The older Provinces simply bristle with haunted houses,
and march phantom armies along their main thoroughfares.
Some of the dak-bungalows on the Grand Trunk Road have handy little cemeteries
in their compound--witnesses to the "changes and chances of this mortal life"
in the days when men drove from Calcutta to the Northwest. These bungalows are
objectionable places to put up in. They are generally very old, always dirty,
while the khansamah is as ancient as the bungalow. He either chatters
senilely, or falls into the long trances of age. In both moods he is useless.
If you get angry with him, he refers to some Sahib dead and buried these
thirty years, and says that when he was in that Sahib's service not a
khansamah in the Province could touch him. Then he jabbers and mows and
trembles and fidgets among the dishes, and you repent of your irritation.
In these dak-bungalows, ghosts are most likely to be found, and when found,
they should be made a note of. Not long ago it was my business to live in dak-
bungalows. I never inhabited the same house for three nights running, and grew
to be learned in the breed. I lived in Government-built ones with red brick
walls and rail ceilings, an inventory of the furniture posted in every room,
and an excited snake at the threshold to give welcome.
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