is another man's house, no matter whether the colour of our skin
differs or not. Therefore I thank Heaven that you have accepted shelter
under my humble roof. You must have been uncomfortable, for all you
sahibs are rich and accustomed to luxury. I am only a trader and a
cultivator. I am poor, but I possess a heart. You, unlike other sahibs,
have always spoken kindly to me and to all of us Shokas. We feel that
you are our brother. You have given us presents, but we needed them not.
The only present we wish for is that, when you reach the end of your
perilous journey, you will send us a message that you are well. We will
all pray day and night for you. Our hearts are sore at your leaving us."

This from the rough old boy, whom I had got really to like, was touching,
and I told him I hoped I might some day be able to repay him for his
kindness. When I descended the steps there was quite a crowd in the yard.
Every one wished to bid me farewell. The men took my right hand in both
theirs and brought it up to their foreheads, muttering words of grief at
my leaving. The women gently caressed my face and bade me "_Niku tza_"
("Go well," "Farewell"). These are the Shoka fashions of taking leave of
friends who are departing for distant lands.

[Illustration: THE PATAN SUMMONING MY COOLIES FROM THE ROOF OF HIS HOUSE]

Led by the hand by a really grieving company, I moved towards the narrow,
steep descent to the Chongur bridge, cut into the slope of the high
cliffs of clay. On the way I called at Kachi's house, but he had gone
ahead. A more mournful procession could not be imagined. The faint rays
of a new moon gave an added melancholy to the scene, and that peculiarly
impressive sound of sad steps, if I may thus express the pathetic
cadence of people's gait when afflicted, made me feel as if I were
attending my own funeral. I begged them to return to their homes, and one
after the other they came to embrace my feet and to hold my fingers.
Then, hiding their faces in the palms of their hands, they one by one
made their way up the grey track cut into the lofty cliff, and like
phantoms, gradually becoming smaller and smaller, vanished in the
distance. Still some twenty or thirty insisted on escorting me down to
the stream. Farther on I came upon the excited figure of an old woman
tearing her hair and crying pitifully. She threw herself at my feet,
imploring me to take care of her son. It was Kachi's distressed mother. I
comforted h