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The Cow-house Jirga HOW does a King feel when he has kept peace in his borders, by skilfully playing off people against people, sect against sect, and kin against kin? Does he go out into the back verandah, take off his terai-crown, and rub his hands softly, chuckling the while — as I do now?— Does he pat himself on the back and hum merry little tunes as he walks up and down his garden? A man who takes no delight in ruling men — dozens of them — is no man. Behold! India has been squabbling over, the Great Cow Question any time these four hundred years, to the certain knowledge of history and successive governments. I, Smith, have settled it. That is all! The trouble began, in the ancient and well-established fashion, with a love-affair across the Border, that is to say, in the next compound. Peroo, the cow-boy, went a-courting, and the innocent had not sense enough to keep to his own creed. He must needs make love to Baktawri, Corkler’s coachwan’s (coachman) little girl, and she being . . .
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