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muted voice. Students still flock to him, but he makes mistakes, some of which his students catch.
    “Once you declare someone your son,” Didi tells the Masterji, “don’t you then need to take care of him as if he’s indeed your son?”
    The Masterji smiles weakly. He knows that Apsara will put up a fight if he tries to snatch the boy away from her.Tarun thinks that perhaps he should stay a night or two at Bangemudha just so he can see what his mother will do, whether that’ll pull her out of her rut, and she’ll come looking for him. He wonders how Amit will react if indeed Tarun starts living in Bangemudha. Sumit will be fine with it, even happy, for he likes Tarun, calls him “Tarun da ,” and when Amit is not present, follows Tarun around and obeys his instructions in play. But Amit’s grudge against Tarun and Didi is growing. One Saturday Didi returned from the bazaar and handed Tarun and Sumit colorful sweet-smelling erasers, one each, which had images of the masked Betal. She told Amit that she ran out of money for a third one; besides, he was too big and could share Sumit’s eraser. Amit snatched the eraser from Tarun’s palm and said, “He can share with Sumit. I’ll keep this.” Didi’s hand moved quickly through the air and landed on Amit’s cheek, which turned red. He dropped the eraser to the floor, from where Sumit picked it up and handed it to Tarun. Sumit then offered his eraser to Amit, but he shoved away his younger brother’s hand and stormed out of the house. Didi’s thick fingers cupped Tarun’s chin, and she asked, “Does my son like the eraser?” and Tarun nodded shyly. Not too long ago Mahesh Uncle had given Tarun a stationery box with a variety of pens and pencils, a ruler, and two erasers, but Didi’s eraser was his favorite until it shriveled to a stub.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    M AHESH UNCLE’S HOUSE is in Lazimpat, next to a hotel. The house has a gate with a guard who opens it and salutes you as the car glides in onto a paved driveway. The house, two stories with a marble façade, has a lawn big enough to play on. As Tarun enters the front door, he touches its wall, and Mahesh Uncle says, “It’s from the quarry in Godavari.”
    Inside, there’s a spacious living room with leather sofas, vases, paintings, and luxuriant rugs. The living room opens into a dining room, where there’s a table large enough to accommodate ten people. There are three rooms upstairs, each with its own bed and furnishings, even though it’s only Mahesh Uncle who lives on the upper floor. The oldservant Sanmaya sleeps in the small storage room next to the kitchen. Mahesh Uncle says that he’s asked her to move to one of these empty rooms, but she refuses, says she likes it down there, surrounded by sacks of rice and flour and tins of dal and oil and tea.
    Mahesh Uncle has never married, which is another reason that people say he has designs on Apsara. They say that after all these years of living alone he has begun to yearn for companionship. Those who are envious of his wealth and contemptuous of Apsara say that he has found himself a gold digger. Those who are sympathetic toward her say that he wants to take undue advantage of a fallen woman. Those who like both of them think that it’s mutually beneficial: she’s saddled with a young son and needs a guardian, and he needs a female companion for old age.
    The large glass doors in the living room that Mahesh Uncle refers to as “French windows” open to a sumptuous garden enclosed within high walls. No noise from the street encroaches; the walls also prevent obtrusive neighbors from peeking in and coming to conclusions about your inner life. There’s a fountain against one of the walls. Water gurgles from Lord Shiva’s mouth and flows down in meandering rivulets, as if he’s spitting out River Ganga herself. The water enters and exits other statues—Fat Buddha, Ganesh, Meditative Buddha, an owl, a dalmatian dog, a frog—moving in and out of