... So Hazael went to meet him, and took a present
with him"). Colonel Erskine was a great stickler for these
presents, and as they could be picked off the nearest rhododendron
bush, they cost the donor nothing.
The outpouring of grievences and complaints then began, each
applicant always ending with the two-thousand-year-old cry of
India, "Dohai, Huzoor!" ("Justice, my lord!") The old Commissioner
meanwhile listened intently, dictating copious notes to his
Brahmin clerk, and at the conclusion of the audience he would cry,
"Go, my children. Justice shall be done to all of you," and we
moved on to another village. It was very pleasant seeing the
patriarchal relations between the Commissioner and the villagers.
He understood them and their customs thoroughly; they trusted him
and loved him as their official father. I fancy that this type of
Indian Civil servant, knowing the people he has to deal with down
to the very marrow of their bones, has become rarer of late years.
The Brahmin clerk was a very intelligent man, and spoke English
admirably, but I took a great dislike to him, noting the abject
way in which the natives fawned on him.
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