PART ONE

Rai Bangshalochan Banerjee Raibahadur; Zamindar and Honorary Magistrate - Beleghata Bench - goes for his constitutional by the canal every afternoon. He has put on some weight since his fortieth year, so as per his doctor’s advice, he walks as an exercise, and avoids rice or rotis entirely by eating kachoris twice a day.

Having strolled for a while Bangshalochan babu, feeling somewhat exhausted, laid his handkerchief on a grassy mound by the canal and sat down on it. He glanced at his watch – it was past six thirty. June had begun. The monsoons had reached Ceylon, it would not be surprising to have a sudden burst of rain here too. Preparing to get up, Bangshalochan babu pulled hard at his Burma cheroot once, when he felt as if someone was tugging him by the edge of his shirt, and in a small voice, saying - hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm. He turned around and saw, a goat.

Quite a well-nourished goat. Jet black plump body, with two baby horns like small gourds that had just emerged beside large floppy ears. Not very old, still sans beard. Bangshalochan said out loud, “Aare, where did this one come from? Whose goat is this? Can’t even see anyone here.”