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English readers, you who have never wandered far from your native shores and who esteem chickens a luxury to put on your supper table at your festive gatherings, come to India and surfeit on your dainties, you will see it calmly collecting its daily food unsuspicious of danger, then comes the rush and loud clacking as it flies pursued by the ferocious native, ending with cries of despair and the fluttering and hoarse gurgle of its death throes, in half an hour Murghi will be placed before you hot and tempting to the eye but hard as nails to the touch; they are cheap in this part of the world.
Is there any cold chicken you could grill?" "Chota murghi one egg lay, mem-sahib, anda poach. Sahib, chicken grill laike!" "Oh, all right! But I thought of a mutton-chop for the major sahib." "Sahib no laike!" "Very well, that will do a poached egg for me and grilled chicken for the sahib." "No, mem-sahib no 'nuf. Sahib plenty 'ungry chicken grill, peechy ramble-tamble egg!"
It was still very wet this morning, but as it cleared somewhat after breakfast, we made up our minds to quit the Lolab and get back to our boat. Doras has sad memories for Jane, for here died the "chota murghi," a black chicken endowed with the most affectionate disposition.
I generally prefer walking to being carried in a pagdandy." "Then took another lesson in Hindustani from my murghi, though I really think I hardly require it! "7 P.M. T. returned after what he called a blank blank day.
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