Once I was an archaeologist's assistant. I wandered the country probing, exploring, and digging, in search of antiquities, a most interesting occupation, although cynics sometimes called us "grave-diggers." I enjoyed the work immensely.

My master-a famous archaeologist, was a superb, timeless being, who lived a thousand years behind the times, and wanted neither food, roof or riches if only he was allowed to gaze on undisturbed at an old coin or chip of a burial urn. He had torn up the earth in almost all parts of India and had brought to light very valuable information concerning the history and outlook of people of remote centuries. His monographs on each of his excavations filled several shelves in all the important libraries.

And then, as our good fortune would have it, he received an inspiration that Malgudi district was eminently diggable. I am not competent to explain how he got this idea, but there it was. Word was brought to me that he needed an assistant. Within an hour of hearing it I stood before the great man. He had the craziest collection of articles in front of him -pots, beads, useless coins and palm leaves, all rusty and decaying. He had a lens by his side, through which he looked at these articles and made notes. He asked me: "What do you know of the archaeological factors of your district? "I blinked. Honestly, I didn't know there was any archaeology in our place. I realized that my living depended upon my answer.