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Updated: May 3, 2025
'The letters and the murasla I must carry inside my coat and under my belt, and the hand-written books I must put into the food-bag. It will be very heavy. No. I do not think there is anything more. If there is, the coolies have thrown it down the khud, so thatt is all right. Now you go too. He repacked the kilta with all he meant to lose, and hove it up on to the windowsill.
He accepted the compliment calmly, as men must in lands where women make the love, tore a leaf from a note-book, and with a patent indelible pencil wrote in gross Shikast the script that bad little boys use when they write dirt on walls: 'I have everything that they have written: their pictures of the country, and many letters. Especially the murasla. Tell me what to do.
They must all be kept. The maps they draw better maps than me of course. All the native letters oho! and particularly the murasla. He sniffed the embroidered bag. 'That must be from Hilas or Bunar, and Hurree Babu spoke truth. By Jove! It is a fine haul. I wish Hurree could know ... The rest must go out of the window. He fingered a superb prismatic compass and the shiny top of a theodolite.
I will kindly shut the door. It is a pity you are sick. Are you very sick? 'The papers the papers from the kilta. The maps and the murasla! He held out the key impatiently; for the present need on his soul was to get rid of the loot. 'You are quite right. That is correct Departmental view to take. You have got everything? 'All that was handwritten in the kilta I took.
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