He pounded the ribcage of the staircase, his footsteps thumping as he walked. He struck the door with a powerful fist. The door took the blow and opened.
Peace evaporated from the room behind it; it began to darken with fear. Seeing the angry demon standing there, the Bohri treasurer sitting inside began to stammer and stutter. Terror filled his eyes.
“Give me some chips.” The Bohri man could not understand this urgency. He could not make himself get up—and this when the man outside was not willing to suffer a moment’s delay.
“Quickly!” he roared. His iron-coloured face swelled up with anger. His bone-white teeth flashed in a menacing grimace.
His small red eyes gave him the look of a cruel bear from Africa. Swallowing spit-balls of fear, the old Bohri got up and began to fumble in the cupboard. This delay further enraged the terrible man.
He needed money quickly. He wanted to go and slam it down in front of Jayantiben so that he might soothe the storm in his heart. He gave the old man a buffet and grabbed the money.
He rushed out and ran down the steps, his feet keeping pace with his racing heart. The slap of his slippers ate up the distance as this magnificent, iron-chested man, black as night, his hair curly, his face thrust forward, stormed down the road, as if he were a wild animal about to pounce on its prey. As the road turned, a small paan shop lodged in the angry man’s eye and he turned abruptly towards it.
In the broad mirror of the paan shop, four was.
