Good evening. This is crime classics. I am Thomas Highland with another true story of crime. Listen.

That's a couple of crocodiles roaring.

They can do other things, they can snap, they can slither.

As a matter of fact, when there's oo's around, they do this most often.

They lay eggs too, but no one's ever heard it done.

The crocodiles who've been doing things for us are East Indian crocodiles, from a province in the south through which the Ganges flows.

Each village in the province has its private pit dedicated to the happiness of their slimy and slithering friends.

And sometimes a fellow would lose hold and fall into the pit,

or jump in, or be pushed in. However they got there, the crocodiles took them in their stride.

People were their favorite dish.

So tonight, my report to you on Rashi among the crocodiles and the prank he played.

Crime Classics.

A series of true crime stories from the records and newspapers of every land from every time.

Your host each week, Mr Thomas Highland, Connoisseur of Crime, Student of Violence and Teller of Murders.

Now once again, Mr. Thomas Highland. Island. Where the Ganges edge the town of Mahadwatt, it was not holy. As a matter of fact, there was little to note in the town of Mahadwat.

True, there was the crocodile pit,

but the croaks were smaller than in, for instance,

the village of Gumbow just three miles down the river.

Mahadwadwadwad had its share of temples, but they were kind of run down.

It had its quota of acquires, four of them, but none of them outstanding as, for instance, the gray

Fakir of Gumbao to whom everybody brought ashes. But it had one edifice of which

the villagers were rightly proud. The House of Matabar, a rich and ornate house, of which

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