"Bad country?"
But the man's instinctive sense of conciliation was proof against dampness, moral or physical.
"No, Sahib. The Sircar's country is everywhere very good." The glint of a smile crept over the dull white of his eyes.
To the Drabi there are only two kinds of white people--the Sircar, or British Raj, and the enemy. The enemy is known to him only by the ponderous and erratic nature of his missiles, for the mule-cart corps belongs to the first line of transport.
"Where is your home?" I asked.
"Amritsar, Sahib."
I wondered whether he were inwardly comparing the two countries. Here, everything drenched and colourless; there, brightness and colour and clean shadows. Here, the little stone church of a similar drabness to its envelope of mist; there, the reflection of the Golden Temple sleeping in the tank all day. The minarets of his mosque and the crenellated city walls would be etched now against a blue sky. I looked at his mules. They did not seem at all dépaysés.
"How do they stand the damp?" I asked. "Much sickness?"
"No, Sahib. Only one has been sick. None have died except those destroyed by the bo-ombs."
I wondered what the carts were doing at ----. They were of the first line; the first line transport carries the food into the very mouth of the Army. Being the last link in the line of communications, it is naturally the most vulnerable. Other links are out of range of the enemy's guns and immune, in this phase of the operations at least, from attack except by aircraft. The Drabi explained that they had been detailed for forage work.