Yet after all, what more could a poor saint do? For you see,
One foot I've planted in the sky,
The other on the ground must lie.[41]
The elevation's rather high,
But the sun stands it. Why can't I?11
Māthura. Pay, pay!
Shampooer. How can I pay? [Māthura drags him about.]
Darduraka. Well, well, what is this I see? [He addresses a bystander.] What did you say, sir? "This shampooer is being maltreated by the gambling-master, and no one will save him"? I'll save him myself. [He presses forward.] Stand back, stand back!
[33.25. S.
[He takes a look.] Well, if this isn't that swindler Māthura. And here is the poor saintly shampooer; a saint to be sure,
Who does not hang with bended head
Rigid till set of sun,
Who does not rub his back with sand
Till boils begin to run,
Whose shins dogs may not browse upon,
As they pass him in their rambling.[42]
Why should this tall and dainty man
Be so in love with gambling?12
Well, I must pacify Māthura. [He approaches.] How do you do, Māthura? [Māthura returns the greeting.]
Darduraka. What does this mean?