ster, was not fated to be
relieved of his treasure, as my story will tell, even though a skilful
plot had been laid for his spoliation. Which is the very point of my
tale, although I may seem to come to it by a roundabout way of telling."

The Afghan sank back on his cushion, but his gaze remained riveted on
his narrator's face.

"One day I was seated in my home, casting up my books of account, for I
had only that morning completed the taking of taxes from the crops of
the rayats, the tenants of my lord. All of a sudden a white-robed figure
entered the doorway and threw himself prostrate before me. When at last
the face was raised I recognized the dhobi of the village that nestled
under the hill on which was perched the castle of the zemindar.

"'O thou washer of clothes,' I asked, 'what is thy plaint?'

"'Protector of the poor,' replied my visitor, 'behold my bandaged feet,
beaten with rods until they are swollen and torn.'

"I looked, as requested, and saw the blood-stains soaked through the
wrappings of linen.

"'Thou art an honest and a peaceful man, Bhagwan. Why this cruel
punishment?'

"'I know not, indeed. But I have come to thee, because I have endured
the wrong at the hands of thy master.'

"'Tell me thy story.'

"'As you have said, O my protector,' began the dhobi, assuming a sitting
posture and spreading the folds of his loose-flowing cotton garment over
his bandaged feet, 'I am an honest man. And it is for that very reason I
have suffered. Yesterday, among the apparel I received from the home of
the zemindar to be made clean and white was the bodice of a woman, and
tied in one corner of this piece of raiment was a ring set with bright
red stones that gleamed as if they were aflame. Straightway I returned
to the palace of the zemindar, and, entering the audience chamber where,
as is his wont at that particular hour each day, he was seated receiving
the complaints of the oppressed, did my humble obeisance, and then
placed in his hand the jewel I had discovered. He asked me where I had
found it, and when I replied truthfully, his eyes flashed with anger,
and his voice thundered at me in rebuke. Although I had done no wrong,
but rather a virtuous deed, I implored for pardon. But in vain. My mind
grew confused, and the next thing I remember was the sharp cut of bamboo
rods upon the soles of my feet. I was in a small vaulted chamber, bound
to a wooden bench, surrounded by the zemindar's soldiers, and pow