“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.  Bhairon am I—­Bhairon of the Common People, and the chiefest of the Heavenly Ones to-day.  Also my staff says—­”

“Peace, thou,” lowed the Bull.  “The worship of the schools is mine, and they talk very wisely, asking whether I be one or many, as is the delight of my people, and ye know what I am.  Kali, my wife, thou knowest also.”

“Yea, I know,” said the Tigress, with lowered head.

“Greater am I than Gunga also.  For ye know who moved the minds of men that they should count Gunga holy among the rivers.  Who die in that water—­ye know how men say—­come to us without punishment, and Gunga knows that the fire-carriage has borne to her scores upon scores of such anxious ones; and Kali knows that she has held her chiefest festivals among the pilgrimages that are fed by the fire-carriage.  Who smote at Pooree, under the Image there, her thousands in a day and a night, and bound the sickness to the wheels of the fire-carriages, so that it ran from one end of the land to the other?  Who but Kali?  Before the fire-carriage came it was a heavy toil.  The fire-carriages have served thee well, Mother of Death.  But I speak for mine own altars, who am not Bhairon of the Common Folk, but Shiv.  Men go to and fro, making words and telling talk of strange Gods, and I listen.  Faith follows faith among my people in the schools, and I have no anger; for when all words are said, and the new talk is ended, to Shiv men return at the last.”

“True.  It is true,” murmured Hanuman.  “To Shiv and to the others, mother, they return.  I creep from temple to temple in the North, where they worship one God and His Prophet; and presently my image is alone within their shrines.”

“Small thanks,” said the Buck, turning his head slowly.  “I am that One and His Prophet also.”