" She had noted down, in
her tablets, the Urdu wherewith to ask whether a thing is procurable,
and to order it, if procurable, to be forthcoming, with the
appropriate outlandish words for "pullet" and "hoecake," and also
those for straightforward answers, affirmative and negative. She was
certain that with this lingual accoutrement she could not possibly be
taken at a disadvantage. The experience of a few hours, however,
unsettled her self-confidence very considerably. She alights at a
wayside hostelry. Khudabakhsh, the chief servant in attendance,
arrayed in more or less fine linen, without the purple, surmounted by
a turban after the likeness of Saturn and his rings in a pictorial
astronomy-book, presents himself, and worships her with lowly
salutations. "Is a fowl to be had?"--"Gharib-parwar," is the prompt
reply.--"Is hoecake to be had?"--"Dharm-antar," officiously cuts in
Khudabakhsh's mate, a low-caste Hindoo; and the principal thinks it
unnecessary to respond to the question a second time. Now, what is to
be done? What do they mean? Have they fowl and hoecake? Have they not
fowl and hoecake? Here, to be sure, is a very _bivium_ of
perplexities. The lady at last, with quiet nonchalance, demands the
production of a gharib-parwar and a dharm-antar, thus unconsciously
ordering a "cherisher of the poor" and an "incarnation of justice,"
the pretty appellations used to designate herself.
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