servants would also come and join the
audience. The lamp would be throwing huge shadows right up to the beams
of the roof, the little house lizards catching insects on the walls, the
bats doing a mad dervish dance round and round the verandahs outside,
and we listening in silent open-mouthed wonder.

I still remember, on the evening we came to the story of Kusha and Lava,
and those two valiant lads were threatening to humble to the dust the
renown of their father and uncles, how the tense silence of that dimly
lighted room was bursting with eager anticipation. It was getting late,
our prescribed period of wakefulness was drawing to a close, and yet the
denouement was far off.

At this critical juncture my father's old follower Kishori came to the
rescue, and finished the episode for us, at express speed, to the
quickstep of Dasuraya's jingling verses. The impression of the soft slow
chant of Krittivasa's[7] fourteen-syllabled measure was swept clean away
and we were left overwhelmed by a flood of rhymes and alliterations.

On some occasions these readings would give rise to shastric
discussions, which would at length be settled by the depth of Iswar's
wise pronouncements. Though, as one of the children's servants, his rank
in our domestic society was below that of many, yet, as with old
Grandfather Bhisma in the Mahabharata, his supremacy would assert itself
from his seat, below his juniors.

Our grave and reverend servitor had one weakness to which, for the sake
of historical accuracy, I feel bound to allude. He used to take opium.
This created a craving for rich food. So that when he brought us our
morning goblets of milk the forces of attraction in his mind would be
greater than those of repulsion. If we gave the least expression to our
natural repugnance for this meal, no sense of responsibility for our
health could prompt him to press it on us a second time.

Iswar also held somewhat narrow views as to our capacity for solid
nourishment. We would sit down to our evening repast and a quantity of
_luchis_[8] heaped on a thick round wooden tray would be placed before
us. He would begin by gingerly dropping a few on each platter, from a
sufficient height to safeguard himself from contamination[9]--like
unwilling favours, wrested from the gods by dint of importunity, did
they descend, so dexterously inhospitable was he. Next would come the
inquiry whether he should give us any more. I knew the reply which would
be