My good friend, Biswas, the Bengali Fisherman

The days I was in middle school, in a remote part of Maharashtra, where a gigantic Cement Factory had grown up from dust and a colony of people from states all over India had settled down in a sleepy village; we had a regular visitor to our house.
Biswas was a poor fisherman, a resettled Bengali who brought his ware of fresh fish caught from the local water reservoir almost once every week.
And since a lot of locals didn't eat fish, we were one of his favorite clients. So this man of moderate means wearing just a dirty cloth across his waist was a welcome sight at our house.
Once watching me play chess with my brother, he politely asked if we could have a bout of chess. I nonchalantly agreed.
I must say that those days I was not a bad chess player myself and easily defeated my brothers, my teacher father, his brothers, and even my father's other teacher colleagues when they came visiting.
So Biswas, placed his basket of fresh fish by the side of the door and became totally immersed in a game of chess with me, forgetting for a while his fare and business.
To my surprise, Biswas was an excellent chess player. The first game he wiped the board clean like an expert would. We decided to go for another game, on my insistence, and this time too he took the award.
That season saw many games being played, and most of the time I turned out to be the loser.
One fine day we decided to visit the reservoir for a picnic. Seeing a couple of tents on the bank of the reservoir I enquired about Biswas from a stray fisherman. And pat, there he was smiling his friendly grin exposing pearly white teeth. He suggested a boat ride for us on his fishing dinghy. We earnestly agreed and we boated free to the middle of the lake and back.
Manners maketh a man and looks are only skin deep, I had to conclude.