Urmila was momentarily at a loss for words: a long history of disputes and quarrels lay between this family and hers. Trying to smile, she said: 'Did a fish-seller ring your bell this morning? A young man in a T-shirt and a checked lungi?'
The man looked her over sardonically, his eyes travelling slowly from the plastic bag stuffed with fish to her crumpled spice-stained sari.
Urmila held her ground. 'Did you see him?' she said again.
'No,' said the man. 'We were asleep until you rang the bell.'
'What?' said Urmila. 'The fish-seller didn't come here? With the basket… '
'What did I tell you?' the man snapped. 'Didn't I tell you we were fast asleep?' He slammed the door on her.
Urmila ran up one flight to the fourth floor, the highest in the building. The floors in their building were exactly alike, each with four identical flats, lined up next to each other along an open veranda. There was no sign of the fishseller on the fourth floor. She turned and went pelting down, stopping at each landing to look up and down the long verandas. The man wasn't anywhere in the building so far as she could tell. She checked the veranda on the ground floor twice, and then ran out to the small paan shop on the pavement, near the entrance to the building.
The stall-owner was sitting cross-legged on the counter, saying a prayer before starting the day's work. She had to wait until he opened one eye. 'What's this?' he said, in surprise, staring at her dishevelled hair and her crumpled night-time sari. 'Why are you outside in this state?'
She asked him about the fish-seller, and he shook his head: 'No, I haven't seen anyone; I've just got here, as you can see.'
She turned on her heel and headed down the road. 'Where are you going?' the paan-wallah called after her.
'I'm not going to let that man rob me in broad daylight,' she said. 'I'm going to find him and get my money back.'
The paan-wallah gave a derisory laugh. 'It's no use,' he said. 'Those vendors are too clever for the likes of you.'
'We'll see!' Urmila shouted back, over her shoulder.
RashBehari was thronged with its usual morning crowd of pedestrians, some hurrying towards Lansdowne, some towards Gariahat. People turned to stare at Urmila as she went marching along swinging her clenched fists. There were a few jeers and catcalls from loiterers, standing against the railings and squatting by the road. Urmila walked on, oblivious of her soiled sari and her soggy bag of fish.
She turned into a lane, off RashBehari, and almost before she knew it she was standing before a pair of tall wroughtiron gates. A portly chowkidar in khaki uniform was on guard at the gate. Right above him was an elaborately carved marble nameplate, set deep in the wall. It bore the name 'Romen Haldar' written in richly ornamented, cursive Bengali.
The chowkidar looked her up and down, suspiciously. 'What's your business here?' he said, placing himself in front of her, rapping his stick on his thigh.
Urmila pushed him aside, barely pausing in her stride. 'You don't need to concern yourself with my business,' she said. 'You stay where you are and think about your own business.'
She marched off, down the driveway towards the covered porch that led into the house. The chowkidar gave chase, waving his stick and shouting: 'Stop: You can't go in.'
'Tell me something,' Urmila threw back at him, over her shoulder. 'Did the fish-seller come here today?'
'What fish-seller?' said the chowkidar. 'We don't have any fish-sellers coming here. Do you know whose house this is?'
'Yes,' said Urmila.
With a sudden burst of speed, the chowkidar ran around her, trying to block the driveway. But Urmila was used to forcing her way past doorkeepers and secretaries; he was no match for her. She stepped around him, unimpressed. He followed, mouthing imprecations.
The chowkidar's shouts caused a stir inside the house. An elderly man appeared on the porch, pen in hand, dressed in a starched white kurta and dhoti. 'What's the matter?' he demanded, peering irritably down the driveway.
He spotted Urmila and a frown appeared on his forehead. 'Yes, what is it?' he said, looking her over distastefully. 'What do you want? No appointments today – all appointments have been cancelled.'
Urmila ignored him. 'I want to see Mr Romen Haldar,' she said.
The secretary glowered at her, over the rim of his spectacles. 'What business do you have with Mr Haldar?' he asked.
'I want to ask him about a fish-seller who came to my flat this morning,' Urmila said defiantly.
The secretary's jaw dropped. 'Fish-seller?' he said. 'What fish-seller?'
'A young man,' Urmila said. She tried to describe him but all she could recall of his appearance was a fading T-shirt and a big, gap-toothed grin. 'He sells fish here regularly,' she said. 'He was on his way here right now; he told me so.'
She lifted up the packet of fish and held it out towards the secretary. 'Look: he sold me this just this morning.'
The secretary recoiled. 'Keep that filthy thing away from me,' he cried, snatching back a spotless, cotton-clothed arm. 'What nonsense is this? No fish-seller has set foot in this house for years.'
'He told me that he sold fish to Mr Haldar.'
'He was lying,' said the secretary.
Urmila stared at him, her head reeling. 'But the man told me… ' she began.
The secretary made an impatient gesture. 'Enough,' he said. 'You can be off now.'
Urmila's tone hardened. 'No,' she said. 'I will not leave until I see Mr Haldar himself.'
'I see,' said the secretary. Raising a hand, he made a sign to the chowkidar, who was standing at the door. 'Shyam Bahadur,' he said. 'Show this lady the way out.'
Urmila pointed a finger at him, looking him directly in the eyes. 'I don't think you know who I am,' she said, in a firm, cool voice. 'Let me tell you: my name is Urmila Roy and I am a Calcutta reporter. Perhaps you should think a little before you do anything.'
The secretary's scowl deepened and he launched into a threat-laden diatribe. Urmila listened quietly; she had become all too used to situations like these over the last couple of years. In her own way she had even come to relish them.
She waited impassively until he ran out of breath. 'Now will you please take me to Mr Haldar?' she said, silkily. 'Quickly, please; I don't have much time. In a short while I have to be at the Great Eastern Hotel, for a press conference with the Minister of Communications.'
The secretary began to splutter. 'You don't understand,' he said, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his spotless kurta. 'I can't take you to Mr Haldar because I don't know where he is. He's disappeared. He's missed two appointments already.'
Urmila stared at him, open mouthed, 'But he's meant to come to our flat for dinner tonight,' she began to explain, meaninglessly. 'That's why I'm cooking this fish; that's why I'm going to be late for the press conference… ' She shook the bag of fish under his nose once again.
The secretary sneered. 'You're either mad or dreaming,' he said. 'Mr Haldar is booked on a flight to Bombay this evening – he has to attend a meeting there. He had no plans to visit you or anyone else here.' With a gesture of dismissal, he turned to the chowkidar. 'Take her away,' he said. 'I'm not going to waste any more time on this nonsense.'
Urmila allowed herself to be led out of the room, but at the porch she broke suddenly free. 'You're lying,' she shouted, shaking off the chowkidar's hand. 'I don't believe you. You're not going to get away with this -you'll see… ' The chowkidar placed a restraining hand on her arm.
Trying to evade his grip Urmila stumbled. And then the gravel path was flying up to meet her.
Chapter 27