Amal. He said she would find me a lovely little bride with a pair of pearl drops in her ears and dressed in a lovely red sâree; and in the morning she would milk with her own hands the black cow and feed me with warm milk with foam on it from a brand new earthen cruse; and in the evenings she would carry the lamp round the cow-house, and then
come and sit by me to tell me tales of Champa and his six brothers.
Gaffer. How delicious! The prospect tempts even me, a hermit! But never mind, dear, about this wedding. Let it be. I tell you when you wed there'll be no lack of nieces in his household.
Madhav. Shut up! This is more than I can stand. [Exit]
Amal. Fakir, now that Uncle's off, just tell me, has the King sent me a letter to the Post Office?
Gaffer. I gather that his letter has already started; but it's still on the way.
Amal. On the way? Where is it? Is it on that road winding through the trees which you can follow to the end of the forest when the sky is quite clear after rain?
Gaffer. That's so. You know all about it already.
Amal. I do, everything.
Gaffer. So I see, but how?