It was very early in the morning. Mathuranath, as usual, took his holy dip in the Ganga. Barefoot and clad in a dhoti , a namavali wrapped around his body like a shawl, he was hastening back home. In the copper vessel in his hand, there was holy water. His feet were mud-smeared, he was mumbling slokas from the Gita. This daily ritual protected him from the cold during winter and gave him comfort in summer. In the cool half-light of early morning, he was walking with rapid strides, all by himself.  Mathuranath had been doing this for the last 30 years, except when seriously ill. Ten or twelve years ago, there were people to accompany him. Some of them were dead now, a few had become infirm, and the rest had left Rampur. After the death of Banwarilal, the last of his companions, he was all alone.  Now, every morning as he touched the water of the river, a strange feeling came over him. It seemed as though he belonged to the river, and it waited for him daily at dawn. And when h...

  "Are you done with it, Moni?" asked Renubala, noting that the sun was about to decline. "Hurry up, my dear, we don't have much time," she said.  Monica had opened the mynah's cage. She was filling the earthen bowl with grams. "Why are you in such a hurry, Ma?" she said. "It's not even four." Renubala sat on the cot, her legs hanging. She tried to guess the time. There had been a light shower earlier in the afternoon. The sky was clear now, but the light had grown pale. The afternoon sun was overspread with shadows. The leaves of the coconut tree by the window stirred slightly in the gliding moist wind.  There was no clock in the house. No way to know the time. But it didn't matter. So long as there was light, Renubala could tell the time observing the shifting sunlight. After all, she had been doing this for the last thirty odd years. Renubala had to rely on her instincts to know if it was time for Kamalaksha to get ready for th...