That night, the moon rose full and bright.

For a total of twenty hours of studying, that wasn't such a bad exam, I thought as I pushed open the door to her room. "Can we go out for a while, please? I'm hungry."

"Good idea", she put down the slim volume she was reading. "Where shall we go?"

"Let's try that food at Sethi's that I was telling you about."

Half an hour later, we were walking back from Malkaganj, having agreed, the two of us, that all that we needed to round the evening out was a chocobar each. Walking down the pavement towards 32 UB, we thought the evening seemed eerily still. Breezy, busy, bright - but still. Something made me turn my head and look back at the gate to HRC. The sun, a sort of molten, confused orange, was hanging undecidedly over the trees.

"That's weird", she commented. She was right. Most days, the sun's packed and gone by that hour, and the moon's beginning to show.

He materialised out of nowhere. Right outside McDonald's. In each hand, he held a piece of bamboo, carved in the shape of The Buddha's countenance. The ornament was hollowed out at the centre, about two inches deep from the top. This hollow was stuffed with soil, and a tiny sapling planted in it. The complete effect was almost comical, and still, there was something so beautiful about the ornament that I took it - almost grabbed it - from his hand.

He looked at me with unusually, unnaturally bright eyes. He was about my height, hair unkempt, dressed in an ordinary pair of trousers and a shirt. Slung over his shoulder was a black jhola, embroidered with some kind of glittering thread. A third bamboo ornament stuck partially out of the jhola.

"But this is beautiful!" I couldn't help exclaiming. "What IS this?"

"It's a vase, madam. Unique. Hand-crafted."

"But how long is this plant going to live?"

"It will live, madam. All you have to do is water the soil every two days."

I looked at him dubiously, and turned a similar gaze upon the 'vase'.

"What if this plant dies? I'd hate a plant to die in my possession." I've always been overly sensitive to things of this sort.

"Why will it die, madam? One hundred and fifty rupees only."

"You're joking!" she gasped. "One hundred."

He adjusted the jhola over his shoulder. "Al...ri...ght."

She delved into her pocket for the money. I asked her to wait.

"You know what, please take this back. I love this, but I don't think it will survive in a hostel room. And what if I want to take it home? It will never survive the journey."

"Please, madam, you're my first customer today. In fact, you're my first customer here. I've never been here before."

"I'm really sorry", I said, ignoring her disbelieving look, "I'd hate to buy this and then see it ruined."

His face fell. But he managed a polite smile. "Oh, never mind, madam."

With that, he was gone as suddenly as he had appeared.

I turned and saw the sun sinking lower.

"What about that ice cream?" I tried to sound brisk and practical. I didn't know why I felt so disoriented and...sad.

In silence, we walked up to the Kwality cart, and asked for two chocobars.

"You know what", she said, "I can't believe you let him go. I can't believe you asked me to put my money back in. It's so obvious you loved that thing. And that poor guy's so disappointed too. What were you thinking? I'm going to go look for him."

"But wait!" I interjected, then, on an afterthought, I added, "alright, let's go."

I didn't wait to examine the sudden impulse.

The evening wasn't getting darker by the minute, the way it usually does. I wondered why.

We walked the length of Bungalow Road and back. Then we stopped at the junk jewellery guy's. "Excuse me, have you seen, uh, a man here? Carrying bamboo articles? A man with a big black bag?"

"Oh, that man", the vendor said, "yes, he walked down this road. Kept walking straight ahead. He must have reached Malkaganj by now."

We looked at each other, two minds with but a single thought.

Hurrying to a rick, she said "To Malkaganj, please, at the intersection."

"Why are we doing this?" I said aloud, more to myself than to her.

But we both knew the answer. We must.

Again, I didn't pause to ponder the impulse. Neither, I'm sure, did she.

We rode up to the intersection, keeping an eye out for a dark man, 5'5", with a black jhola on his shoulder and two bamboo vases in his hands.

Nothing.

We clambered off the rick at the intersection, and began asking around for a man answering to his description.

Nothing.

It did occur to me, for a fleeting moment, that this was a bit of a ridiculous, far-out thing to do. What was the big deal anyway? It was a vase. Unusual and beautiful and unlike anything I had ever seen, but a vase nonetheless. Funnily, as soon as that thought came and went, I intensified my search.

Nothing.

Tired and inexplicably dejected, we began to walk back to 32 UB. The sun was gone when I tried looking for it over the HRC gate.

"I don't get this", she said, for the tenth time, echoing my thoughts. "We took barely a minute at the ice cream cart. How fast COULD he have walked??"

"Oh well, we've just made the deadline", I said, referring to the 7.30 pm curfew our hostel imposes, as we rounded the bend near McDonald's and 32 UB loomed into view.

"Hmm...", I could tell she was preoccupied, even as I busied myself checking my shoes for grime. I hate having to wash them three times a week.

Suddenly, she stopped dead, jerking at my hand. "What?" I looked up, only to meet two very surprised, almost stunned eyes, which rested on mine for a fraction of a second before looking away, diagonally behind me.

I followed her gaze.

There stood the guy, talking to two men standing by a scooter. One held a vase in his hand. Our vendor was holding the other. Right next to the entry to the hostel. Our hostel.

We hurried towards him, and he spun around. "Yes, madam?"

"We looked for you everywhere. Everywhere! We walked up and down this road twice over. We went all the way to Malkaganj!"

"Oh", he looked apologetic. "I walked around a bit, and then I came here."

"We'd like to buy one of those."

"I'm sorry", he sounded even more apologetic, "I just sold both of these to these gentlemen here."

She stared disbelievingly at the vases, now in the strangers' hands. So did I. "So you have none left?"

"None, I'm afraid."

"Oh. Oh, ok", there wasn't much we could do to conceal how deflated we felt at that.

"Are you going to come back here?"

And unbeknownst to both of us, each of us was wondering why it mattered so much that we couldn't get it right away. It didn't matter why it mattered. It only mattered that it did.

"No", he smiled quietly, "I'm not sure. But maybe you'll find me at the end of Bungalow Road tomorrow. At noon."

"Alright, then, please bring one of these with you. We'll, uh, see you tomorrow."

"Yes, Madam", he adjusted the jhola in a now-familiar gesture, and began to walk away, leaving us a little dumbstruck. Then he turned around and said,

"Isi ko kismat kehte hain."

That night, the moon rose full and bright.