Eyes were on every passer-by, and every flower on the footpath corner was smelled as if they were giving a sense of pleasure to the boy. This boy, actually a twenty-four-year-old tall and handsome one, was new to the town. With every step, he was grasping the essence of the town, Kerakat, which he felt himself drawn to only after his arrival. He was returning from his newly started job at a saree shop. The evening was very enjoyable as he had worked with full dedication. He was a person of dedication. Truly. Within three days, he had found a livelihood in this town. This handsome fellow, Monu, stopped at a shop, turned his head towards the third floor of a building directly opposite. There was his new room. After purchasing a new tube of toothpaste, he crossed the road and very keenly entered the house. He had to climb many stairs to reach his room. He had done his duty and reached the third floor. He knocked on the door as his friend Mohan was locking it from the inside. He knocked, “Mohan… Mohan.” The door was opened by a lean and badly dressed fellow: Mohan. “Come in,” Mohan insisted. As Monu entered the room, another fellow sitting on the couch shouted, as if he was ready to jump over him, “How was your day?” This was Pothu. Each of them knew each other very well. Mohan had known Pothu since childhood, and Monu since his high school days. Monu replied, “Very well,” then added, looking towards Mohan, “Are you done with that one?” He was asking about the new story Mohan was working on. “No,” he answered, “I’m stuck. A question: Home?” Mohan replied. Saying that, he started eating the bread and finished his tea. Monu suggested that they should discuss and help Mohan with his writing process. They began their discussion, but soon Monu lost his interest. Meanwhile, both of them continued. Monu stepped out onto the balcony. Hopping over every activity on the road, his eyes fell on a lady directly opposite his balcony. She was sitting and working on her laptop. She was beautiful enough to be appreciated. Monu wanted to stare, but he used his hopping technique—aim and distract, aim and distract to adorn the beauty. He was a master at this. But his attention was soon broken. He had to distract himself from the beauty across the balcony and returned inside the room to cool off the heated atmosphere that had been created so far. “Hey! I was the first to rent this place.” “Yes, you were... but...”, Mohan defended himself from the taunts uttered by Pothu’s unstoppable mouth. A sense of calm, hermit’s cloak, was slipping away: both rough and stern voices had gained momentum in a blame game. Meanwhile, Monu interrupted, “Please! Stop shouting, we need to find another way,” as he knuckled under to his two friends’ rage. The three—MONU, POTHU, and MOHAN—were using their wits to discuss the topic ‘How Much One Loves One’s Home’, a unique part of Mohan’s new story. All these efforts were meant to form an image, but the conversation abruptly left in the lurch as this was a ‘Sunday Night’. “Alright! Let’s sleep, my mind’s not working anymore,” suggested Pothu, in his extreme laziness. He always does so. Laziness is his very profession. Painters procrastinate too much. Pothu, a painter with workout qualities, had rented two rooms two weeks earlier in Mr. A Kumar’s house. This square-faced abode was unique in Kerakat, with a distinguished status that every passer-by admired. Later, he accepted both Mohan and Monu as his room companions. The landlord, Mr. A Kumar, a man with a long moustache and a restless character, had rented rooms to these three bachelors. The next morning, Monu, a man of animalistic energy, woke early and bathed. He nudged Pothu and pointed toward the bathroom. With his addiction to laziness Pothu woke up and reluctantly started making tea. "Pothu, I have to go; Mr. Bakshi asked me to set up the new saree stock," Monu informed him. Meanwhile, Mohan, who had been idle, stretched his eyes and immediately dashed towards the bathroom. Spectators laughed. After seven minutes and fifty seconds, he came out and saw that Pothu was ready to go somewhere, while Monu had gone to his sari shop. Upon asking, Pothu revealed he is going to Jaunpur to buy some paints and brushes. Pothu offered, “Your tea is on the table.” Mohan grabbed the cup, sat in a chair, and began reading between the lines. After reading, he decided to clean the other room. After placing the teacup down, he dashed off, unlocked the door, and found three dusty trunks in the dusty room right before him as he opened the door. Webs, Dust, crawling crickets, and, all the filthy stuff from rooms from old villa movies was there. The room was a bit spooky. He called Mr. Kumar and inquired. “Bade Babu, there are some trunks in the room. Is this a joke?” He replied, “No, no! Don’t panic. I’ll send workers. They’ll take care of it. Actually, I forgot about those ones.” "Alright! But please send them soon," Mohan added. “I’ll bring them out of the room. Okay, Namaste!” “Hum… Best of luck!” Once the sifting process was done, the room was ready for sweeping. As he started dusting off the cupboard and leaned, he noticed a bunch of keys in the corner. He tried every key in the locks of the trunks, but only one opened it. Inside the trunk there were many useless things. Beneath a box, he found a golden ruby-embedded ring, with a scratch-mark on it. Curious about the scratch, he held it in his palm to feel it, and suddenly, someone came in his mind. But he ignored it and started dusting. After the dusting process was done, he came out of the room and sat down on his chair. Suddenly, a phone call rang. The person on the phone had told him that Sumit, his old friend, was in the ICU. An accident had happened last night. Grief overwhelmed him with such a force that he mended the ring with something related to witchcraft and fear made him toss it out of the balcony. Episode II