One day in 1968 I visited Lempad, the genius artist, at his home in Ubud. He met me standing among the stone statues he had arranged haphazardly on the veranda. He was already around 100 years old then. Bare-chested, his wrinkled skin was clear to see. On his almost-bald head were tufts of thin white hair.

He showed me a bundle of pictures. And I was fascinated.

On those pages, Lempad revived the sad story of Jayaprana and Layonsari. I was familiar