'Of course, Brijlal,' Shanti replies. 'Ranno is like our own daughter.'

'What is that, Bibiji?' Rupesh calls out in alarm, pointing his finger at the first-floor window from which black smoke is billowing out.

Shanti looks up and the box of sweetmeats drops from her hand. 'Hey Ishwar, that looks like a fire in Mohan's bedroom. And he is sleeping inside. Run, save your Sahib,' she screams as she begins running towards the house.

Gopi, Brijlal, Rupesh and Shanti rush up the stairs to Mohan's bedroom and find it locked from inside. 'Open up, Sahib,' Brijlal hollers, banging at the door, but there is no response from Mohan.

'Oh God, he must already have fainted from the fumes,' Shanti quavers.

'Let's break down the door,' Gopi suggests.

'Get back… get back,' Rupesh cries. He rears back and is about to crash his shoulder into the door when it opens suddenly, hitting him with a blast of heat. Mohan Kumar staggers out. His face is bright red and there is black ash on his clothes and hands.

While Gopi, Brijlal and Rupesh run into the bedroom and try to douse the fire, Shanti tends to her husband, who is choking and wheezing.

'Aah… aah.' He opens his mouth, taking in gulps of air.

Rupesh emerges from the bedroom with black soot all over his face. 'We managed to put out the fire, Bibiji,' he declares. 'Luckily, it had not spread beyond the curtains.'

'Thank God you woke up in time,' Shanti says to Mohan.

He blinks repeatedly. 'What is happening?'

'There was a fire in your room.'

'Fire? Who could have done that?' He looks around suspiciously.

'Must have been the handiwork of one of the street kids in the garden,' Gopi avers.

'Street kids? What the hell are street kids doing in my house?' Mohan demands.

Gopi and Brijlal look at each other quizzically.

A little while later, Mohan comes down to the dining room in fresh clothes. 'I am hungry. Where is my dinner, Gopi?' he asks the cook.

'It is ready, Sahib, exactly as per your instructions,' says Gopi as he lays a dish on the dining table accompanied by a casserole containing freshly made rotis.

Mohan takes a morsel and immediately spits it out. 'This is not meatball curry,' he says, curling his lips in distaste. 'What kind of nonsense food is this?'

'Lauki kofta, cooked specially without onions and garlic.'

'Is this some kind of sick joke? You know how much I hate bottle gourd.'

'But now you only eat saatvik vegetarian food.'

'You were always without brains, Gopi. Now it appears that you have become hard of hearing as well. Why would I ever ask you to cook this lousy dish? Now either bring me my meat or chicken dish or get ready for immediate sacking.'

Gopi goes out scratching his head and returns with Shanti.

'So you are no longer a vegetarian?' she asks him warily.

'When did I stop being a non-vegetarian?' he sneers.

'Two weeks ago. You told us that you would stop eating meat and drinking alcohol.'

'Ha!' he laughs. 'Only a lunatic would take such a decision.'

'I have already become one, living in this house,' Gopi mutters as he begins clearing the plates from the dining table.

Mohan suddenly looks at Shanti, his brow furrowing. 'What did you say about my drinking? I hope you have not touched my whisky collection?'

'You had all the bottles destroyed a fortnight ago,' Shanti replies evenly.

He gets up from the dining table as if touched by an electric cattle prod and rushes into the pantry which serves as a makeshift cellar. He emerges, ashen-faced, and starts another desperate search through the kitchen, opening each and every cupboard, rifling through the shelves, even checking inside the oven. Finally he slumps down on a chair. 'All my bottles are gone. How could you do that? I had painstakingly acquired those bottles over twenty years. Do you know how much that stock was worth?'

'Well, it was you who gave the order.'

'Now you have really pissed me off,' he hisses, eyes glinting with menace. 'Did I destroy them or did you destroy them behind my back? Come on, out with the truth, woman.'

'Why would I destroy them? I have suffered them for thirty years. It was you,' Shanti says, her face crumbling. 'You are the one who was saying this morning that no one with any wisdom would ever touch alcohol or any intoxicants.'

'Are you mad, woman? No one with any wisdom would ever destroy perfectly good bottles of foreign whisky. Who took them out of the cellar?'

'It was Brijlal.'

'Call that swine.'

Brijlal is summoned and questioned thoroughly. He sticks to the story he has been rehearsing for a fortnight. He had been asked to destroy the bottles by Bibiji. He had taken them to the municipal drain and smashed each and every one of them on the concrete pavement, discarding the glass shards in the rubbish bag which the garbage truck had subsequently carted away.

'Didn't you think of checking with me, first?'

'Well, Sahib, Bibiji said it was your order. Who am I to question Bibiji?'

'This Bibiji is the root cause of trouble in this house,' Mohan says, gnashing his teeth. 'I need a drink right now.'

'Why are you changing the perfectly sensible decision you took to become a teetotaller?' Shanti implores him. 'I maintained a fast all these years only for you to kick this evil habit. When you said you were giving up drinking, I thought God had finally opened your eyes, given you good sense.'

'Good sense is what you need, woman,' he shouts and turns to Brijlal. 'Take me immediately to Khan Market. I cannot sleep without having a drink.'

'But it is Diwali today, Sahib. The market is closed.'

'Then go and steal a bottle from somewhere,' he snaps at the driver, picking up a dinner plate from the counter and throwing it against the wall, where it shatters into pieces.

'Take him, Brijlal,' Shanti cries. 'Take him to some bar before he destroys everything.'

'It is impossible to stay in this house,' Mohan declares and stomps out of the kitchen.

The next morning he asks Brijlal to drive him straight to Modern Liquors in Khan Market. The owner, Mr Aggarwal, greets him warmly. 'Welcome, Kumar Sahib. Do you have some more bottles for us?'

'What do you mean?'

'You sold your vintage collection to us a few weeks ago. I was wondering if there was more. We will pay top price for every bottle.'

'You are mistaken. All my bottles were destroyed.'

'Then someone has cheated you, Sir. I paid twenty-five thousand rupees for your collection.'

'I see.' Kumar strokes his chin and summons Brijlal to the shop. 'Is this the man who sold you the bottles?' he asks Mr Aggarwal.

'Exactly, Sir. He is the man.'

'I think it is time you told me the real story behind the bottles, Brijlal,' Mohan says coldly.

Trembling with fear, the driver blurts out the truth.

'What did you do with all that money?' Mohan demands.

'I used it for Ranno's dowry, Sahib.'

Mohan's rage bubbles over. He raises his hand and slaps the driver. 'You ungrateful dog! You eat my salt and then stab me in the back? Now go and get it back, each and every penny of it. If you don't return my full twenty-five thousand, I will turn you over to the police.'

Brijlal clutches Mohan's feet, tears streaming from his eyes. 'But Sahib, this will ruin my Ranno's wedding. You can deduct it from my salary every month, but please don't ask me to break my daughter's heart.'

'You should have thought of the consequences before you embarked on your little transaction. I want my money by this afternoon. Otherwise get ready to spend the night in jail.'

Brijlal walks into Mohan's study at noon and hands him a brown envelope.

Mohan counts the notes and gives a satisfied grunt. 'Good. Twenty-five thousand. You have now made amends, Brijlal. Let this be a lesson. Another foolish mistake like this and I will have no qualms about dismissing you. Then you won't even have a roof over your head.'