The Story of Sultan Toghrol and the Indian Watchman

I heard that one autumn night Toghrol passed by an Indian watchman on his rounds. Under the falling snow, the rain, the torrents, the poor man was shivering, faint as a distant star. The king's heart welled up with pity for him. He said, 'Here, put on my fur-lined coat.' 'Wait a moment there by the wall, and I'll send it out to you with a servant.' As he said this, the morning breeze began to blow, and the king slipped back into his royal hall. He kept a fair-faced page among his retinue, one his heart leaned toward a little. Watching that lovely Turk delighted him so much that the poor Indian slipped from his memory. The promised coat passed only through the watchman's ears; by his ill luck, it never reached his shoulders. Was the pain of the cold not enough for him, that fate's cruelty piled on the pain of waiting too? Look at what the watchman said at dawn while the sultan slept in heedless comfort: 'Have you, in your good fortune, forgotten me, now that your arm is wrapped in an embrace?' 'Your night passes in pleasure and delight; how would you know what kind of night passes over us?' One caravan buries its head in the cooking pot, while others sink to their knees in the sand. Hold your boat by the shore, master, for the helpless are drowning, the water is over their heads. Wait, you nimble young men, for there are frail old travelers in the caravan. You sleep easy in your litter, the camel's reins in the driver's hand. Plain or mountain, stone or sand, it's all one to you; go ask the stragglers left behind on the road. A mountain of a camel carries you along; how would you know the man on foot is swallowing blood? Those who sleep at peace, their bellies full at camp, what do they know of the one gone half-starved?