And the living buffalo walked on, without a master, drawing its load of death to the place where it knew it had to go. I walked along with that poor animal for a while, staring at the dead, stripped faces of the buffaloes. And then the strangest thing happened, Your Excellency—I swear the buffalo that was pulling the cart turned its face to me, and said in a voice not unlike my father’s: “Your brother Kishan was beaten to death. Happy?”
