And of the others: Mahbub Ali is still at Pubbi, writing
God knows what. Tugluq Khan is in jail for the business of the Kohat
Police Post. Faiz Beg came down from Ismail-ki-Dhera with a Bokhariot
belt for thee, my brother, at the closing of the year, but none knew
whither thou hadst gone: there was no news left behind. The Cousins
have taken a new run near Pakpattan to breed mules for the Government
carts, and there is a story in Bazar of a priest. Oho! Such a salt
tale! Listen--
Sahib, why do you ask that? My clothes are fouled because of the dust
on the road. My eyes are sad because of the glare of the sun. My feet
are swollen because I have washed them in bitter water, and my cheeks
are hollow because the food here is bad. Fire burn your money! What
do I want with it? I am rich and I thought you were my friend; but you
are like the others--a Sahib. Is a man sad? Give him money, say the
Sahibs. Is he dishonoured? Give him money, say the Sahibs. Hath he a
wrong upon his head? Give him money, say the Sahibs. Such are the
Sahibs, and such art thou--even thou.
Nay, do not look at the feet of the dun.
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