Humble Sahib. "Maharaj."
Native Rajah. "And drunk?"
Humble Sahib. "Maharaj."
Native Rajah. "The Sahib will smoke hookah?"
Humble Sahib. "The Maharajah is very good."
A hookah is called for by the Rajah; and then at least a dozen voices repeat the order: "Hookah lao, Sahib ke waste." (Bring a hookah for the Sahib.) Presently the hookah is brought in. It is rather a grand affair, but old, and has evidently belonged to some European of extravagant habits. Of course, no native would smoke out of it (on the ground of caste), and it is evidently kept for the use of the Sahib logue.[1]
While I am pulling away at the hookah, the musahibs, or favourites of the Rajah, flatter me, in very audible whispers. "How well he smokes!" "What a fine forehead he has!" "And his eyes! how they sparkle!" "No wonder he is so clever!" "He will be Governor-General some day." "Khuda-kuren!" (God will have it so.)
Native Rajah. "Sahib, when you become Governor-General, you will be a friend to the poor?"
Humble Sahib (speaking from the bottom of his heart). "Most assuredly, Maharaj."
Native Rajah. "And you will listen to the petition of every man, rich and poor alike."