Petrified, rooted to the ground as though their quaking limbs were incapable of movement, the Rajah and his satellites stood motionless before the oncoming elephants.  But when the leader almost towered above him, Chunerbutty was galvanised to life again.  In mad panic he raised a pistol in his trembling hand and fired at the great beast.  The next instant the huge tusk caught him.  He was struck to the earth, gored, and lifted high in air.  An appalling shriek burst from his bloodless lips.  He was hurled to the ground with terrific force and trodden under foot.  The Rajah screamed shrilly and turned to flee.  Too late!  The earth shook as the great phalanx moved on faster and passed without checking over the white-clad group, blotting them out of all semblance to humanity.

The dying yell of the renegade Hindu, arresting in its note of agony, caused the fleeing crowds to pause and turn to look.  And as they witnessed the annihilation of their leaders they saw a yet more wondrous sight.  For the dark array of monsters halted as the leader reached the house; and with the sea of twisted trunks upraised to salute him and a terrifying peal of trumpeting, they welcomed the white man who walked out from the shot-torn building towards the leader of the vast herd.  Then in a solemn hush he was raised high in air and held aloft for all to see, beasts and men.  And in the silence a single voice in the awestruck crowds cried shrilly: 

“Hathi ka Deo ki jai! (Victory to the God of the Elephants!)”

In wonder, in dread, in superstitious reverence, hundreds of voices took up the refrain:  "Hathi ka Deo!  Hathi ka Deo ki jai!"

And leaving his thousand companions behind, the sacred elephant that all recognised now advanced towards the shrinking crowds, bearing the dread white god upon its neck.  Had he not come invisibly among them again?  Had they not witnessed the fate of those that opposed him?  Had he not summoned from all Hindustan his man-devouring monsters to punish, to annihilate his enemies.  Forgetful of their hate, their bloodthirst, their lust of battle, conscious only of their guilt, the terror-stricken crowds surged forward and flung themselves down in supplication on the earth.  They wept, they wailed, they bared their heads and poured dust upon them, in all the extravagant demonstration of Oriental sorrow.  Out from the village streamed the women and children to add their shrill cries to the lamentations.

With uplifted hand, Dermot silenced them.  An awful hush succeeded the tumult.  He swept his eyes slowly over them all, and every head went down to the dust again.  Then he spoke, solemnly, clearly; and his voice reached everyone in the prostrate mob.

“My wrath is upon you and upon your children.  Flee where you will, it shall overtake you.  You have sinned and must atone.  On those most guilty punishment has already fallen.  Where are they that misled you?  Go look for them under the feet of my elephants.  Yet from you, ye poor deluded fools, for the moment I withhold my hand.  But touch a single hair of those in your midst whom I protect, and you perish.”