Streaming through the windows of his Bandra home, 'Jet', the setting sun hovered on the horizon, on the verge of dipping into the sea for its ritual evening bath. Watching the sunset was a childhood fascination Sachin had nurtured even in the concrete jungle of Bombay. And now in the evening of his own life, the memories of those baul-bhatiyali days haunted him more and more-sailing on a boat over the Gomti, its waters sparkling in the midday sun, puffing on his hookah in the company of the boatmen, the strains of the bhatiyali harmonizing with the beat of the boat's oars in the calm water. The past beckoned him. He could hear the call of his innermost self. Success, fame, honour counted for little any more. Rabindranath expressed the innate truth in the following words: 'jaha chai taha bhul kare chai / Jaha pai taha chai na' (Whatever I want, I want by mistake! whatever I get I do not need). Increasingly, Sachin-karta's mind travelled to his country horne. Those days of peaceful leisure, those days of playing the flute, beckoned him; the bend in the river, the palm and betel-nut orchards played hide-n-seek with him. The call of the past: 'Whither has gone the smell of mother earth, whither my mother's lap? Where is that smile, that play and the days?'