“Oh! Take him easy, my boy. He’s a mower. A nice fellow!
His wife eloped last year. And he lost sleep. Give him a
“I’ve no such a store.”
“But you roam around jungles,” muttered he.
“Where from do you collect such sample, man?”
“Ah! You have no decency,” he rued and assured Murmu,
“Don’t wear woe. I find the correct boy. Somehow he’ll
manage. Wait a few days more,” he patted the mower.
“The sky is overcast. Let’s hurry,” I hinted.
“Okay. When do you ring the bell then?”
“Coming Saturday, but there’s no guarantee.”
“Who needs guarantee? Our life itself is not guaranteed
beyond a second’s breath,” the old man sallied.
“Beat drums. Your case is solved,” the old man patted
He looked bewildered and scratched his palm.
“Give something for snuff and puff.”
The mower fumbled out a sullied note.