Coffee And Nargileh Discussed, My Host Moved An Adjournment To The
Roof Of The Palace, Where, He Said, I Should Obtain A Better View Of
His Father's City.
This ceremony concluded, the trumpets sounded, a
gentle hint that the audience was at an end, and I took leave, and
returned to camp outside the walls of the town.
The Wazir, or Prime Minister, of the Djam paid me a visit in the
evening _sans ceremonie_ - a jolly-looking, fresh-complexioned old
fellow, dressed in a suit of karki, cut European fashion, and with
nothing Oriental about him save a huge white linen turban. The Wazir
spoke English fairly well, and, waxing confidential over a cigar and
whisky-and-water (like my Sonmiani friend, the Wazir was no strict
Mussulman), entertained me with an account of the doings of the
Court in Beila and the _aventures galantes_ of Kumal, who, from all
accounts, was a veritable Don Juan. "Will the Russians ever take
India?" asked the old fellow of Gerome, as he left the tent. "You can
tell them they shall never get it so long as _we_ can prevent them;"
but the next moment the poor Wazir, to Gerome's delight, had measured
his length on the ground. Either the night was very dark, or the
whisky very strong; a tent-rope had avenged the taunt levelled at my
companion's countrymen.
Early next morning came a message from Prince Kumal, inviting me
to visit the caves of Shahr-Rogan, an excavated village of great
antiquity, about ten miles from Beila.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 163 of 226
Words from 43061 to 43319
of 60127
