“Do they still wean young princes on camel’s milk and whisky in Telingana?” he asked tartly. “I have heard tales of changelings. Return, O treasure of a midwife, and hear me sing a song; I know a good one!”
The gossipers around the fountain pricked their ears. The prince seemed to come out of a day-dream. “Ah! Oh! I kiss feet!” he exclaimed, and made as if to pass on. But Ommony was determined to try his hand to a conclusion.
“Those boots are not respectful. They offend me!” he sneered. “Are they cow-skin? They look like it!”
“Oh, damn!” remarked the prince in English. “Here, take this and confer a blessing,” he went on in Urdu, diving into his pocket.
“Gold!” warned Ommony. “I declare you gave gold to the woman in there. All fees are payable in gold!”
“Gold? I have none. You must take this,” said the prince and passed a handful of crumpled paper money. “Pranam.”
“Victory be unto you,” said Ommony; accepting it, and the prince made his escape, muttering under his breath at the insolence of Brahmans, and of Bhats in particular.
“But paper money is no good,” Maitraya objected. “I have paper money,” he added, lying for vanity’s sake.
But Ommony was creeping into the Bhat-Brahman part.
“Why didn’t you say so? Go and buy mohurs[[21]] then from the sonar[[22]] at the gate,” he retorted.