I could speak not a word of anything but Arabic and Persian,
and no one present understood either. At last, when I was in despair,
trying to muster a few words of Greek I had learned in Istamboul, and
failing signally therein, an old man with a long beard looked curiously
in at the door of the crowded court. Some instinct told me to appeal to
him, and I addressed him in Arabic. To my infinite relief he replied in
that tongue, and volunteered to be interpreter. In a few moments I
learned that my crime was that I had _touched_ the sweetmeats on the
counter.
"In India, as you who have lived here doubtless know, it is a criminal
offence, punishable by fine or imprisonment, for a non-Hindu person to
defile the food of even the lowest caste man. To touch one sweetmeat in
a trayful defiles the whole baking, rendering it all unfit for the use
of any Hindu, no matter how mean. Knowing nothing of caste and its
prejudices, it was with the greatest difficulty that the _moolah_, who
was trying to help me out of my trouble, could make me comprehend
wherein my wrong-doing lay, and that the English courts, being obliged
in their own interest to uphold and protect the caste practices of the
Hindus, at the risk of another mutiny, could not make any exception in
favour of a stranger unacquainted with Indian customs.
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