“Sahib, he says that because your man has touched him, both you and your man shall lie within a week helpless upon an anthill, still living, while the ants run in and out among your wounds. He says that the ants shall eat your eyes, sahib, and that you shall cry for water, and there shall be no water within reach—only the sound of water just beyond you. He says that first you shall be beaten, both of you, until your backs and the soles of your feet run blood, in order that the ants may have an entrance!”
“Is he going to do all this?”
The Beluchi passed the question on, and the fakir tossed him an answer to it.
“He says, sahib, that the gods will see to it.”
“So the gods obey his orders, do they. Well, they've a queer sense of duty! What else does he prophesy?”
“About your soul, sahib, and the sentry's soul.”
“That's interesting! Translate!”
“He says, sahib, that for countless centuries you and your man shall inhabit the carcasses of snakes, to eat dirt and be trodden on and crushed, until you learn to have respect for very holy persons!”
“Is he going to have the ordering of that?”
“He says that the gods have already ordered it.”