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Updated: June 9, 2025
Lucraft and Other Stories." I am now in the Opposition. We will call the bungalow Katmal dâk-bungalow. But that was the smallest part of the horror. A man with a sensitive hide has no right to sleep in dâk-bungalows. He should marry. Katmal dâk-bungalow was old and rotten and unrepaired. The floor was of worn brick, the walls were filthy, and the windows were nearly black with grime.
"You couldn't put him into my seat and fly him to Kot Ghazi while I dossed down with the camel and waited for you to come for me. And it wouldn't do to camel him to that building which looks like a dak-bungalow." "No. I think you'll have to stand by while I fly to Kot Ghazi and bring the necessary things for a temporary job, and then return and try to guide an ambulance waggon here.
Your furniture, your house, and all that sort of thing. You live as if you were a lodger, don't you know, and it didn't matter for a little while whether you were comfortable or not. The little while slips on and on, and suddenly you find you have been in the country twenty or thirty years, and you have never taken the trouble to be comfortable. It's like living in a dak-bungalow."
He turned his steps in the direction of the dâk-bungalow, whistling in the starlight as he went. A chilly wind was blowing, and the dust swirled about his feet. The road gleamed white and deserted before him. He swung along it, erect and British, caring nothing for dust or cold.
Please don't send for anything. I dined at the dâk-bungalow an hour ago. I I thought it best." Her agitation was increasing. She panted between each sentence. Will turned aside, shut and bolted the window, and drew the blind. Then he went close to her; he laid a steady hand upon her. "Sit down," he said, "and tell me what is the matter." She sank down mutely.
Merryon had given a great start. He looked like a man stabbed suddenly from a dream to full consciousness. "A European at the dâk-bungalow dead, did you say?" His words tumbled over each other; he gripped Macfarlane's shoulder and shook it with fierce impatience. "So I heard. I don't know any details. How should I? Merryon, are you mad?"
When presently he turned her face up to his own and gravely kissed her she clung to his neck like a tired child, no longer fearing to meet his look, only thankful for the comfort of his arms. For a while longer he held her silently, then very quietly he began to question her about her journey. Had she told him that she had been putting up at the dâk-bungalow?
All along the trunk road, that trails by many thousand towns and listens to a hundred languages, whatever good there was was Cunningham's. Whichever room was best in each dak-bungalow, whichever chicken the kansamah least desired to kill, whoever were the stoutest dhoolee-bearers in the village, whichever horse had the easiest paces all were Cunningham's.
For bleak, unadulterated misery that dâk-bungalow was the worst of the many that I had ever set foot in. There was no fireplace, and the windows would not open; so a brazier of charcoal would have been useless. The rain and the wind splashed and gurgled and moaned round the house, and the toddy palms rattled and roared.
But I would, first of all, put eighty miles of assessed crop land between myself and that dâk-bungalow before nightfall. The Society might send their regular agent to investigate later on. I went into my own room and prepared to pack after noting down the facts of the case. As I smoked I heard the game begin again, with a miss in balk this time, for the whir was a short one.
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