The people of Kayamgadh do not speak.
They are afraid that their words might penetrate the layers under which their bodies are hidden. Afraid that some phrase or name might,
through woolen caps and cotton plugs and balled bits of torn rags, enter their buried ears and insert itself into their thoughts,
prompting them to think of Kayamgadh not as they see it but as it is being described to them by the person speaking these words.
It is a fear so deeply entrenched, that people now see the city with unwilling eyes, shaded behind their hands,
lest they be tempted into a sudden burst of verbiage whilst looking upon the wonders of Kayamgadh. a temptation that might resist the doctrine of their self imposed silence.
For Kayamgadh is a wonderful city, where the craftsmen strive hard to put into form all that they cannot give words to,
and where the work of the craftsman is left undisturbed, for it is only looked upon and but never described by the people, who never speak.
C 1804. From the Journal of Charles Henry Connington. As restored and translated by Mir UmamrHassan in 1962, from the original folio compilation by AzizUsta.