This is the ballad of Ahmed Shah Dealer in tats in the Sudder Bazar, By the gate that leads to the Gold Minar How he was done by a youth from Morar. Ahmed Shah was a man of peace— His beard and turban were thick with grease: His paunch was huge and his speech was slow And he swindled the subalterns high and low, Scores of subalterns came to try The tats that he sold—and remained to buy, Scores of subalterns later on Found that their flashiest mounts were 'gone'— Some in the front and some behind Some were roarers and some went blind— Scores of subalterns over their 'weeds' Cursed old Ahmed and all his deeds. But Ahmed Shah in his gully sat still— And ever he fashioned a Little Black Pill! Yet a judgement was brewing for Ahmed Shah, Like a witches cauldron, in far Morar And the youth that brewed it has eyes of blue And his cheek was beardless and boundless too. Softly he mused o'er a trichi thick:— 'By the Beard of the Prophet I've got the trick!' Then he rose from his chair with an artless grin And called the Battery Sergeant in— 'Sergeant' he said 'Hast aught for me In the way of a "caster" with lots of gee ?' The sergeant pondered and answered slow 'There's a red-roan gelding that's bound to go At the next Committee. 'E ain't no use Excep' for kickin' recruits to the deuce, 'E's chained in the sick lines.' The subaltern's brow Was puckered with thought for a moment. Then The sergeant was richer by rupees ten. 'When the next Committee sits' quoth he 'O Sergeant buy up that brute for me.' So the plot was laid and the long weeks passed And the red-roan gelding was duly cast. They led him in chains to the subaltern's stall And gave him his gram' through a hole in the wall. The subaltern mixed it. When morning came The red-roan gelding was strangely tame. He bit not nor kicked nor essayed to slay And he and the sub went north that day Till they came to the gully of Ahmed Shah The man and the horse from far Morar. The subaltern stated his funds were low And he came—mehrbani—to 'sell karo'. Then Ahmed Shah with his eyes agog Broke the Tenth Command in the decalogue, For the roan was a monster in size and thews And stood over sixteen hand in his shoes. 'Sahib kitna mangta?' With brow serene The subaltern softly answered 'Teen'. He haggled an hour, that dealer thrifty Till the price was lowered to do sow fifty And the money was paid in greasy rupees While the red-roan gelding drowsed at his ease. The subaltern left him—and Ahmed smiled— 'By Allah, how mad is this pink-faced child I will stuff that ghorah with attah and goor And sell him again to some English soor For a clear eight-fifty!" ... and e'en as he spoke The devil they'd drugged in the red-roan woke ! Then the head-ropes snapped and the heel-ropes drew And the stallions squealed as the roan went through And the syces ran as men run for life And the yard was troubled with equine strife Till the berserk-rage of the beast was o'er And he dropped to slumber at Ahmed's door! Then a veil was lifted from Ahmed's eyes And he raised the eyelids and punched the thighs Felt the tense pulse slacken—the muscles still— And fathomed the Trick of the Opium Pill! His own old dodge that had brought him pelf Had the subaltern turned against himself! Did he swear, though his three best tats were lame And half of the city would hear of his shame ? Did he seek the law courts? With downcast eye He hailed an ekka that jingled by, And drove to the station, where filled with peace The subaltern counted the greasy rupees. What passed between them? I cannot say, The subaltern turns the question away With an innocent laugh: but the men of Morar Say he still gets ponies from Ahmed Shah. Ponies to bet on—but not to buy— Weeds to look at but devils to fly And once in a while comes a tiny pill-box. Which the subaltern puts in his private till-box, The Doctor abets him...Whenever I'm able I plunge to my last clean shirt on their stable!