Truly, Mother Gunga is always young!" said Ganesh the Elephant. "A
child had not spoken more foolishly. Let the dirt dig in the dirt ere it
return to the dirt. I know only that my people grow rich and praise
me. Shiv has said that the men of the schools do not forget; Bhairon is
content for his crowd of the Common People; and Hanuman laughs."
"Surely I laugh," said the Ape. "My altars are few beside those of
Ganesh or Bhairon, but the fire-carriages bring me new worshippers from
beyond the Black Water--the men who believe that their God is toil. I
run before them beckoning, and they follow Hanuman."
"Give them the toil that they desire, then," said the River. "Make a bar
across my flood and throw the water back upon the bridge. Once thou wast
strong in Lanka, Hanuman. Stoop and lift my bed."
"Who gives life can take life." The Ape scratched in the mud with a long
forefinger. "And yet, who would profit by the killing? Very many would
die."
There came up from the water a snatch of a love-song such as the boys
sing when they watch their cattle in the noon heats of late spring. The
Parrot screamed joyously, sidling along his branch with lowered head as
the song grew louder, and in a patch of clear moonlight stood revealed
the young herd, the darling of the Gopis, the idol of dreaming maids
and of mothers ere their children are born Krishna the Well-beloved.
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