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Shri Nathji isn’t looking too well. The rosy colour from his cheeks seems to have gone. All of a sudden, he cuts short his daily walk in the big room and sits down, tired. “Priyaji, aapkaa thheek raihnaa bahut zaroori hai! Aap hee to mujhe samhaal rahe hain! Aap naa hote to inn devotees ne to mujhe kissee “Priyaji, it is very necessary for you to remain well. You alone are looking after me. If it had not been for you these devotees would have left me in some charitable hospital. If you had not kept me in this house they would have let me sit on the street outside!”Shri Nathji is in his orange turban and his green khadi achkan, still not looking well.Ye aab joo hai meri, gulshan men jaa rahee haiThis little stream of mine is going to the gardenShri Nathji reads Priya Nath’s typewritten translation of the speech meant for the Zambian High Commissioner, and says the translation is marvellous:“Piyaji, kyaa kamaal kaaFor all the words of vexation that Priya Nath may have for Shri Nathji, Shri Nathji has only praise and love for him.