“Where is thy home?”

“Sahib, it is at Pirgaon.”

“I know it—­is not Turkaran Patal the head-man?”

The dark face gleams with pleasure.  “Even so, sahib.”

“Shall I write to thy people?”

“The sahib is very kind.”

“So will I do, and, perhaps, prepare thy people for thy homecoming.  I will tell them that thou hast lost thy feet with the frostbite, but art otherwise well.”

“Nay, sahib, tell them everything but that, for if my people hear that they will neither eat nor drink—­nay, nor sleep, for sorrow.”

“Then will I not.  But I will tell them that thou art a brave man.”

The Mahratta smiles mournfully.

“And have you heard from your folk at home?” I ask of the others, leaving Smith and the Mahratta together.

“Yea, sahib, the exalted Government is very good to us.  We get letters often.”  It is a sepoy in the 107th who speaks.  “My brother writes even thus,” and he reads with tears in his eyes:  “’We miss you terribly, but such is the will of God.  I have been daily to Haji Baba Ziarat’ (it is a famous shrine in India), ’and day and night I pray for you, and am very distressed.  I am writing to tell you to have no anxiety about us at home, but do your duty cheerfully and say your prayers.  Repeat the beginning with the word “Kor” and breathe forty times on your body.  Your father is well, but is very anxious for you, and weeps day and night.’”

“I also have received a letter.”  The speaker is a Bengali, and, though a surgeon and non-combatant, must have his say.  “My brother writes that I am to enlight the names of my ancestors, who were tiger-like warriors, and were called Bahadurs, by performing my duties to utmost satisfaction.”  This is truly Babu English.

“And you will do the same?”

“Yea, I must do likewise.  My brother writes to me, ’If you want to face this side again, face as Bahadur.’  And he saith, ’Long live King George, and may he rule on the whole world.’  And so say we all, sahib.”

“And you?” This to a Shia Mahomedan whose right hand is bandaged.

“Ah, sahib, my people can write to me, but write to them I cannot.  Will the honourable sahib send a word for me who am thus crippled?”

“Yea, gladly; what shall the words be?”

“Say, then, oh sahib, these words:  ’Your servant is well and happy here.  You should pray the God of Mercy that the victory may be to our King, Jarj Panjam.  And to my lady mother and my lady the sister of my father, and to my brother, and to my dear ones the greetings of peace and prayer.  And the sum of fifty rupees which I arranged for my family’ (his wife) ‘will be paid to you every month.’  The sahib is very kind.”