Wax House
The moment Jayanta awoke, he felt there was no longer any need to go to the office. Last night had been restless. Two reasons for that: first, the oppressive summer heat at the very mouth of the season; second, a nightmare. The heat was a daily affair in this city, not something that troubled him much anymore. But the dream—that haunted him. He could not recall whether he had dreamt it while asleep or half-awake. Perhaps, in the midst of it, he had opened his eyes once. He remembered clutching the bolster in both arms, even kissing it. That was his nightly habit. Now, rising from bed, he began to brood over those broken fragments of dream. Grinding his teeth, twisting his face in an expression of torment, he tried to recall every detail. The first act of the dream unfolded thus: Jayanta, chasing after a girl, managed to catch a bus. But as soon as he boarded, a crowd of men surrounded him. They demanded his identity card. Panic-stricken, Jayanta searched his whol...