Night fell. Everything was quiet. Only the song of the crickets disturbed the silence of the night. All were asleep. Chandarva rose from where he was seated and looked around. The village was still. Not a soul seemed to stir. With his heart in his mouth, Chandarva slowly entered the village. He sniffed around. He did not know where the chickens and hens were kept. That did not worry him. His nose would lead the way. 
naɪt fɛl. ɛvɹiθɪŋ wɑz kwaɪʌt. oʊnli ðʌ sɔŋ ʌv ðʌ kɹɪkʌts dɪstɜ˞bd ðʌ saɪlʌns ʌv ðʌ naɪt. ɔl wɜ˞ ʌslip.  ɹoʊz fɹʌm wɛɹ hi wɑz sitɪd ʌnd lʊkt ɜ˞aʊnd. ðʌ vɪlʌdʒ wɑz stɪl. nɑt ʌ soʊl simd tu stɜ˞. wɪð hɪz hɑɹt ɪn hɪz maʊθ,  sloʊli ɛntɜ˞d ðʌ vɪlʌdʒ. hi snɪft ɜ˞aʊnd. hi dɪd nɑt noʊ wɛɹ ðʌ tʃɪkʌnz ʌnd hɛnz wɜ˞ kɛpt. ðæt dɪd nɑt wɜ˞i hɪm. hɪz noʊz wʊd lɛd ðʌ weɪ. 
 Indian speaks very slowly and in a very monotone tone in a room with very clear acoustics.