Produced by Jake Jaqua
TOLD IN THE EAST
By Talbot Mundy
[[Original Book edition published by Bobbs-Merrill, Indianapolis, 1920.
Source of the following edition is the omnibus “Romances of India” which
was a reprint of three of Talbot Mundy's novels.]]
Romances of India
By Talbot Mundy - King of the Khyber Rifles
- Guns of the Gods
- Told in the East
Contents
Hookum Hai.............1 For The Salt Which He Had Eaten............129
Machassan Ah............235
TOLD IN THE EAST
HOOKUM HAI
I.
A Blood-red sun rested its huge disk upon a low mud wall that crested
a rise to westward, and flattened at the bottom from its own weight
apparently. A dozen dried-out false-acacia-trees shivered as the
faintest puff in all the world of stifling wind moved through them; and
a hundred thousand tiny squirrels kept up their aimless scampering in
search of food that was not there.
A coppersmith was about the only living thing that seemed to care
whether the sun went down or not. He seemed in a hurry to get a job
done, and his reiterated “Bong-bong-bong!”--that had never ceased since
sunrise, and had driven nearly mad the few humans who were there to hear
it--quickened and grew louder. At last Brown came out of a square mud
house, to see about the sunset.
He was nobody but plain Bill Brown--or Sergeant William Brown, to give
him his full name and entitlements--and the price of him was two rupees
per day.
He stared straight at the dull red disk of the sun, and spat with
eloquence. Then he wiped the sweat from his forehead, and scratched a
place where the prickly heat was bothering him. Next, he buttoned up
his tunic, and brushed it down neatly and precisely. There was official
business to be done, and a man did that with due formality, heat or no
heat.
“Guard, turn out!” he ordered.
Twelve men filed out, one behind the other, from the hut that he had
left. They seemed to feel the heat more than Brown did, as they fell in
line before Brown's sword. There was no flag, and no flag-pole in that
nameless health-resort, so the sword, without its scabbard, was doing
duty, point downward in the ground, as a totem-pole of Empire. Brown had
stuck it there, like Boanerges' boots, and there it stayed from sunrise
until sunset, to be displaced by whoever dared to do it, at his peril.
They had no clock. They had nothing, except the uniforms and arms of
the Honorable East India Company, as issued in this year of Our
Lord, 1857--a cooking-pot or two, a kettle, a little money and a
butcher-knife. Their supper bleated miserably some twenty yards away,
tied to a tree, and a lean. Punjabi squatted near it in readiness to buy
the skin. It was a big goat, but it was mangy, so he held only two annas
in his hand. The other anna (in case that Brown should prove adamant)
was twisted in the folds of his pugree, but he was prepared to perjure
himself a dozen times, and take the names of all his female ancestors in
vain, before he produced it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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