Prakash has entered the stage on cue, his hands humbly folded. He wears a light saffron kurta and a gold-bordered Bengali-style dhoti. There’s a drizzle of applause at his entry. Both artists now walk to the edge of the stage. Pandit Mishra says, ‘Our guru Swami Shivanand is before us today. We will prostrate ourselves before him for his blessings and begin this auspicious programme.’ The swami rises and raises both hands in a generous blessing.

Pandit Mishra and Prakash sit down again in the lotus position, and again close their eyes. Then, at the same moment, on the same note, in perfect unison, they begin to chant ‘aum’.

At this point Kamaladevi rises with a dismissive swish of her whole body. Snorting loudly, she fixes her eyes on her favourite disciple of long ago and says in a loud voice to her sons, ‘Get up. We’re going.’ Although she comes from Sangli, her public language is Hindi. ‘If we stay any longer, this tamasha will make us ill.’ Having delivered this sentiment, she walks out, tapping her cane angrily. Sumitraben bows low with folded hands as though Kamaladevi’s going away in a huff is the most natural thing to happen. This pretence of everything being just as it should be enrages Kamaladevi further. Spewing contempt on ‘people of no culture’, she leaves with her son Giriraj, while Jairaj stays back in order to give her a blow-by-blow account of how the evening proceeded.

Pandit Mishra opens his eyes and, for the first time, looks at the audience with a gracious smile. Prakash stands behind him, a carved walnut-wood Kashmiri stool beside him bearing tubes of colour. On the wooden screen at the back hang four medium-sized canvases, one per bandish.

Pandit Mishra’s disciples sit in a semicircle around him, leaning a little forward to catch every word and note he sings. Two senior disciples, who will accompany him on the tanpura, tune their instruments. All the disciples are dressed in pearl-coloured kurtas, embroidered at the neck, with white churidar pyjama trousers. Each one has a black, gold-bordered Kutchi shawl covering his feet.

The tanpuras are tuned. Their deep resonance fills the auditorium. Janaki whispers to Sharada, ‘I could listen to just the tanpura forever. It is so hypnotic.’

‘I might agree with you today. All this shloka stuff sounds a little suspect to me. But Mishra has a wonderful voice.’

That voice now merges with the tanpura. Pandit Mishra sings a couple of notes and then stops while the tanpuras continue to play.