"
"Not so, Babu," said the warder gruffly. "Tell thy tale. Barik Allah, you
nine are the last of my round. I will myself wait and hear, for thou hast
a ready tongue, and the learning of a pundit {learned man, teacher},
Babu, and thy stories, after the day's work, are they not as honey poured
on rice?"
"You honor me beyond my deserts. If you will deign to be seated!"
The warder marched to the vacant spot at the Babu's side, and squatted
down, crossing his legs, his heavy bunch of keys lying on the skirt of
his dhoti. The armed Marathas stood at a little distance, leaning on
their matchlocks, within hearing of the Babu, and at spots where they
could see anyone approaching from either end of the yard. It would not do
for the warder to be found thus by the officer of the watch.
"It happened during the reign of the illustrious King Bhoya," began the
Babu; then he caught his breath, looking strangely nervous.
"It is the heat, good jailer," he said hurriedly; "--of the illustrious
King Bhoya, I said, that a poor ryot {peasant} named Yajnadatta, digging
one day in his field, found there buried the divine throne of the
incomparable King Vikramaditya. When his eyes were somewhat recovered
from the dazzling vision, and he could gaze unblinking at the wondrous
throne, he beheld that it was resplendent with thirty-two graven images,
and adorned with a multitude of jewels: rubies and diamonds, pearls and
jasper, crystal and coral and sapphires.
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