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Updated: May 3, 2025
When I came to the Chubara the shaven head with the tuft atop, and the beady black eyes looked out of the folds of the quilt as a squirrel looks out from his nest, and Gobind was smiling while the child played with his beard. I would have said something friendly, but remembered in time that if the child fell ill afterwards I should be credited with the Evil Eye, and that is a horrible possession.
The money was paid at evening, all silver, in great carts, and thus Ganesh did his work. 'Nathu! Ohe Nathu! A woman was calling in the dusk by the door of the courtyard. The child began to wriggle. 'That is my mother, it said. 'Go then, littlest, answered Gobind; 'but stay a moment. He ripped a generous yard from his patchwork-quilt, put it over the child's shoulders, and the child ran away.
He always wrote of this half-humorously.... At last when Bedient was beginning his seventh year in the Punjab, there came a letter which held a plaint not to be put aside. Bedient was in his thirty-second year; and just at this time old Gobind left his body for a last time beneath the camphor-tree.
Gobind Pant Bundela, foraging near Meerut with 10,000 light cavalry, was surprised and slain by Atai Khan at the head of a similar party of Afghans. The terror caused by this affair paralysed the Bhao's commissariat, while it greatly facilitated the foraging of the Shah.
"Do you see that sign there, 'Bahadur Gobind, Barrister-at-Law, Cambridge B.A., on the first floor over the cookshop? Yes, he is the genuine article. He went to Cambridge and took his degree and here he is back again. Take him for all in all, he is the most seditious man in the city. Meanly seditious. It only runs to writing letters over a pseudonym in the native papers. Now look up.
'I have no clothes, said the child, 'and all to-day I have been carrying cow-dung cakes to the bazar. It was very hot, and I am very tired. It shivered a little, for the twilight was cool. Gobind lifted an arm under his vast tattered quilt of many colours, and made an inviting little nest by his side. The child crept in, and Gobind filled his brass-studded leather waterpipe with the new tobacco.
The dusk darkened, and a new moon rose, but Gobind did not rise to mere physical consciousness that night, though Bedient sat very still before him for hours.
To give and serve now, was like obeying the commands of the dead. He had never turned to the past before. He would have been the first to tell another that one who looks to his past for the sanction of some act of the present, has reached the end of growth. Bedient could not lie to himself. He wanted to run away. He wanted to sit at the knees of some old Gobind.
"This is your home, Wanderer," Gobind told him. "Long have you travelled to and fro and long still must you wander, but you will come back again to the cool shadows, and to these " Gobind lifted his hand to point to the roof of the world. The yellow cloth fell away from his arm, which looked like a dead bough blackened from many rains. "For these are your mountains and you love these long shadows.
Then at the sound of a pudgy blow upon a table, or high abusive accents in the rapid elaborate cadences of the domiciled East Indian tongue, Hari Babu would glance at Gobind Babu with a careful smile, for the manager-sahib who dispensed so much galli* was now receiving the same, and defenceless. * Abuse. The manager sat at his desk when Hilda went in.
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