Almost at that moment the drummers erupted with a dense rhythmic cycle and the _sarangi _took up a single repetitive phrase. Sangeeta looked directly at Hawksworth and called out a complex series of rhythmic syllables, in a melodic if slightly strident voice, all the while duplicating the exact pattern of sounds by slapping the henna-reddened soles of her feet against the carpet. Then she glided across the carpet in a series of syncopated foot movements, saluting each of the guests in turn and calling out strings of syllables, after which she would dance a sequence that replicated the rhythm exactly, her feet a precise percussion instrument. "The syllables she recites are called _bols_, Ambassador, which are the names of the many different strokes on the tabla drums. Drummers sometimes call out a sequence before they play it. She does the same, except she uses her feet almost as a drummer uses his hands." As Hawksworth watched, Sangeeta called strings of syllables that were increasingly longer and more complex. He could not understand the _bols_, or perceive the rhythms as she danced them, but the drunken men around him were smiling and swinging their heads from side to side in what he took to be appreciative approval. Suddenly Arangbar shouted something to her and pointed toward the first drummer. The drummer beamed, nodded, and as Sangeeta watched, called out a dense series of _bols_. Then she proceeded to dance the sequence with her feet. The room exploded with cries of appreciation when she finished the sequence, and Hawksworth assumed she had managed to capture the instructions the musician had called. Then Arangbar pointed to the other drummer and he also called out a string of _bols_, which again Sangeeta repeated. Finally the singer called a rhythm sequence, the most complex yet, and both dancer and drummer repeated them precisely together. As the tempo became wilder, Sangeeta began a series of lightning spins, still pounding the carpet with her reddened soles, and in time she seemed to transform into a whirling top, her pigtail loose now and singing through the air like a deadly whip. She had become a blur, and for a brief moment she appeared to have two heads. Hawksworth watched in wonder and sipped from his wine cup. "Now she'll begin the last part, Ambassador, the most demanding of all."