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Srikanta death came in the guise of the great plague and snatched away the whole village from life, many dying souls, perhaps, had come with hurrying feet, impelled by thirst, to breathe their last on these steps. Perhaps their thirsty spirits were still hovering about me. For who could say with assurance that things we do not see do not exist? 'Babuji,' the old man had said that very morning, 'never believe that nothing is left of us after death, or that dead souls do not wander about helplessly in space, goaded on by desires and appetites, pleasure and pain, like ourselves.' He had told us stories of King Vikramaditya, of how one can command powerful spirits like Tal-VeatlTal-Vetal [sic], and of the magical powers of the Sadhus and Sannyasis who practise Tantric rites. 'Never think, Babuji,' he had concluded, 'that they do not make themselves seen and heard when suitable occasion arises. I solemnly advise you never to go again to those cremation-grounds. And never disbelieve, I pray you, that those who take pains to acquire powers in the unseen world have their reward and recompense some day.'

Those words, which in daylight had been but a matter for jest and laughter, came back to me in the gathering darkness with another aspect. If there was anything real in the world, I thought, it was certainly death. The