[CHAPTER VI.]
WILD DREAMS.
BANDHU had spent the morning in gambling with his idle companions; as the day grew hot, they separated to smoke the hookah, or doze away the languid hours in some shady place. In a garden-house lay Bandhu stretched on the ground alone, lazily watching the movements of a lizard on the wall. So still was the sultry air, that not even a leaf quivered on the branches of the peepul tree.
Presently some object came between Bandhu and the daylight. Turning his head a little, Bandhu saw Prem Chand, who courteously greeted the lad.
"Are you now at leisure, O brother!" the king's messenger said. "To hear the story of a sick boy rescued from the fangs of a tiger? The story cannot fail to interest you, as it concerns yourself."
"I have no dislike to hearing stories," replied Bandhu, carelessly; "if it be a good one, it will amuse me, if dull, it will lull me to sleep."
Prem Chand sat down on the ground beside Bandhu, and in simple touching words gave the story of the poor boy deserted in the jungle, telling of his preservation by the king, and the monarch's generous adoption of the child whom he had saved.
It may have been from coldness of heart, or from the effect of the drug given by Farebwala, but whatever the cause may be, Bandhu listened to the tale with little concern. He seemed to be more interested in watching whether the lizard would catch a fly, or in noticing any trifling peculiarity in the dress of the stranger, than in hearing of the deadly struggle on the result of which his own life had hung.
Prem Chand again and again felt inclined to stop in his story, for it pained him to have such a careless listener. Was ever hearer so dull? Yes, reader, I have witnessed such dulness when the story told was of far deeper interest than the tale of the rescued child!
When the tale was concluded, seeing that Bandhu had latterly been listening with a little more attention, Prem Chand thus spake: