Read the passage given below and answer the questions that follow.

My brief introduction to life in prison unravelled for me some of the mysterious ways of British rule. Technically, I was not imprisoned but merely in custody because I was not formally charged; even though I spent the statutory ninety days in prison just like those who were sentenced. The system of classification of the prisoners was based on due respect for social stratification. Those who lived in brick-built houses, and hence considered relatively affluent, enjoyed the privileges of ' B ' class. They slept on proper beds and had a daily allowance of one rupee four annas for their food, a princely sum for those days. The jail officials never saw any point in wasting such huge sums on undeserving political prisoners, but the food for the ' B ' class prisoners was adequate and edible. There was an ' A ' class with the right of getting food sent from home. Inclusion in this privileged category depended on the goodwill of the jail superintendent. Since classification was a matter of social status, it would have looked very odd if my father had not been granted '  ' class. The superintendent hence graciously declared that he could have milk sent from home if he so wished. This generous offer was politely declined.

Those condemned to the lower category, ' C ', slept on one blanket on the floor and had another to cover their bodies in winter. Unfortunately, the blankets were inhabited by numberless bedbugs; even if one kept a respectable distance from the said blankets, the bugs marched out in an orderly fashion and invaded one's body. The experience was not pleasant. The half-a-rupee allowance per day for ' C ' class prisoners was far from inadequate. But the loyal servants of the Raj would not dream of spending such incredible amounts on the hoi polloi. Hence the food for the ' C ' class prisoners was not fit for human consumption. I shall presently explain why. My father was allocated to 'B' class immediately after the arrest (' A ' class followed later); it took seven days to determine in what type of house I lived. In my brother's case, it took one month. It is unlikely that the police did not know that all three of us lived in the same house. One was condemned to ' C ' class treatment until that relevant fact had been established; evidently a few days in ' C ' class was considered a wholesome experience for the very young and/or those suspected of involvement in serious acts of sedition.

A glimpse into prison life, ' C ' class, is enlightening. The police arrested me in our house and after several hours in the police station where I was registered as an accused in a case of wire-cutting and theft, I accompanied a single policeman to the prison, walking the two miles. When I was taken to the juvenile ward, ' C ' class, it was about seven in the evening. The place

was filled with an almost unbearable stench. I thought the sweepers were removing the night soil but it was hardly the appropriate time for doing this particular chore. I was right on the latter but not the former point. The source of the overpowering stench was not any night soil but our evening meal. This requires some explanation. In our part of the country most people eat parboiled rice. Producing this type of rice from paddy involves a particular technique. The jail authorities, instead of buying parboiled rice from the market, tried to produce it from paddy inside the prison, using convict labour. The idea was to save money. But as the convicts had no knowledge of the technique involved, the rice rotted. Hence the stench I had encountered. No one possibly could eat that rice, not even the poorest convict. Of course, there was another choice for the evening meal-chapatis. These did not stink, but had a fairly thick outer layer of dust and sand. The prisoners assiduously rubbed the chapatis together to get rid of the coating of filth; then one washed them before eating.

What was the source of the stench which had filled the '  ' class prison cell?