By the way, when a man once acquires
a taste for this particular amusement, it abides with him all his days.
a taste for this particular amusement, it abides with him all his days.
Kipling - Poems
Now, in the whole of Upper India,
there is only ONE man who can pass for Hindu or Mohammedan, chamar or
faquir, as he pleases. He is feared and respected by the natives from
the Ghor Kathri to the Jamma Musjid; and he is supposed to have the gift
of invisibility and executive control over many Devils. But what good
has this done him with the Government? None in the world. He has never
got Simla for his charge; and his name is almost unknown to Englishmen.
Strickland was foolish enough to take that man for his model; and,
following out his absurd theory, dabbled in unsavory places no
respectable man would think of exploring--all among the native
riff-raff. He educated himself in this peculiar way for seven years, and
people could not appreciate it. He was perpetually "going Fantee" among
the natives, which, of course, no man with any sense believes in. He was
initiated into the Sat Bhai at Allahabad once, when he was on leave; he
knew the Lizard-Song of the Sansis, and the Halli-Hukk dance, which is
a religious can-can of a startling kind. When a man knows who dances the
Halli-Hukk, and how, and when, and where, he knows something to be proud
of. He has gone deeper than the skin. But Strickland was not proud,
though he had helped once, at Jagadhri, at the Painting of the Death
Bull, which no Englishman must even look upon; had mastered the
thieves'-patter of the changars; had taken a Eusufzai horse-thief alone
near Attock; and had stood under the mimbar-board of a Border mosque and
conducted service in the manner of a Sunni Mollah.
His crowning achievement was spending eleven days as a faquir in the
gardens of Baba Atal at Amritsar, and there picking up the threads of
the great Nasiban Murder Case. But people said, justly enough: "Why on
earth can't Strickland sit in his office and write up his diary, and
recruit, and keep quiet, instead of showing up the incapacity of his
seniors? " So the Nasiban Murder Case did him no good departmentally;
but, after his first feeling of wrath, he returned to his outlandish
custom of prying into native life.
By the way, when a man once acquires
a taste for this particular amusement, it abides with him all his days.
It is the most fascinating thing in the world; Love not excepted. Where
other men took ten days to the Hills, Strickland took leave for what
he called shikar, put on the disguise that appealed to him at the time,
stepped down into the brown crowd, and was swallowed up for a while. He
was a quiet, dark young fellow--spare, black-eyes--and, when he was not
thinking of something else, a very interesting companion. Strickland
on Native Progress as he had seen it was worth hearing. Natives hated
Strickland; but they were afraid of him. He knew too much.
When the Youghals came into the station, Strickland--very gravely, as he
did everything--fell in love with Miss Youghal; and she, after a
while, fell in love with him because she could not understand him. Then
Strickland told the parents; but Mrs. Youghal said she was not going to
throw her daughter into the worst paid Department in the Empire, and old
Youghal said, in so many words, that he mistrusted Strickland's ways
and works, and would thank him not to speak or write to his daughter
any more. "Very well," said Strickland, for he did not wish to make
his lady-love's life a burden. After one long talk with Miss Youghal he
dropped the business entirely.
The Youghals went up to Simla in April.
In July, Strickland secured three months' leave on "urgent private
affairs. " He locked up his house--though not a native in the Providence
would wittingly have touched "Estreekin Sahib's" gear for the world--and
went down to see a friend of his, an old dyer, at Tarn Taran.
Here all trace of him was lost, until a sais met me on the Simla Mall
with this extraordinary note:
"Dear old man,
"Please give bearer a box of cheroots--Supers, No.
there is only ONE man who can pass for Hindu or Mohammedan, chamar or
faquir, as he pleases. He is feared and respected by the natives from
the Ghor Kathri to the Jamma Musjid; and he is supposed to have the gift
of invisibility and executive control over many Devils. But what good
has this done him with the Government? None in the world. He has never
got Simla for his charge; and his name is almost unknown to Englishmen.
Strickland was foolish enough to take that man for his model; and,
following out his absurd theory, dabbled in unsavory places no
respectable man would think of exploring--all among the native
riff-raff. He educated himself in this peculiar way for seven years, and
people could not appreciate it. He was perpetually "going Fantee" among
the natives, which, of course, no man with any sense believes in. He was
initiated into the Sat Bhai at Allahabad once, when he was on leave; he
knew the Lizard-Song of the Sansis, and the Halli-Hukk dance, which is
a religious can-can of a startling kind. When a man knows who dances the
Halli-Hukk, and how, and when, and where, he knows something to be proud
of. He has gone deeper than the skin. But Strickland was not proud,
though he had helped once, at Jagadhri, at the Painting of the Death
Bull, which no Englishman must even look upon; had mastered the
thieves'-patter of the changars; had taken a Eusufzai horse-thief alone
near Attock; and had stood under the mimbar-board of a Border mosque and
conducted service in the manner of a Sunni Mollah.
His crowning achievement was spending eleven days as a faquir in the
gardens of Baba Atal at Amritsar, and there picking up the threads of
the great Nasiban Murder Case. But people said, justly enough: "Why on
earth can't Strickland sit in his office and write up his diary, and
recruit, and keep quiet, instead of showing up the incapacity of his
seniors? " So the Nasiban Murder Case did him no good departmentally;
but, after his first feeling of wrath, he returned to his outlandish
custom of prying into native life.
By the way, when a man once acquires
a taste for this particular amusement, it abides with him all his days.
It is the most fascinating thing in the world; Love not excepted. Where
other men took ten days to the Hills, Strickland took leave for what
he called shikar, put on the disguise that appealed to him at the time,
stepped down into the brown crowd, and was swallowed up for a while. He
was a quiet, dark young fellow--spare, black-eyes--and, when he was not
thinking of something else, a very interesting companion. Strickland
on Native Progress as he had seen it was worth hearing. Natives hated
Strickland; but they were afraid of him. He knew too much.
When the Youghals came into the station, Strickland--very gravely, as he
did everything--fell in love with Miss Youghal; and she, after a
while, fell in love with him because she could not understand him. Then
Strickland told the parents; but Mrs. Youghal said she was not going to
throw her daughter into the worst paid Department in the Empire, and old
Youghal said, in so many words, that he mistrusted Strickland's ways
and works, and would thank him not to speak or write to his daughter
any more. "Very well," said Strickland, for he did not wish to make
his lady-love's life a burden. After one long talk with Miss Youghal he
dropped the business entirely.
The Youghals went up to Simla in April.
In July, Strickland secured three months' leave on "urgent private
affairs. " He locked up his house--though not a native in the Providence
would wittingly have touched "Estreekin Sahib's" gear for the world--and
went down to see a friend of his, an old dyer, at Tarn Taran.
Here all trace of him was lost, until a sais met me on the Simla Mall
with this extraordinary note:
"Dear old man,
"Please give bearer a box of cheroots--Supers, No.
