The blanket reached almost to the ground behind and hung down to his lap in front, and Shere Ali noticed that a leathern begging-bowl at his side was well filled with coins.

So he must have sat just in that attitude, with that thick covering stifling him, all through the fiery heat of that long day.

As Shere Ali looked, he saw a poor bent man in rags, with yellow caste marks on his forehead, add a copper pi to the collection in the bowl.

Shere Ali stopped the giver.
"Who is he ?" he asked, pointing to the draped figure.
The old Hindu raised his hand and bowed his forehead into the palm.
"Huzoor, he is a holy man, a stranger who has lately come to Lahore, but the holiest of all the holy men who have ever sat by the Delhi Gate.

His fame is already great." "But why does he sit covered with the blanket ?" asked Shere Ali.
"Huzoor, because of his holiness.