My boat was moored beside an old bathing ghât of the river, almost in ruins. The sun had set.
On the roof of the boat the boatmen were at their evening prayer. Against the bright background of the western sky their silent worship stood out like a picture. The waning light was reflected on the still surface of river in every delicate shade of colour from gold to steel-blue.
A huge house with broken windows, tumbledown verandas, and all the appearance of old age was in front of me. I sat alone on the steps of the ghât, which were cracked by the far-reaching roots of a banyan tree. A feeling of sadness began to come over me, when suddenly I was startled to hear a voice asking: ‘Sir, where have you come from?’
I looked up, and saw a man who seemed half-starved and out of fortune. His face had a dilapidated look such as is common among my
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