"We shall enjoy their company the more when we get to Nemawur," said I. "But here is Motee with his sitar." Motee made his salam and sat down.
"Is the instrument tuned, Motee—thou pearl of singers?" cried the Khan, bursting into a laugh at his play upon Motee's name. "Hast thou tuned it?"
"I have, noble Khan; though it is not worthy the touch of so exalted a person."
"Nay, 'tis a good sitar, and a sweet one," said the Khan, as he ran his fingers over the strings in a manner which showed him to be a proficient.
"Wah!" cried all of us at once; "play, noble Khan! the hand which could execute such a prelude as that can do wonders."
"Give me some more drink," cried he, "and I will try. Knowest thou any ghuzuls, Motee?"
"I am indifferently skilled in them, Khan Sahib; nevertheless, if my lord will mention one, I will try. The tuppas of my own country I know most of."
"Pah!" cried the Khan, "who would sing tuppas? I will name a ghuzul which is in every one's mouth—sing 'Mahi-Alum, Soz-i-mun;' I warrant me thou knowest it. But the wine, Meer Sahib, pour it out for me; thou art my Saqi, thou knowest. I will sing an ode to thee, as Hafiz has written and sung many a one to his; peace be to his memory! Ah! that was good; but oh, Meer Sahib, it hath a different flavour from the last."
"Very likely," said I; "the bottle, you see, hath a different paper on it; perhaps it is a better kind."
"It is good, and that is all I care for, Meer Sahib. Now proceed, good Motee." Motee did as he was ordered, and his voice and the Khan's accompaniment were worthy of a better audience than that which heard them.