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| HURREE CHUNDER MOOKERJEE, pride of Bow Bazaar, | |
| Owner of a native press, “Barrishter-at-Lar,” | |
| Waited on the Government with a claim to wear | |
| Sabres by the bucketful, rifles by the pair. | |
| |
| Then the Indian Government winked a wicked wink, | 5 |
| Said to Chunder Mookerjee: “Stick to pen and ink. | |
| They are safer implements, but, if you insist, | |
| We will let you carry arms wheresoe’er you list.” | |
| |
| Hurree Chunder Mookerjee sought the gunsmith and | |
| Bought the tubes of Lancaster, Ballard, Dean, and Bland, | 10 |
| Bought a shiny bowie-knife, bought a town-made sword, | |
| Jingled like a carriage-horse when he went abroad. | |
| |
| But the Indian Government, always keen to please, | |
| Also gave permission to horrid men like these— | |
| Yar Mahommed Yusufzai, down to kill or steal, | 15 |
| Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer, Tantia the Bhil; | |
| |
| Killar Khan the Marri chief, Jowar Singh the Sikh, | |
| Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat, Abdul Huq Rafiq— | |
| He was a Wahabi; last, little Boh Hla-oo | |
| Took advantage of the Act—took a Snider too. | 20 |
| |
| They were unenlightened men, Ballard knew them not. | |
| They procured their swords and guns chiefly on the spot; | |
| And the lore of centuries, plus a hundred fights, | |
| Made them slow to disregard one another’s rights. | |
| |
| With a unanimity dear to patriot hearts | 25 |
| All those hairy gentlemen out of foreign parts | |
| Said: “The good old days are back—let us go to war!” | |
| Swaggered down the Grand Trunk Road into Bow Bazaar. | |
| |
| Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat found a hide-bound flail; | |
| Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer oiled his Tonk jezail; | 30 |
| Yar Mahommed Yusufzai spat and grinned with glee | |
| As he ground the butcher-knife of the Khyberee. | |
| |
| Jowar Singh the Sikh procured sabre, quoit, and mace, | |
| Abdul Huq, Wahabi, jerked his dagger from its place, | |
| While amid the jungle-grass danced and grinned and jabbered | 35 |
| Little Boh Hla-oo and cleared his dah-blade from the scabbard. | |
| |
| What became of Mookerjee? Soothly, who can say? | |
| Yar Mahommed only grins in a nasty way, | |
| Jowar Singh is reticent, Chimbu Singh is mute, | |
| But the belts of all of them simply bulge with loot. | 40 |
| |
| What became of Ballard’s guns? Afghans black and grubby | |
| Sell them for their silver weight to the men of Pubbi; | |
| And the shiny bowie-knife and the town-made sword are | |
| Hanging in a Marri camp just across the Border. | |
| |
| What became of Mookerjee? Ask Mahommed Yar | 45 |
| Prodding Siva’s sacred bull down the Bow Bazaar. | |
| Speak to placid Nubbee Baksh—question land and sea— | |
| Ask the Indian Congressmen—only don’t ask me! | |
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