The long-anticipated rumble at last rippled through the compartments, and the train shivered down its long steel spine. Relief lit the passengers’ faces. As the compartments trundled past the level-crossing, everyone craned to see the cause of their delay. Three uniformed policemen stood by the hastily covered corpse awaiting its journey to the morgue. Some passengers touched their foreheads or put their hands together and murmured, “Ram, Ram.”

Maneck Kohlah descended behind the uncle and nephew, and they exited the platform together. “Excuse me,” he said, taking a letter from his pocket. “I am new in the city, can you tell me how to get to this address?”

“You are asking the wrong people,” said Ishvar without reading it. “We are also new here.”

But Omprakash glanced at the letter and said, “Look, it’s the same name!”

Ishvar pulled a square of ragged paper out of his own pocket and compared it. His nephew was right, there it was: Dina Dalai, followed by the address.

Omprakash regarded Maneck with sudden hostility. “Why are you going to Dina Dalai? Are you a tailor?”

“Me, tailor? No, she is my mother’s friend.”

Ishvar tapped his nephew’s shoulder. “See, simply you were panicking. Come on, let’s find the building.”

Maneck did not understand what they meant, till Ishvar explained outside the station. “You see, Om and I are tailors. Dina Dalai has work for two tailors. We are going to apply.”

“And you thought I was running there to steal your job.” Maneck smiled. “Don’t worry, I am just a student. Dina Dalai and my mother used to be in school together. She’s letting me stay with her for a few months, that’s all.”

They asked a paanwalla for directions, and walked down the street that was pointed out. Omprakash was still a little suspicious. “If you are staying with her for a few months, where is your trunk, your belongings? Only two books you have?”