further edge of our inner garden. Through these are seen
the "Singhi's Garden" with its cluster of huts[5] and tank, and on the
edge of the tank the dairy of our milkwoman, Tara; still further on,
mixed up with the tree-tops, the various shapes and different heights of
the terraced roofs of Calcutta, flashing back the blazing whiteness of
the midday sun, stretch right away into the grayish blue of the eastern
horizon. And some of these far distant dwellings from which stand
forth their roofed stair-ways leading up to the terrace, look as if with
uplifted finger and a wink they are hinting to me of the mysteries of
their interiors. Like the beggar at the palace door who imagines
impossible treasures to be held in the strong rooms closed to him, I can
hardly tell of the wealth of play and freedom which these unknown
dwellings seem to me crowded with. From the furthest depth of the sky
full of burning sunshine overhead the thin shrill cry of a kite reaches
my ear; and from the lane adjoining Singhi's Garden comes up, past the
houses silent in their noonday slumber, the sing-song of the
bangle-seller--_chai choori chai_ ... and my whole being would fly away
from the work-a-day world.

My father hardly ever stayed at home, he was constantly roaming about.
His rooms on the third storey used to remain shut up. I would pass my
hands through the venetian shutters, and thus opening the latch get the
door open, and spend the afternoon lying motionless on his sofa at the
south end. First of all it was a room always closed, and then there was
the stolen entry, this gave it a deep flavour of mystery; further the
broad empty expanse of terrace to the south, glowing in the rays of the
sun would set me day-dreaming.

There was yet another attraction. The water-works had just been started
in Calcutta, and in the first exuberance of its triumphant entry it did
not stint even the Indian quarters of their supply. In that golden age
of pipe water, it used to flow even up to my father's third storey
rooms. And turning on the shower tap I would indulge to my heart's
content in an untimely bath. Not so much for the comfort of it, as to
give rein to my desire to do just as I fancied. The alternation of the
joy of liberty, and the fear of being caught, made that shower of
municipal water send arrows of delight thrilling into me.

It was perhaps because the possibility of contact with the outside was
so remote that the joy of it came to me so m