I think I will rest on the charpoi awhile,
But the mosquitoes turn out in most welcoming style;
I then in despair do betake me outside,
Still to find I am helpless to stem their fierce tide.
But wait, there's still balm for my weary soul—
I take out my pipe and fill up the bowl,
And for a few moments I have a respite,
But, oh, I'd be glad of my supper to-night.
But presently cometh mine host of the inn,
And soon from the murghi's there issues a din,
The heartless khansamah he cares not a jot,
The dechie is here, but the murghi is not.
And though it is tough, and not cooked with great care,
I am not in a mood to complain of my fare.
You may think that travelling hath its delights,
But wait till you've spent a few weary nights
In a dak-bungalow, empty and bare,
With no punka coolie to answer your prayer,
Then I'm sure you'll agree that a pleasanter lot
Is to live in a place where dak-bungalows are not.
—————
Again a dak-bungalow is the theme of my lay,
But now it is cool, and the close of the day
Finds me seated outside in my long-armed chair,
My report to the Burra Sahib now to prepare,
But, oh, ye great gods, what a discordant din
Doth break on the peace and contentment within!
A horde of wild monkeys the compound invade,
Of every color and age and grade.
A venerable sage cometh close to my chair
As though he intended my labors to share.
But his better-half thinks she has by far the best right
To my paper and pens, should I guard them less tight;
So she sends him off flying with a howl of pain,
Then comes back and watches my efforts again;
Meanwhile, the rest of the tribe chatter and grin,
Until I think I am being turned outside in.
Oh, where are my dreams of peace and delight—
A peg and a smoke in the cool of the night?
Their noise and their chatter drive all peace away,
And make we feel minded those monkeys to slay;
But when I start up and with a stone take a shot,
The compound is bare, and the monkeys have got;
They have vanished away like the mist in the sun;
And, well, after all, they were only in fun.
—————