Free Hindoo Holiday by J.R. Ackerley Page B

a little from this shelter. Then I noticed that the other fire, which was a little further down, seemed unattended, so as quietly as I could, I made a detour and approached it.
    It was clearly a funeral pyre. The charred skull of the corpse, which was towards me, was split open, for it is customary, I believe, to break the skull of the dead when the body is being consumed, so that the soul may have its exit; and curving out of the center of the pile, like wings, were the blackened ribs which, released by the heat, had sprung away from the vertebrae. In all directions I noticed the remains of earlier cremations. As I returned home I passed the other fire and saw that the two Indians had just finished and were disappearing among the bushes; but their place had already been taken by two evil looking vultures with yellow beaks which were picking scraps from among the extinct and smokeless ashes.
    His Highness sent the carriage for me again this evening to bring me to the Palace. He was extremely interested in my meeting with his valet, Sharma, the barber’s son, and put me through such a cross-examination about him that I began to feel rather uncomfortable. I had been quite expecting such questions as to how I had liked him, and what had occurred, and how long he had stayed, but could not understand why he should require such accuracy as to the time of the boy’s arrival and the manner of his dress, or why, when I replied to this last question that Sharma had worn a very becoming long-skirted blue serge coat with velveteen cuffs and collar, he should have said “Ah!” with an appearance of such immense satisfaction.
    I had brought my drawing with me, but he did not look at it. He was untouchable again, and bade me leave it on the table by my chair. Narayan’s name was apparently known to him, and evoked another volley of questions the significance of which I was unable to understand; but, remembering Narayan’s request a few days previously not to repeat something he had said, I answered with cautious vagueness, in case I should unintentionally get either of the two young men into trouble, and, as soon as I could, diverted his attention a little by remarking on Sharma’s timidity.
    â€œYes, he spoke to me,” said His Highness. “He told me he was frightened. He saw you closing the doors and thought you were going to confine him.”
    â€œBut frightened of what?” I asked.
    â€œThat you would beat him.”
    â€œBeat him?” Nothing had been further from my thoughts, and it took me some moments to get hold of this.
    â€œDo you beat him much?” I asked.
    â€œOh yes! I have to. I beat him very much.”
    â€œBut, Maharajah Sahib, didn’t you explain to him that, apart from anything else, your guests were hardly in a position to beat your servants?”
    â€œYes, I did, I did, and he said, of his own accord, that he would come and see you to-morrow.”
    He went on to speak of some friend of his, the wife of an English officer, who had told him that she was convinced, after long experience of India, that no servant could be expected to be faithful to his employers until he had cuts on his back two fingers deep; and, from her, passed on to another English friend of his—this time a man. I do not now remember the connection between the two friends, but cannot refrain from expressing a hope that it was matrimonial.
    â€œHe was a very strange man,” said he. “He used to say to me, ‘Maharajah! do you see those clouds together up there?’ ‘Yes, I see those clouds.’ ‘Do you see my dead wife’s face looking down from them?’ ‘No, I don’t.’ ‘Damn!’”
    â€œThen again, when we were sitting together here, he said to me, ‘Maharajah, do you see this wall over here by me?’ ‘Yes, I see that wall.’ ‘Well, it is talking to me. All the stones are talking. They are telling me