Chandri stood in the street without speaking. What was she to do? Only one thought became clear to her: there, it is rotting. Decaying. Festering. That is not the Narayanappa she loved. Not a Brahmin. Not a Shudra. A corpse, a decaying, festering corpse.

She walked straight to the quarter where the Muslims lived. She said she would pay money. She remembered Ahmad Bary, the cattle trader—once, when she had no money in hand, he had lent her a loan to buy oxen—he and his men, secretly, without a word, would tie up the cart, load the corpse and the firewood together, take it to the cremation ground so that no one would know, set a blazing fire in the darkness, reduce it to ashes, and be gone—turning the ox’s tail with a “hai hai.”

Chandri shed two handfuls of tears, returned home, tied up a bundle with a few of her own silk saris, the cash she had in the box, and the gold the Acharya had returned to her, and stepped out. She suppressed her desire to wake Praneshacharya and fall at his feet, and instead, at dawn, set out by the forest path toward the motor road, intending to catch the motor to Kundapura.

Chapter Two

Meanwhile, in Parijatapura, in the spacious upper hall of the merchant Manjayya, Shripati, Ganesh, Ganganna, Manjunath, and four or five young men from the agrahara were engaged in preparations for the play “Gulebakavali.” The harmonium among them had been given by Narayanappa for the use of their drama company. For every play, he had to be present. Without his encouragement, the Parijat drama...

The troupe did not exist from the beginning. He was the one who inspired it; moreover, he added his own money to what the youths had collected and brought scenery from Shimoga. He was the one who gave suggestions about the play’s vigor and other such matters. If there was a gramophone anywhere nearby, it was with him. All the records of Hirannayya’s company’s play songs were with him. He would lend them to these youths, who would wind them up and listen. He had picked up bits and pieces about the Congress from here and there and introduced the youths to the fashion of khadi jubba, pyjama, and white cap. Now, because of his death, all the youths were deeply grieved. But out of fear of the elders, everyone remained silent. All the doors were shut tight, and, lighting passing-show cigarettes, they gathered and half-heartedly practiced.

Shripati, who had a passion for Yakshagana, had no role in this play, but he was keenly interested in all the activities of putting on makeup and moving about. As the ‘practice’ went on, a brass vessel full of avalakki and a pan full of steaming coffee were being served. Until midnight, they continued the practice, remembering Narayanappa now and then, eating avalakki, sipping coffee. When it ended, Nagaraja winked at Ganesha. Ganesha nudged Manjunath, who played the female role and