" said Grish Chunder, quietly,
swinging
his legs as
he sat on my table.
he sat on my table.
Kipling - Poems
It's an old tale to
you. "
I began to tell the story of Charlie in English, but Grish Chunder put
a question in the vernacular, and the history went forward naturally in
the tongue best suited for its telling. After all it could never have
been told in English. Grish Chunder heard me, nodding from time to time,
and then came up to my rooms where I finished the tale.
"Beshak," he said, philosophically. "Lekin darwaza band hai. (Without
doubt, but the door is shut. ) I have heard of this remembering of
previous existences among my people. It is of course an old tale with
us, but, to happen to an Englishman--a cow-fed Malechk--an outcast. By
Jove, that is most peculiar! "
"Outcast yourself, Grish Chunder! You eat cow-beef every day. Let's
think the thing over. The boy remembers his incarnations. "
"Does he know that?
" said Grish Chunder, quietly, swinging his legs as
he sat on my table. He was speaking in English now.
"He does not know anything. Would I speak to you if he did? Go on! "
"There is no going on at all. If you tell that to your friends they will
say you are mad and put it in the papers. Suppose, now, you prosecute
for libel. "
"Let's leave that out of the question entirely. Is there any chance of
his being made to speak? "
"There is a chance. Oah, yess! But if he spoke it would mean that all
this world would end now--instanto--fall down on your head. These things
are not allowed, you know. As I said, the door is shut. "
"Not a ghost of a chance?
you. "
I began to tell the story of Charlie in English, but Grish Chunder put
a question in the vernacular, and the history went forward naturally in
the tongue best suited for its telling. After all it could never have
been told in English. Grish Chunder heard me, nodding from time to time,
and then came up to my rooms where I finished the tale.
"Beshak," he said, philosophically. "Lekin darwaza band hai. (Without
doubt, but the door is shut. ) I have heard of this remembering of
previous existences among my people. It is of course an old tale with
us, but, to happen to an Englishman--a cow-fed Malechk--an outcast. By
Jove, that is most peculiar! "
"Outcast yourself, Grish Chunder! You eat cow-beef every day. Let's
think the thing over. The boy remembers his incarnations. "
"Does he know that?
" said Grish Chunder, quietly, swinging his legs as
he sat on my table. He was speaking in English now.
"He does not know anything. Would I speak to you if he did? Go on! "
"There is no going on at all. If you tell that to your friends they will
say you are mad and put it in the papers. Suppose, now, you prosecute
for libel. "
"Let's leave that out of the question entirely. Is there any chance of
his being made to speak? "
"There is a chance. Oah, yess! But if he spoke it would mean that all
this world would end now--instanto--fall down on your head. These things
are not allowed, you know. As I said, the door is shut. "
"Not a ghost of a chance?
