The ryots made low saláms as they took the pieces of silver, and then together they turned from the commissioner’s house. But the worm of discontent gnawed at the heart of Gunga Ram.
“Does the Sahib value his life but at three rupees?” he muttered. “One rupee is not worth the wetting of my waist-cloth!”
Ya’kub laughed at the disappointment of his companion. “One rupee will at least buy a right good dinner!” said he. “No work to-day for me. I will hasten off to the bazaar, and have once more such a feast as that of which I partook when my younger brother was married.”
“Oh, thou man without wisdom!” cried Gunga Ram, as he tied up his piece of silver in the end of his waist-cloth; “thou wilt not surely spend all thy rupee on one meal?”
But Ya’kub was already beyond hearing of the voice of his friend. It was as if the savoury fragrance of the coming feast were drawing Ya’kub on from afar. He hastened his steps, even as the thirsty camel doth in the desert when he smelleth water, and rusheth towards the well.
“Thou wilt not spend thy money thus?” asked Gunga Ram of Isa Das.
Isa Das smiled as he made reply: “No; I will not thus spend my rupee upon feasting;” and he thought, but he spake not his thought aloud,—“The Lord hath already heard and answered my prayer. I, even I, a poor ryot, will put one brick in that church.”