Like a child, Vilayat Khan quietly got up and went into his room. He was in his short-sleeved vest and pajamas. He faced the window which overlooked the Birla temple and played raga Gaur Sarang, for it was the middle of the afternoon. A soft, cool breeze blew in. It was the last week of February and Calcutta was just wrapping up its winter. Everyone was sitting behind him, listening, but he was oblivious to their presence. That was the last time he touched his sitar.
