Historical fiction; India -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Thugs (Indic criminal group) -- Fiction
"Harm! surely not to such a wretch as thou," said my father; "but since
thou art inclined to listen to reason, sit down, and hear what we have
to say to thee."
"I can be secret," cried the dullal; "let my lord speak."
"It will fare badly with thee if thou art not," said my father, again
looking grimly at him: "but listen. I am a merchant; I have never
been at this city before; but hearing at Delhi that an investment of
valuable goods, such as we saw yesterday, was likely to sell well here,
I have brought one down with me. I knew not the selling prices here,
and therefore engaged thee to show me some goods, that I might be able
to regulate the sale of my own. Now, canst thou manage it for me?"
"Surely, surely," said the fellow in delight, "nothing is more easy. My
lord will not, of course, forget my perquisites on the sale?"
"Thou shalt have five rupees in every hundred's worth disposed of,"
said my father: "will this content thee?"
"It is a princely offer, and worthy of my lord's generosity," said the
dullal. "Might I be permitted to see the goods?"
"It is necessary that you should see them, and here they are," rejoined
my father; and he opened the door of the room where they were, and one
by one displayed the contents of the bales.
"This is indeed a rich stock," said the dullal; "you may be able to
sell most of the cloths, but I question whether the whole, without you
intend to remain here some time."
"That depends upon circumstances over which I have no control," said my
father; "if I cannot sell them all here, I shall take what remains to
Poona."
"Well," said the man, "if I am permitted, I will make memorandums of
all that there is here, and in the course of to-morrow will let you
know what can be done. I cannot do so earlier, for I shall have to
visit all the dealers."
"Do what you think best," said my father, "and here are ten rupees
for your expenses. Now begone, and let me see you again at this time
to-morrow." The fellow made many salams and took his leave.
"Did you ever see so pitiful a wretch?" said my father. "For two
cowrees I would have strangled him on the spot, to put an end to so
disgraceful a coward."
"Let him pass," said I; "he is but a Hindoo, and not worth thinking
of. But you are not going to let him off with all the money you have
promised him?"
"Of course not," replied my father; "you understand, I suppose, what is
to be done?"
"Perfectly," said I; "leave him to me."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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