VIII.

A KASUMBA DEN.


Wander down one of the greatest arteries of the city and you will perhaps
notice on the east side of the street a double-storied house bearing all
the appearance of prolonged neglect and decay. Enter the low door and take
a sharp turn to the right and you will find yourself at length on an ill-
smelling landing with a creaking ladder-like staircase in one corner,
enveloped from top to bottom in darkness so profound that one can almost
conjure up visions of sudden death from the assassin's dagger. After a
moment's hesitation you commence to grope your way upwards: the staircase
sways and creaks beneath your feet; the air is heavy with strange odours;
something,--probably a cat--scuttles past you and nearly upsets your
balance; and putting out your hand to steady yourself your fingers touch
something clammy and corpselike which turns out to be a Ghati labourer,
naked save for a loin-cloth, asleep in the narrow niche between the walls
of the ground-floor and the first storey. One wonders what he pays for this
precarious accommodation, in which a sudden movement during sleep may mean
a sheer drop down the dark staircase. But fortunately he sleeps motionless,
like one physically tired out, perchance after dragging bales about the
dock sheds since early morn or wandering all day round the city with heavy
loads upon his head.

At length on the second storey a half-open door casts an arrow of light
upon your path. You hail it with joy after the Cimmerian gloom of the lower
floors; and, pushing the door further ajar, you find yourself in a square
low room lit by two windows which command a view of the street below. It is
carpeted with cheap date-leaf mats and a faded polychrome "dhurri"; dirty