A hookah is called for by the Rajah; and then at least a dozen voices
repeat the order: "Hookah lao, Sahib ke waste." (Bring a hookah for
the Sahib.) Presently the hookah is brought in. It is rather a grand
affair, but old, and has evidently belonged to some European of
extravagant habits. Of course, no native would smoke out of it (on the
ground of caste), and it is evidently kept for the use of the Sahib
logue.[1]
While I am pulling away at the hookah, the musahibs, or favourites of
the Rajah, flatter me, in very audible whispers. "How well he smokes!"
"What a fine forehead he has!" "And his eyes! how they sparkle!" "No
wonder he is so clever!" "He will be Governor-General some day."
"Khuda-kuren!" (God will have it so.)
Native Rajah. "Sahib, when you become Governor-General, you will be a
friend to the poor?"
Humble Sahib (speaking from the bottom of his heart). "Most assuredly,
Maharaj."
Native Rajah. "And you will listen to the petition of every man, rich
and poor alike."