"It is but the shifting of a little dirt. Let the dirt dig in the dirt
if it pleases the dirt," answered the Elephant.
"But afterwards?" said the Tiger. "Afterwards they will see that Mother
Gunga can avenge no insult, and they fall away from her first, and later
from us all, one by one. In the end, Ganesh, we are left with naked
altars."
The drunken Man staggered to his feet, and hiccupped vehemently.
"Kali lies. My sister lies. Also this my stick is the Kotwal of Kashi,
and he keeps tally of my pilgrims. When the time comes to worship
Bhairon-and it is always time--the fire-carriages move one by one, and
each bears a thousand pilgrims. They do not come afoot any more, but
rolling upon wheels, and my honour is increased."
"Gunga, I have seen thy bed at Pryag black with the pilgrims," said the
Ape, leaning forward, "and but for the fire-carriage they would have
come slowly and in fewer numbers. Remember."
"They come to me always," Bhairon went on thickly. "By day and night
they pray to me, all the Common People in the fields and the roads.
Who is like Bhairon to-day? What talk is this of changing faiths? Is my
staff Kotwal of Kashi for nothing? He keeps the tally, and he says that
never were so many altars as today, and the fire-carriage serves them
well.
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