‘Please sit down. Sumitraben is planning a truly novel evening. You arty-farty types are always accusing the media of not encouraging new talent, only doing celebrities. We say give us something newsworthy and we’ll cover it. Sumitraben is about to do just that. She’s planning a one hundred per cent newsworthy evening. Pandit Omkar Mishra has evolved a new form of music. He calls it Shlokabandish. Which is, er . . . why don’t you tell her, Sumitraben?’

Sumitraben speaks a melodious, highly Sanskritized Hindi. Prakash looks at her open-mouthed. ‘There is a treasure house of shlokas in our sacred literature which can be a source of immense spiritual support for people today. Panditji has gone deep into this literature and turned half a dozen shlokas into bandishes. He has set them in popular raags like Des, Bageshri and Kedar. He sings them as chhota, not bada khayal. He makes the music so light that it appeals even to people who’ve never heard a phrase of classical music before. They feel instantly uplifted by it because it is classical music after all. But they are not bored because the khayals are almost like Hindi film songs which they have grown up with.’

Mr Singh is almost dancing in his chair with excitement.

‘That’s not all,’ he says. ‘Sumitraben means to include this young friend of yours in the novel experiment. You probably know he’s a spiritual artist. Now, listen to this. While Pandit Mishra is singing, your friend will express his spontaneous response to the music in paint there and then, before the very eyes of the audience. There’s more. There’s a third aspect to this plan. At the end of the singing and painting experiment, the paintings will be auctioned to raise money for Swami Shivanand’s residential school for Sanskrit studies. You’ll never guess who the students at this gurukul are going to be. Sumitraben will give you a brochure later, but, briefly, the school will teach Sanskrit to Dalit students. Imagine. Education, empowerment and progress for those who were once outcasts of society.’

Janaki has been looking fixedly at Prakash. His face glows with a new lustre. He nods, smiles to himself and keeps shooting secretive glances at Sumitraben. His fingers sparkle with auspicious nine-gem rings and the front of his robe with tiny diamond buttons.

‘So now, Janaki, you and Prakashanandji set up a date to talk. Interview format please. That’s pre-publicity for his Geetichitra. Song pictures. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Then we cover the event itself. And after the event, an interview with Swami Shivanand about his ashram. Someone else will do that because that’s not art. By then all our readers will have heard of Prakashanandji. No problem then in covering his solo show. When is it?’

‘The date’s not fixed yet. But we’ll let you know in good time.’

‘Great. Terrific.’ Singh sahib rubs his hands. ‘Please carry on.’