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It was his goodness of heart that had kept him quiet all these years, as well as respect for his grandfather. The strict code of discipline that the old man maintained meant that Vicky seldom felt discriminated against. True, he was in one uncomfortable room on the barsati, but nobody in the family had much space. Together they ate, sat around, watched TV, and if he and his wife slept on the roof – well, that had its advantages. It was private, they could sleep outside, feel the coolness of dew on their sheets, and personally witness the rising sun every morning.

Meanwhile, Sona’s visions of herself as mistress of modern conveniences with vast rooms to spread out in gained clarity with every new development her brother-in-law took pains to acquaint her with. Kaliyug was no longer mentioned, instead Yashpal found himself part of his brother’s meetings with the builder.

Who wanted to know their requirements.

Here there was a small hitch. Did their requirements include Vicky or not? The brothers’ own division of the newly constructed block of flats was perfectly clear. They were to get the two large flats on the first and second floors, as well as fifty lakhs. The builder would get the basement and two upper floors, assuring them that the risk of exceeding the legal limit was his.

But if three families were to be accommodated, he would have to reduce the size of their flats, as well as the amount of cash he could give them. Thirty lakhs instead of fifty, and three flats of 700 square feet instead of two of 1650.

Bhai Sahib, pointed out Pyare Lal, they were breaking up their house to get more living space, not less.

In that case, suggested the builder helpfully, they could buy a barsati at cost price in another unit he was building. Twenty lakhs only.

Twenty lakhs on Vicky? Never. Rekha’s uncle should not trouble himself.

They decided among themselves that now was the time for Vicky to repay his debts. The boy was beholden to them; a graceful exit would show a proper sense of obligation. They would rent him a flat somewhere in Karol Bagh so that commuting to the shop would be no problem. He would be more comfortable too – the roof did get very hot in summer.

They told him this, genially thumped his back, declared he was now a man, and ready to set up as an independent householder. Wouldn’t his mother have been pleased, and Baoji, and all the dead relatives whose spirits were still protecting him.

Yes, thought Vicky, moving would please Asha; she had always wanted that they set up on their own. A mother and sister were involved.

‘You,’ said Asha, when he told her later, ‘are so innocent – too simple to live in this world, let alone this family. You cannot even see the contempt in which your elders hold you. Would they offer such a deal to their sons?’

Vicky remained silent.

‘You are no less than a son,’ went on Asha. ‘You work for them just the same, have the same blood, and get less in return. What do they think? That all our lives we will say yes, uncle, yes, auntie, no matter how they neglect us? We are not so stupid. If we do not look after number one, who will? Why should we settle for the uncertainty of a rented house? We are not the ones who want to leave. After all, this is our house too.’

Impatience cracked the sweetness of Asha’s voice. Virat stared at his father, Vicky stared at the floor, and growled that his wife’s capacity for seeing things that were not there was just amazing. From now on he was going to do exactly as he liked.

The next evening Vicky conveyed his desire to remain united with the family. Yes, of course they understood his feelings, but when families and shops grew, one had to take a dynamic view. Nisha, their own daughter, had lived apart for many years.

If they made a practice of getting rid of their children, said Vicky, that did not make it any the better.

By now the anti-Vicky feeling had reached its height. Ajay raged at him, to the family’s great approval: he was a parasite, useless, good for nothing, why didn’t he return to the sewers of Bareilly, but no, he was too shameless to do that, he preferred to live off the relatives who had taken him in, and were even now feeding his wife and child.

Sushila, basking in the anger of her son, announced that this was kaliyug, and who remembered what anybody did for anybody. Asha dragged Vicky upstairs.

Upstairs Vicky screamed that after a lifetime of indignity he never wanted to see their faces again. It was just a matter of time, soothed his wife, just a matter of time.

Every day his uncles talked to him, every night Asha pounded sense into his head. From lurking on the margins, Vicky moved to the centre. He felt taller, stood straighter, walked faster.

The family seethed at this centrality. For years we have treated him like our son. Brought him to Delhi, married him off, gave him work, looked after him. Was he such an ingrate that he could give them this in return?

On the contrary, Vicky declared, he was so willing to repay his debts that a lifetime at their feet was not long enough. He only wanted to serve them, in the home, in the shop, in his life.

Meanwhile, the builder was getting impatient. He had already had a fictitious plan sanctioned by the MCD, but now was the time for reality. They could make up their minds about the number of flats they needed while the demolition was going on. He had to begin, and he could not begin unless the house was empty.

Begin, begin, said the family, that would make Vicky leave.

It could also make Vicky get a stay order against construction, said the builder.

No, no, they said, going to courts and getting stay orders was beyond Vicky’s capacity. All his life he had done nothing on his own. How would he start now?

But the builder was not willing to take the risk.

In desperation they sent Rupa upstairs to find out what it would take for Vicky to leave.

Asha recognised a messenger when she saw one. She greeted Rupa warmly. They saw too little of her, even Virat kept asking.

Rupa laughed; she was getting old, it was up to them to come and see her, she hoped they would not forget her when they moved into their own place.

But, said Asha, they did not want to waste family money on a separate place, they were happy to live in a small corner of the new house.

But there would be no small corner in the new house.

Well, said Asha, with a knowledge that horrified the aunt, they could live on the topmost floor. That would only have 40 per cent ground coverage allowed as against 80 per cent on the others. They would still live in the smallest unit, as they had been doing for ten years.

No, no, she did not understand, explained Rupa, they had promised the area on the roof to the builder. She did not know the details, but the builder needed to sell those flats in order for the whole effort to be worth his while.

Asha at this stage said that they needed the hand of their elders over their heads, how else could they live?

Rupa said she had to warn them that Vijay and Ajay were talking of taking the law into their own hands. She didn’t know how long the family could restrain them, especially in kaliyug, when any goonda would break a man’s head for just a lakh.

A silence while Asha and Vicky absorbed this threat.

The police will be very interested to know how many bylaws the builder is breaking, the legal limit in Karol Bagh is three storeys, blustered Vicky, alarming Rupa in her turn.

What was the use of threats, intervened Asha quickly, both sides had too much to lose. Of course, had they money enough they would buy their own place and never more trouble the family. Did Rupa Masi know that in Karol Bagh a small flat cost at least twenty-five lakhs?

More chitchat before Rupa descended, each high, narrow step down accompanied by thoughts of the boy’s history. How right her sister had been in hating him! He had stuck like a leech to this family, and was going to draw a bucket of blood before he left. In her opinion any price was worth getting rid of his tainted presence. But she could not see them parting with twenty-five lakhs, they were shopkeepers after all.

The family had now got Vicky’s price. Both Ajay and Vijay were unanimous in wanting to hire a goonda to break Vicky’s legs. Who did he think he was? They were not going to pay him one paisa, let us see how he gets anything out of us.

For Yashpal and Pyare Lal, the memory of their father, and the fact that he was related, ruled out breaking Vicky’s legs – though from now on they were not going to give him either employment or salary. He had bitten the hand that fed him, let him learn this had consequences. Unfortunately, the goodness of their natures stopped short of starving him.

Asha was glad of this. Rupa’s threat had unsettled Vicky, he was too simple to see it was just a tactic. Alone with the men in the shop, she wasn’t sure how intimidated her husband might become, what he would be persuaded to promise away without a thought for his wife and child. In a waiting game it was imperative they wait, she explained to Vicky over and over.

A silence fell between her and Sona in the kitchen. Asha was meek, mild, and solicitous, murmuring as they worked, I don’t want to leave you, Maji, you are like my mother, without your protection I am nothing. The older woman did not respond.

There were moments when Sona weakened, thinking that the ten years she had fed Asha gave her a claim to the girl’s understanding and consideration. Beti, she tried, explain things to your husband, we are not sending him away, this is what is best for everybody. But nothing changed, and Asha continued with her litany of love and longing.

Coming to terms with the idea of giving Vicky money and then negotiating the amount took many weeks. Rhetoric had to be sieved from reality, anger persuaded into compromise.

Finally ten lakhs was the price agreed upon for Vicky to get out of their house and life. He could set up shop in Delhi, go to Bareilly, to his father, or to hell for all they cared. They had been forced to part with money, for which crime there was no forgiveness.

Sona shed a few bitter tears over Asha in her kitchen. Since her marriage the girl had worked by her side. She had been careful, considerate, and economical, with the skill to use just enough of everything. Now this gem had gone, depriving her of help and companionship. She had been gravely misled as to the girl’s nature and she would never forget her ungrateful wickedness as long as she lived.

Vicky took his disgraceful self, his possessions, his wife and son, and moved out. He was paid six lakhs in black and four in white by the builder – not one of his relatives could bear to actually hand him the money.

Demolition could now begin. The family moved out of the house they had inhabited for forty-five years to Hotel Palace Heights in Karol Bagh. Part of the deal was that the builder pay for their stay there.

Three rooms (meals included) in Hotel Palace Heights were given over to the Banwari Lals, an arrangement that would continue till the new house was built. The rest of the family had to be farmed out. While Vijay was delighted to spend these months in his wife’s home, Raju protested on being sent to his aunt Rupa’s, far from action and excitement. ‘Why me, why not Nisha?’ he demanded, expecting Sona to act upon his distress.

Raju was now in Class XII, Commerce stream, and his mother was keen that he finish school with a decent pass. Anxious for Raju and Prem Nath to be proximate, she explained, ‘Your sister did so well there,’ as though the atmosphere of Rupa’s house was laden with good marks.

‘Send her then,’ repeated Raju petulantly.

‘Your father says soon she will be married, she must stay with us.’

Raju, poor boy, what could he understand of this denial of his wishes, who all his life had been so wrapped in mother love he could barely see?

So Raju left for his uncle’s house, a move fraught with hope and resentment. Prem Nath cleared his throat the first day and announced conscientiously, ‘I went over your sister’s entire syllabus with her. Unfortunately Commerce is a foreign subject to me, but I will try my best.’

‘I will manage,’ said the boy sullenly. ‘I have tooshun.’

Raju’s tuition was with a teacher who ran afternoon classes for children who needed to be attended to personally before they understood anything.

If he opened a book, Prem Nath never saw it. What kind of tuition was this that demanded no study at home? he asked.

‘We do all our practice there only,’ replied the boy.

‘Should I talk to your tutor? How can you study for a board year only three hours a day?’

‘Let it be,’ said Rupa. ‘He knows what he is doing. Anything happens, you will be blamed for interfering.’

‘But this is not the way to do well,’ countered the uncle.

‘Arre, you don’t have to worry. He is a clever boy, he will manage. It’s not as though he is going to do a PhD.’

Raju tittered. ‘All I have to do is pass. Look at Ajay and Vijay, as though their education is helping them,’ he said with a worldliness that distressed Prem Nath. He was so different from his sister, the sight of him was painful.

Meanwhile Nisha, so fondly remembered by her uncle, was also finding studying difficult. She was crammed into one small room with her parents, and even had she wanted to, there was no space to open a book, let alone write a tutorial. Gossip, eating, and sauntering around the market ruled the day at the Hotel Palace Heights.

Her second-year course was harder. There was Shakespeare, Marlowe, Jonson, Chaucer, Spenser, Milton, Donne, the Silver Poets, the Metaphysical Poets, not to mention the background associated with these writers, all beyond her interest or capacities.

Suresh was pressed into service.

‘You have to get me the Stephens tuts again,’ demanded his beloved. ‘It’s because of them I got a position, and showed my teachers who were kindly offering me Pass Course as an option if I failed.’

It was February, and the exams were only two months away. Nisha was bunking classes as usual in order to sit under a favourite tree in the University lawns and feel Suresh’s hands around her waist, trying their usual stunts of wandering to forbidden places, while she focused on the peanuts she was shelling.