India 2001 books

The coachman was as old and as
shabby as his carriage, and every five miles or so was forced to descend
and tie up yet another mishap with wire--ordinary folks' carriages are
only repaired with string.
The Sirdar occupied almost the whole of the back seat, and Jo was
squeezed into the crack which was left. Jan was perched on a sort of
ledge, facing them. The carriage was narrow, six legs were two too many
for the space. Jan's were the superfluous ones. He tried this pose, he
tried that, but in spite of his contortions he endured much of the seven
hours' journey in acute discomfort and the latter part in torture.
In spite of his throat the Sirdar did nearly all the talking. The
country we were passing through were scenes of his battles: with one arm
he threw a company over this hill, with a hand, nearly hitting Jan in
the eye, he marched an army corps along that valley; he explained how he
had been forced to give up the Ministry of War because there was no
other efficient commander for the north.


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