Translated by Asoke Mitra

Mice have so vastly multiplied in our house that it seems they will drive us out one day. One is amazed at their cheek. Right under our nose, with adroit steps, they manoeuvre like armies on a battlefield, scurrying along the corners of the floor and walls. When anything is in their way, a box or anything bulky, they just climb over and disappear. But at night it is more terrible. Then they just ignore us and go on their rounds. Strange, incessant sounds emerge from broken packboxes, old kerosene tins, broken stools and earthenware. Strums and taps that would easily persuade anybody to imagine that a whole brood of humped worthless creatures have just convinced their soiree for the night in those packing cases.

I am quite exasperated with these invaders, my nerves are on edge. I wonder why although one can do something about them, nobody does anything? Wouldn't there money to spare to buy a mouse trap? I shouldn't be surprised, though, if there wasn't any.

My mother is simply scared stiff of mice. A small mouse to her is like a bear. She would jump yards if a mouse came near her feet. She is scared if she smells a mouse, she hates them as much as she is frightened. People are like that. I knew one who was just frightened out of his wits by earthworms, and I knew another who used to be the same with spiders. As for me, I am mortally afraid of leeches. In childhood when I was quite and innocent as a cow I would often visit my mother's people, especially in the rains. Going through the vast sealike bill, drinking in the smell of the rains and the wet earth, I would come out from under the hatch. the sheer stretch of water bewitching me I would pluck water-lilies with cruel hands or bending on the water would dip my arm. But the fear was ever their: I was going to be bitten in instant fright I would lift my hand! In my mother's place I would play with children who were not of my class; but there was no bar, or at least I had no bar, no fear or suspicion, these had not yet dawned on me.

And those my friends would take out there cattle to their fields. Their hair long and reddish like marsh grass, their skin and eyes almond coloured, their legs absurdly thin, bow-legged, a towel at their loins. Their fingers rough with much work. They were so foul of speech and their manners so obscene that they excited my sexual fancies, but conditioned by my class as I am I would not talk about them. They ragged me, which drew the blood to my face. One of them was called Bhim. One day he picked up a tremendous leech from the fresh rain-water in the open field and regarding me with a smile called out: 'Suku, shall I