“No, she certainly isn’t a beauty,” said the Brahmin with a contemptuous laugh.  “Yet these superstitious fools believe in her, ignorant people that they are.”

He indicated the female worshippers, who had been staring with malevolent curiosity at the English ladies, the first that most of them had ever seen.  So these were the mem-logue, they whispered to each other, these shameless white women who went about openly with men and met all the world brazenly with unveiled countenances.  And the whisperers modestly drew their saris before their own faces.

“She is the goddess Kali or Durga, the wife of Shiva, one of the Hindu Trinity.  She is supposed to be the patron of smallpox and lots of other unpleasant things, so no wonder she is ugly,” continued Chunerbutty.

“Oh, you have goddesses then in the Hindu religion,” observed Ida carelessly.

“Yes, Mrs. Smith; but these are the sort we have in India,” he answered with an unpleasant leer.  “The English people are more fortunate, for they have you ladies.”

The remark was one that would have gained him smiles and approbation from his female acquaintances in the Bayswater boarding-house, but Ida glared haughtily at him and most of the men longed to kick him.

Dreading a cutting and sarcastic speech from her friend, Noreen hurriedly interposed.

“Isn’t the Puja festival in her honour, Mr. Chunerbutty?”

“Yes, Miss Daleham, it is.  It is another of these silly superstitions of the Hindus that make one really ashamed of being an Indian.  The festival is meant to commemorate the old lady’s victory over a buffalo-headed demon.  Hence the weird-looking beast under her left leg.”

“And do these people really believe in that sort of rot?” asked Mrs. Rice.

“Oh, yes, lots of the ignorant, uneducated lower class do,” replied the atheistical Brahmin.  “Durga is the favourite deity.  Her husband and Krishna and old Brahma are back numbers.  The fact is that the common people are afraid of Kali.  They think she can do them such a lot of harm.”

“What does the festival consist of, old chap?” asked Daleham.  “What do the Hindus do?”

“Well, the image is worshipped for nine days and then chucked into the water,” replied the engineer.  “Tomorrow, the fourth day, is the one on which the sacrifices are made—­sheep, buck goats, and buffaloes are used.  Their heads are cut off before this idol and their heads and blood are offered to it.  Tomorrow you’ll see the Rajah kill the bull that is to be the sacrifice.  At least, he’ll start the killing of it.  Now, we’ll go along back to the Palace.”