We then proceeded to
business, and I observed that the man spoke a very broken and hardly
intelligible Hindustani. I tried him in Persian, but it was of no avail.
He spoke Persian, he said, but it was not of the kind that any human
being could understand; so we returned to the first language, and I
concluded that he was a wandering kabuli.
As an introduction of himself he mentioned Isaacs, calling him Abdul
Hafiz Sahib, and he seemed to know him personally. Abdul, he said, was
not far off as distances go in the Himalayas. He thought I should find
him the day after to-morrow, _mungkul_. He said I should not be able to
ride much farther, as the pass beyond Sultanpoor was utterly
impracticable for horses; coolies, however, awaited me with a dooly, one
of those low litters slung on a bamboo, in which you may travel swiftly
and without effort, but to the destruction of the digestive organs. He
said also that he would accompany me the next stage as far as the
doolies, and I thought he showed some curiosity to know whither I was
going; but he was a wise man in his generation, and knowing his orders,
did not press me overmuch with questions. I remarked in a mild way that
the saddle was the throne of the warrior, and that the air of the black
mountains was the breath of freedom; but I added that the voice of the
empty stomach was as the roar of the king of the forest.
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