Pawan spent the whole night in terror. He can’t remember when he dozed off. When he woke up in the morning, it was already eight. However, he did not feel fresh. His body was aching and stiff. So, he remained in his bed.

In the bed opposite his, Sukrant was snoring. He was covered with a heavy quilt, lying prostrate as if he didn’t care about anything in the world. Pawan tried to remember what happened last night. Every moment replayed in his mind like scenes from a movie.

Last night happened to be New Year’s Eve in the English calendar. What a coincidence! Sukrant had arrived in Kathmandu yesterday morning for personal matters. By evening, he had completed his tasks. Initially, he intended to return home via a night bus, but he couldn’t secure a comfortable seat. Upon reaching Kalanki, reserving his preferred spot was already too late. He hesitated to travel in the back seat, recalling a dreadful journey from years before, where he suffered from sickness due to the winding, steep road from Thankot to Naubise. Therefore, he decided to postpone his travel plans until the following night.

While contemplating heading to Sundhara to book a room in a lodge, Pawan recalled his friend Sukrant, who had relocated from Itahari to Kathmandu years ago. However, he wasn't certain of Sukrant's exact whereabouts. Pawan dialled Sukrant's number and discovered that he was in Balkhu, just a stop away from his current location. He abandoned the idea of going to Sundhara and staying in a lodge. A friend’s room is warmer and more welcoming than a lodge, he thought to himself.

Both friends were delighted to reunite after years apart. They reminisced about the happy days they had spent together in Itahari during their early years. As dusk approached, Pawan arrived at Sukrant’s rented room. As darkness fell, Sukrant suggested they go to a nearby restaurant.

“Tonight is new year’s eve, dear,” Sukrant said, “Let’s go out.”

Both came out of the room and locked the door. Then, Sukrant led his guest into a restaurant near his room. Pawan followed his old chum.

Breaking from his thoughts, Pawan felt a dire need to use the washroom. However, he lacked the energy to throw the quilt off his body, nor did he muster the courage to brave the nipping cold outside. He gently pulled back the curtain and peered through the glass window pane. A heavy fog enveloped the surroundings, with several traces of water trickling down from the top of the window glass.

The hotelier, a middle-aged woman, greeted them with a wide grin, displaying all thirty-two of her teeth. Sukrant exchanged familiar greetings with her and ordered two plates of grilled pork along with two bottles of chilled beer. Pawan, being a teetotaler, refrained from alcohol.

After a while, the hotelier’s daughter, a young girl, brought over two bottles of beer and two plates of grilled pork. Sukrant requested two large glasses and poured beer into them. He offered one glass to Pawan, who politely declined. Despite Sukrant's insistence, Pawan remained firm in his decision not to accept the glass.

“Hold it,” Sukrant threatened Pawan, “or you won’t be my friend anymore.”

Finally, Sukrant requested the lady for an apple cider for his friend and continued to order more bottles of beer for himself. He also finished a packet of cigarettes, establishing himself as a chain smoker. As Sukrant consumed his fifth bottle of beer, he became visibly intoxicated.

Sensing Sukrant's inebriation, Pawan persuaded him to return to their room, citing his own fatigue and desire to rest. They both rose from their seats and made their way back to the room.

Feeling the urgency, Pawan rose to go to the washroom. He opened the door opposite their room slowly and entered. However, to his dismay, there was no water, only scattered mineral water bottles strewn about. The toilet pan was so filthy that he felt nauseated and promptly retreated.

Sukrant, still snoring loudly, was oblivious to Pawan's discomfort. In desperation, Pawan shook him out of his deep slumber. Sukrant groggily woke up, still feeling the lingering effects of last night's hangover. After a while, he managed to rouse himself and led Pawan downstairs.

There, they found an old toilet. Sukrant dipped a small bucket into a dirty well and pulled it up. This water was used by lodgers for their restroom needs.

As they made their way back to their room last night, they heard the hotel owner’s daughter’s shrill laughter. She was the same girl who had served them beer and pork earlier. Intrigued, Sukrant approached her. She was dancing with a group of other young girls and boys while the music blared Honey Singh’s ‘Chaar bottle vodka, kaam mera roz ka…’.

Pawan attempted to pull his friend away and return to their room, but Sukrant threw himself into the crowd. He appeared to be thoroughly enjoying himself as he danced with the young people.

Pawan was jolted awake close to midnight by the sound of someone kicking and pounding on the door. It was Sukrant, inebriated and enraged. Pawan hurriedly opened the door, feeling a tremor run through him, partly from fear and partly from the biting cold. Sukrant pulled out a Khukuri from under the pillow, intending to confront someone outside—his words laced with profanity. It seemed he had engaged in an altercation with other attendees at the dance party.

With considerable effort, Pawan managed to restrain Sukrant and secure the door from inside. He pleaded with him not to venture out. It took nearly two hours to pacify his friend. Eventually, Sukrant relented and agreed to retire to bed. Exhausted and still trembling from fear and the chill, Pawan too, succumbed to sleep.

When Pawan emerged from the toilet, he expressed his intention to wash his face, but Sukrant informed him that the urn was devoid of water. Instead, Sukrant offered him a bottle of mineral water. Pawan hesitated to use it to wash his face, considering it too expensive for such a purpose. He settled for using it to brush his teeth and moisten a handkerchief to freshen his eyes.

Sukrant then handed a large red plastic bucket to Pawan and instructed him to follow. Carrying two more plastic buckets himself, they scaled a small wall and arrived at another house.

“Where are we going?” inquired Pawan.

“I'll show you the tap where I collect water,” Sukrant replied, flashing a smile at his friend.

Standing before the four-story house, Sukrant gazed upward and called out, “Rajesh dai! O, Rajesh dai!”

A middle-aged man leaned over the railing, he was Sukrant’s landlord. He lowered a tiny green plastic bucket tied to a rope. Sukrant retrieved a hundred rupee note from his pocket and dropped it into the bucket. He then tugged the rope twice. The man glanced down again and hoisted the bucket back up. Moments later, he lowered a medium-sized bucket tied to a rope, followed by a water pipe.

Sukrant positioned the water pipe into the bucket, causing water to flow out, likely from the tap connected to the pipe above. Once done, the man retracted his bucket and the water pipe. With a bucket in each hand, the friends returned.

“Did you see, my friend?” Sukrant asked Pawan ironically. “Where does a water tap lie in Kathmandu?”

“Yes, indeed,” Pawan joked in response. “It lies in the sky.”