He felt exhaustion come over him. Yes; he concluded as he now found himself spread between the dozens of shikara that bobbed up and down; as he was pulled through their shallow hulls and thin-walled shanties. Yes, he felt the consumption of energy that burden consumes...the heat of work and worry and exertion. He felt it radiate from a fisherman’s body, a man bent old and frail over the water. Hanief shared the worry as the man pulled at his tangled line.
Hanief could read the minds of hundreds, and all at once like a porous library. Why does his guide not stop? Why can’t this flow of thoughts be parsed and considered? Hanief would like to answer this child’s question addressed to her aggravated mother. He would like to soothe the Maths instructor’s worry. He would like to re-count the money laid in the hand of this young blind man.
Yet, his guide pulled him around corners, inside walls with no windows. No, Hanief answered; the sweets shop does carry baqerkhani; but it is long past breakfast, my dear. His guide pulled him across busy streets, through people and even through stray dogs. No worries, good teacher; you share the language of God to mortals who will comprehend all when they become the Heavens. The guide took him up mutton-greased chimneys and through doors brick-stopped or bolted. Yes, dear man. Hanief answered. The Farsan shopkeeper laid ten extra Rupees and wished you a blessing.