. It took a while to settle down into a new habitat. This was the first day we would have an opportunity to venture out—we had been invited to tea by a prominent