Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bipin Chowdhury would drop in at New Market to buy books. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didn’t like spending time in idle chat. Those who called in the evening got through their business quickly and left. Those who didn’t show signs of leaving would be told around eight o’clock by Bipin Babu that he was under doctor’s orders to have dinner at eight-thirty. After dinner, he would rest for half an hour and then turn in with a book. This was a routine that had persisted unbroken for years. Today, Bipin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned around and found himself looking at a round-faced, meek-looking man who now broke into a smile. "I don’t suppose you recognize me." Bipin Babu felt ill at ease. It didn’t seem that he had ever encountered this man before. The face seemed quite unfamiliar. "Have we met before?" asked Bipin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. "We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. My name is Parimal Ghose." "Ranchi?" Now Bipin Babu realized this man was making a mistake. Bipin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He smiled and said, "Do you know who I am?" The man raised his eyebrows, and said, "Who doesn’t know Bipin Chowdhury?" Bipin Babu turned towards the bookshelves and said, "You’ve made a mistake. I’ve never been to Ranchi." The man now laughed aloud. "What are you saying, Mr. Chowdhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldn’t because of the pain in the knee. Can’t you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr. Dinesh Mukherjee. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didn’t like hotel food. I’ll tell you more; you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sightseeing trips. Am I right or not?" Bipin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. "Which month in Nineteen fifty-eight are you talking about?" The man said, "October." "No, sir," said Bipin Babu. "I spent October Nineteen fifty-eight with a friend in Kanpur. You’re making a mistake. Good day." But the man didn’t go, nor did he stop talking. "Very strange. One evening I had tea with you on the verandah of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife a decade ago." When Bipin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. Bipin Babu’s car was safely parked in Bertram Street. He told the driver as he got into the car, "Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram." Driving up the Strand Road, Bipin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi. He had an excellent memory. Unless he was losing his mind!