Annapurna moved her head in negative to reply.
Ritu was going to say something when Doctor Khastogir came in. It amused every lady there because no one could recollect was it his first visit or had he visited before. His face was red and grave, and he was biting one end of his mustache—which he does when he was angry or being disturbed by an event.
“Papa, no smoking her…” Anna said neglecting the facial situation; to her it was normal.
Khastogir was smoking a cigar; leaving a dense smoke making most of them there to cough, he said “come out side…we need to talk…”
No one knew what had happened that evening outside the Pickle Room except three individuals. And many days later another one comes to know.
Four years passed away in blink. It was August again. It was monsoon again. A train stopped at a late morning that time. No one board the train; one person came down from the train though.
He looked around, and found the station to be same though less bright than the last time, and the serenity of the station has acquired a little rust through decolorisation. He walked to the stationmaster’s room. Ahmed Siddique had grown older. The curly hair had started turning white; the eyes were covered by a spectacle, and he had grown a mustache over his beetle-colored mouths.
“Yes, what can I do for you…” he asked while looking up from the books of accounts.
The old man was assured he was beyond to be got recognized. He asked a false query and then receiving the right reply he came out and stands for a while at the station till Siddique went back to his work instead of keeping an eye on him.
Then he walked to the exit and boards an ekka—to the Town.