The fewer the words in a song, the more exciting their elaboration. Praise be to the glossy new leaves of the rain tree. Praise be to the koel that sings. Praise be to the scent of the flowers that the woman hurrying down the road wears in her hair. Praise be to the quick, capricious, clear-blue season of optimism.

Sharada sings, but grey clouds still drift in from the edges of the blue. No matter. A raag may express all the moods there are. Equating a raag with a mood reduces its potential. There is no reason why Sharada cannot allow her unease to cloud her rendering of Basant. So be it today.

As she lays down her tanpura, doubts come flooding in. She is going to sing her own composition. She wishes she had the poet Narayan Surve's thumping self-confidence.

I am a worker, a flaming sword,

Noble Literature! I am about to sin against your canon.

She is too firmly trapped in the rules of the guru–shishya tradition to feel she has the right to break free. Shekhar has a name for the classical musician's caste: Ear Touchers. Pronounce the guru's name, touch your ears with humility. Miss a note, touch your ears with shame. Miss a beat, touch your ears in abject apology. And she, ear toucher if ever there was one, proposes to sing her own composition this evening. Her guru's face is before her—thin-lipped smile frozen hard. ‘We hear you sang your own composition, Mrs Sakhardande. You also sang the noon raag Sarang at twilight. Flung away the blinkers of mouldy tradition, did you? Bravo!’

By the time Shekhar returns from his walk, Sharada has lost spirit and will. He strides across to her, straightens her shoulders, slaps her lightly on the back. ‘The composition works. Don’t think. Just sing.’ Sharada glances at him gratefully. This is all she wants, just that much support. She raises her tanpura and sings.

I have seen black Time, my friend, I have seen black Time today

A shower of black fell from the skies and fear filled my heart

I have seen black Time today

It was two weeks ago on a morning like this. Sharada was preparing to practise Raag Bhairav. She held the first note in the lowest octave to clear her voice, before moving into the melody. Soon she was lost in its massive structure. Shantanu woke up. He came out rubbing his eyes and lay down in her lap. She moved the tanpura a little to make place for his little head. He smiled up at her, put his thumb in his mouth and closed his eyes.