Ay, this is the Road of Hindustan.

All men come by this way...' 'Son of a swine, is the soft part of the road meant for thee to scratch thy back upon?
Father of all the daughters of shame and husband of ten thousand virtueless ones, thy mother was devoted to a devil, being led thereto by her mother.

Thy aunts have never had a nose for seven generations! Thy sister--What Owl's folly told thee to draw thy carts across the road?
A broken wheel?
Then take a broken head and put the two together at leisure!' The voice and a venomous whip-cracking came out of a pillar of dust fifty yards away, where a cart had broken down.

A thin, high Kathiawar mare, with eyes and nostrils aflame, rocketed out of the jam, snorting and wincing as her rider bent her across the road in chase of a shouting man.

He was tall and grey-bearded, sitting the almost mad beast as a piece of her, and scientifically lashing his victim between plunges.
The old man's face lit with pride.