In Old Madras by B.M. Croker — Read

Accompanied by Anthony and Chinna-Sawmy, his luggage and many bundles, Mallender left Madras by rail at five o'clock. The carriages were crammed in the usual fashion; natives of India have an insatiable passion for travel, and are absolutely regardless of heat, packed compartments, and semi-suffocation. The train dawdled through the suburbs, then away across hot dry plains, by palms, villages and temples, till at length it crawled into Panjeverram. Panjeverram, although but twenty miles from the City was a silent, forlorn, and forsaken, old place; there was no sign of life or bustle at its modest humble station, -- not even a _gharry_ in waiting. The luggage and bundles were therefore placed on a _tailer_ (or hand-cart) and trundled off to the Dâk Bungalow, through a great avenue of banyan trees, -- so closely meeting overhead, that they constituted a long black tunnel; only a faint light here and there like fire-flies in a forest broke its cimmerian gloom. The little party did not encounter a soul, before they turned over a brick culvert, and found themselves in front of the rest-house. This was old, and out of repair; its atmosphere, even that hot March night, felt damp; and the air was heavily impregnated by an odour of mildew, mushrooms, and bats.

A visitor was evidently a precious rarity, and the venerable Dâk Matey was full of rapture, and eager and voluble apologies. He shouted orders to some unseen subordinate in the back verandah, and proceeded to light lamps and bustle about. He laid a newspaper as table-cloth, placed on it two candles in black bottles, and between these, a bunch of zinnias in a mustard tin; a knife and fork and tumbler, produced from Mallender's tiffin basket, gave a business-like air to these preparations; a pat of white butter, and a small bazaar loaf, were added by Anthony, who casually remarked that "he had just done kill one big snake, in Master's bathroom!"