Findlayson smiled at the "we."
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We have bitted and bridled her. She is not like the sea, that canbeat against a soft beach. She is Mother Gunga--in irons." His voicefell a little. "Peroo, thou hast been up and down the world more even than I. Speaktrue talk, now. How much dost thou in thy heart believe of MotherGunga?" "All that our priest says. London is London, Sahib. Sydney is Sydney,and Port Darwin is Port Darwin. Also Mother Gunga is Mother Gunga, andwhen I come back to her banks I know this and worship. In London I didpoojah to the big temple by the river for the sake of the Godwithin.... Yes, I will not take the cushions in the dinghy." Findlayson mounted his horse and trotted to the shed of a bungalowthat he shared with his assistant. The place had become home to him inthe last three years. He had grilled in the heat, sweated in therains, and shivered with fever under the rude thatch roof; thelime-wash beside the door was covered with rough drawings and formulae,and the sentry-path trodden in the matting of the veranda showed wherehe had walked alone. There is no eight-hour limit to an engineer'swork, and the evening meal with Hitchcock was eaten booted andspurred: over their cigars they listened to the hum of the village asthe gangs came up from the river-bed and the lights began to twinkle. "Peroo has gone up the spurs in your dinghy. He's taken a couple ofnephews with him, and he's lolling in the stern like a commodore,"said Hitchcock. "That's all right. He's got something on his mind. You 'd think thatten years in the British India boats would have knocked most of hisreligion out of him." "So it has," said Hitchcock, chuckling. "I over-heard him the otherday in the middle of a most atheistical talk with that fat old _guru_of theirs. Peroo denied the efficacy of prayer; and wanted the _guru_to go to sea and watch a gale out with him, and see if he could stop amonsoon." "All the same, if you carried off his _guru_ he'd leave us like ashot. He was yarning away to me about praying to the dome of St.Paul's when he was in London." "He told me that the first time he went into the engine-room of asteamer, when he was a boy, he prayed to the low-pressure cylinder." "Not half bad a thing to pray to, either. He's propitiating his ownGods now, and he wants to know what Mother Gunga will think of abridge being run across her. Who's there?" A shadow darkened thedoorway, and a telegram was put into Hitchcock's hand. "She ought to be pretty well used to it by this time. Only a _tar_. Itought to be Ralli's answer about the new rivets.... Great Heavens!"Hitchcock jumped to his feet. "What is it?" said the senior, and took the form. "_That's_ whatMother Gunga thinks, is it," he said, reading. "Keep cool, young 'un.We've got all our work cut out for us. Let's see. Muir wires, half anhour ago: '_Floods on the Ramgunga. Look out._' Well, that givesus--one, two--nine and a half for the flood to reach Melipur Ghaut andseven's sixteen and a half to Latodi--say fifteen hours before itcomes down to us." "Curse that hill-fed sewer of a Ramgunga! Findlayson, this is twomonths before anything could have been expected, and the left bank islittered up with stuff still. Two full months before the time!" "That's why it happens. I've only known Indian rivers for five andtwenty years, and I don't pretend to understand. Here comes another_tar_." Findlayson opened the telegram. "Cockran, this time, from theGanges Canal: '_Heavy rains here. Bad._' He might have saved the lastword. Well, we don't want to know any more. We've got to work thegangs all night and clean up the river-bed. You'll take the east bankand work out to meet me in the middle. Get everything that floatsbelow the bridge: we shall have quite enough river-craft coming downadrift anyhow, without letting the stone-boats ram the piers. Whathave you got on the east bank that needs looking after?" "Pontoon, one big pontoon with the overhead crane on it. T'otheroverhead crane on the mended pontoon, with the cart-road rivets fromTwenty to Twenty-three piers--two construction lines, and aturning-spur. The pile-work must take its chance," said Hitchcock. "All right. Roll up everything you can lay hands on. We'll give thegang fifteen minutes more to eat their grub." Close to the veranda stood a big night-gong, never used except forflood, or fire in the village. Hitchcock had called for a fresh horse,and was off to his side of the bridge when Findlayson took thecloth-bound stick and smote with the rubbing stroke that brings outthe full thunder of the metal. Long before the last rumble ceased every night-gong in the village hadtaken up the warning. To these were added the hoarse screaming ofconches in the little temples; the throbbing of drums and tom-toms;and from the European quarters, where the riveters lived, McCartney'sbugle, a weapon of offence on Sundays and festivals, brayeddesperately, calling to "Stables." Engine after engine toiling homealong the spurs after her day's work whistled in answer till thewhistles were answered from the far bank. Then the big gong thunderedthrice for a sign that it was flood and not fire; conch, drum, andwhistle echoed the call, and the village quivered to the sound of barefeet running upon soft earth. The order in all cases was to stand bythe day's work and wait instructions. The gangs poured by in the dusk;men stopping to knot a loin-cloth or fasten a sandal; gang-foremenshouting to their subordinates as they ran or paused by the tool-issuesheds for bars and mattocks; locomotives creeping down their trackswheel-deep in the crowd, till the brown torrent disappeared into thedusk of the river-bed, raced over the pile-work, swarmed along thelattices, clustered by the cranes, and stood still, each man in hisplace. Then the troubled beating of the gong carried the order to take upeverything and bear it beyond high-water mark, and the flare-lampsbroke out by the hundred between the webs of dull iron as the rivetersbegan a night's work racing against the flood that was to come. Thegirders of the three centre piers--those that stood on the cribs--wereall but in position. They needed just as many rivets as could bedriven into them, for the flood would assuredly wash out the supports,and the ironwork would settle down on the caps of stone if they werenot blocked at the ends. A hundred crowbars strained at the sleepersof the temporary line that fed the unfinished piers. It was heaved upin lengths, loaded into trucks, and backed up the bank beyondflood-level by the groaning locomotives. The tool-sheds on the sandsmelted away before the attack of shouting armies, and with them wentthe stacked ranks of Government stores, iron-bound boxes of rivets,pliers, cutters, duplicate parts of the rivet-machines, spare pumpsand chains. The big crane would be the last to be shifted, for she washoisting all the heavy stuff up to the main structure of the bridge.The concrete blocks on the fleet of stone-boats were dropped overside,where there was any depth of water, to guard the piers, and the emptyboats themselves were poled under the bridge down-stream. It was herethat Peroo's pipe shrilled loudest, for the first stroke of the biggong had brought aback the dinghy at racing speed, and Peroo and hispeople were stripped to the waist, working for the honour and creditwhich are better than life. "I knew she would speak," he cried. "_I_ knew, but the telegraph gaveus good warning. O sons of unthinkable begetting--children ofunspeakable shame--are we here for the look of the thing?" It was twofeet of wire rope frayed at the ends, and it did wonders as Perooleaped from gunnel to gunnel, shouting the language of the sea. Findlayson was more troubled for the stone-boats than anything else.McCartney, with his gangs, was blocking up the ends of the threedoubtful spans, but boats adrift, if the flood chanced to be a highone, might endanger the girders; and there was a very fleet in theshrunken channels. "Get them behind the swell of the guard-tower," he shouted down toPeroo. "It will be dead-water there; get them below the bridge." "_Accha!_ [Very good.] _I_ know. We are mooring them with wire rope,"was the answer. "Hah! Listen to the Chota Sahib. He is working hard." From across the river came an almost continuous whistling oflocomotives, backed by the rumble of stone. Hitchcock at the lastminute was spending a few hundred more trucks of Tarakee stone inreinforcing his spurs and embankments. "The bridge challenges Mother Gunga," said Peroo, with a laugh. "Butwhen _she_ talks I know whose voice will be the loudest." For hours the naked men worked, screaming and shouting under thelights. It was a hot, moonless night; the end of it was darkened byclouds and a sudden squall that made Findlayson very grave. "She moves!" said Peroo, just before the dawn. "Mother Gunga is awake!Hear!" He dipped his hand over the side of a boat and the currentmumbled on it. A little wave hit the side of a pier with a crispslap. "Six hours before her time," said Findlayson, mopping his foreheadsavagely. "Now we can't depend on anything. We'd better clear allhands out of the river-bed." Again the big gong beat, and a second time there was the rushing ofnaked feet on earth and ringing iron; the clatter of tools ceased. Inthe silence, men heard the dry yawn of water crawling over thirstysand. Foreman after foreman shouted to Findlayson, who had posted himself bythe guard-tower, that his section of the river-bed had been cleanedout, and when the last voice dropped Findlayson hurried over thebridge till the iron plating of the permanent way gave place to thetemporary plank-walk over the three centre piers, and there he metHitchcock. "All clear your side?" said Findlayson. The whisper rang in the box oflatticework. "Yes, and the east channel's filling now. We're utterly out of ourreckoning. When is this thing down on us?" "There's no saying. She's filling as fast as she can. Look!"Findlayson pointed to the planks below his feet, where the sand,burned and defiled by months of work, was beginning to whisper andfizz. "What orders?" said Hitchcock. "Call the roll--count stores--sit on your bunkers--and pray for thebridge. That's all I can think of. Good night. Don't risk your lifetrying to fish out anything that may go down-stream." "Oh, I'll be as prudent as you are! 'Night. Heavens, how she'sfilling! Here's the rain in earnest!" Findlayson picked his way backto his bank, sweeping the last of McCartney's riveters before him. Thegangs had spread themselves along the embankments, regardless of thecold rain of the dawn, and there they waited for the flood. Only Perookept his men together behind the swell of the guard-tower, where thestone-boats lay tied fore and aft with hawsers, wire-ropes, andchains. A shrill wail ran along the line, growing to a yell, half fear andhalf wonder: the face of the river whitened from bank to bank betweenthe stone facings, and the far-away spurs went out in spouts of foam.Mother Gunga had come bank-high in haste, and a wall ofchocolate-coloured water was her messenger. There was a shriek abovethe roar of the water, the complaint of the spans coming down on theirblocks as the cribs were whirled out from under their bellies. Thestone-boats groaned and ground each other in the eddy that swung roundthe abutment, and their clumsy masts rose higher and higher againstthe dim sky-line. "Before she was shut between these walls we knew what she would do.Now she is thus cramped God only knows what she will do!" said Peroo,watching the furious turmoil round the guard-tower. "Ohe! Fight, then!Fight hard, for it is thus that a woman wears herself out." But Mother Gunga would not fight as Peroo desired. After the firstdown-stream plunge there came no more walls of water, but the riverlifted herself bodily, as a snake when she drinks in mid-summer,plucking and fingering along the revetments, and banking up behind thepiers till even Findlayson began to recalculate the strength of hiswork. When day came the village gasped. "Only last night," men said, turningto each other, "it was as a town in the river-bed! Look now!" And they looked and wondered afresh at the deep water, the racingwater that licked the throat of the piers. The farther bank was veiledby rain, into which the bridge ran out and vanished; the spursup-stream were marked by no more than eddies and spoutings, anddown-stream the pent river, once freed of her guide-lines, had spreadlike a sea to the horizon. Then hurried by, rolling in the water, deadmen and oxen together, with here and there a patch of thatched roofthat melted when it touched a pier. "Big flood," said Peroo, and Findlayson nodded. It was as big a floodas he had any wish to watch. His bridge would stand what was upon hernow, but not very much more; and if by any of a thousand chances therehappened to be a weakness in the embankments, Mother Gunga would carryhis honour to the sea with the other raffle. Worst of all, there wasnothing to do except to sit still; and Findlayson sat still under hismacintosh till his helmet became pulp on his head, and his boots wereover ankle in mire. He took no count of time, for the river wasmarking the hours, inch by inch and foot by foot, along theembankment, and he listened, numb and hungry, to the straining of thestone-boats, the hollow thunder under the piers, and the hundrednoises that make the full note of a flood. Once a dripping servantbrought him food, but he could not eat; and once he thought that heheard a faint toot from a locomotive across the river, and then hesmiled. The bridge's failure would hurt his assistant not a little,but Hitchcock was a young man with his big work yet to do. For himselfthe crash meant everything--everything that made a hard life worth theliving. They would say, the men of his own profession--he rememberedthe half-pitying things that he himself had said when Lockhart's bigwater-works burst and broke down in brick heaps and sludge, andLockhart's spirit broke in him and he died. He remembered what hehimself had said when the Sumao Bridge went out in the big cyclone bythe sea; and most he remembered poor Hartopp's face three weekslater, when the shame had marked it. His bridge was twice the size ofHartopp's, and it carried the Findlayson truss as well as the newpier-shoe--the Findlayson bolted shoe. There were no excuses in hisservice. Government might listen, perhaps, but his own kind wouldjudge him by his bridge, as that stood or fell. He went over it in hishead, plate by plate, span by span, brick by brick, pier by pier,remembering, comparing, estimating, and recalculating, lest thereshould be any mistake; and through the long hours and through thenights of formulae that danced and wheeled before him, a cold fearwould come to pinch his heart. His side of the sum was beyondquestion; but what man knew Mother Gunga's arithmetic? Even as he wasmaking all sure by the multiplication-table, the river might bescooping pot-holes to the very bottom of any one of those eighty-footpiers that carried his reputation. Again a servant came to him withfood, but his mouth was dry, and he could only drink and return to thedecimals in his brain. And the river was still rising. Peroo, in a matshelter-coat, crouched at his feet, watching now his face and now theface of the river, but saying nothing. At last the lascar rose and floundered through the mud toward thevillage, but he was careful to leave an ally to watch the boats. Presently he returned, most irreverently driving before him thepriest of his creed--a fat old man with a gray beard that whipped thewind with the wet cloth that blew over his shoulder. Never was seen solamentable a _guru_. "What good are offerings and little kerosene lamps and dry grain,"shouted Peroo, "if squatting in the mud is all that thou canst do?Thou hast dealt long with the Gods when they were contented andwell-wishing. Now they are angry. Speak to them!" "What is a man against the wrath of Gods?" whined the priest, coweringas the wind took him. "Let me go to the temple, and I will praythere." "Son of a pig, pray _here_! Is there no return for salt fish and currypowder and dried onions? Call aloud! Tell Mother Gunga we have hadenough. Bid her be still for the night. I cannot pray, but I haveserved in the Kumpani's boats, and when men did not obey my ordersI----" A flourish of the wire-rope colt rounded the sentence, and thepriest, breaking from his disciple, fled to the village. "Fat pig!" said Peroo. "After all that we have done for him! When theflood is down I will see to it that we get a new _guru_. FinlinsonSahib, it darkens for night now, and since yesterday nothing has beeneaten. Be wise, Sahib. No man can endure watching and great thinkingon an empty belly. Lie down, Sahib. The river will do what the riverwill do." "The bridge is mine; I cannot leave it." "Wilt thou hold it up with thy hands, then?" said Peroo, laughing. "Iwas troubled for my boats and sheers _before_ the flood came. Now weare in the hands of the Gods. The Sahib will not eat and lie down?Take these, then. They are meat and good toddy together, and they killall weariness, besides the fever that follows the rain. I have eatennothing else to-day at all." He took a small tin tobacco-box from his sodden waist-belt and thrustit into Findlayson's hand, saying, "Nay, do not be afraid. It is nomore than opium--clean Malwa opium!" Findlayson shook two or three of the dark-brown pellets into his hand,and hardly knowing what he did, swallowed them. The stuff was at leasta good guard against fever--the fever that was creeping upon him outof the wet mud--and he had seen what Peroo could do in the stewingmists of autumn on the strength of a dose from the tin box. Peroo nodded with bright eyes. "In a little--in a little the Sahibwill find that he thinks well again. I too will----" He dived into histreasure-box, resettled the rain-coat over his head, and squatted downto watch the boats. It was too dark now to see beyond the first pier,and the night seemed to have given the river new strength. Findlaysonstood with his chin on his chest, thinking. There was one point aboutone of the piers--the Seventh--that that he had not fully settled inhis mind. The figures would not shape themselves to the eye except oneby one and at enormous intervals of time. There was a sound, rich andmellow in his ears, like the deepest note of a double-bass--anentrancing sound upon which he pondered for several hours, as itseemed. Then Peroo was at his elbow, shouting that a wire hawser hadsnapped and the stone-boats were loose. Findlayson saw the fleet openand swing out fanwise to a long-drawn shriek of wire straining acrossgunnels. "A tree hit them. They will all go," cried Peroo. "The main hawser hasparted. What does the Sahib do?" An immensely complex plan had suddenly flashed into Findlayson's mind.He saw the ropes running from boat to boat in straight lines andangles--each rope a line of white fire. But there was one rope whichwas the master-rope. He could see that rope. If he could pull it once,it was absolutely and mathematically certain that the disordered fleetwould reassemble itself in the backwater behind the guard-tower. Butwhy, he wondered, was Peroo clinging so desperately to his waist as hehastened down the bank? It was necessary to put the lascar aside,gently and slowly, because it was necessary to save the boats, and,further, to demonstrate the extreme ease of the problem that looked sodifficult. And then--but it was of no conceivable importance--a wirerope raced through his hand burning it, the high bank disappeared, andwith it all the slowly dispersing factors of the problem. He wassitting in the rainy darkness--sitting in a boat that spun like a top,and Peroo was standing over him. "I had forgotten," said the lascar slowly, "that to those fasting andunused the opium is worse than any wine. Those who die in Gunga go tothe Gods. Still, I have no desire to present myself before such greatones. Can the Sahib swim?" "What need? He can fly--fly as swiftly as the wind," was the thickanswer. "He is mad!" muttered Peroo under his breath. "And he threw me asidelike a bundle of dung-cakes. Well, he will not know his death. Theboat cannot live an hour here even if she strike nothing. It is notgood to look at death with a clear eye." He refreshed himself again from the tin box, squatted down in the bowsof the reeling, pegged, and stitched craft staring through the mist atthe nothing that was there. A warm drowsiness crept over Findlayson,the Chief Engineer, whose duty was with his bridge. The heavyraindrops struck him with a thousand tingling little thrills, and theweight of all time since time was made hung heavy on his eyelids. Hethought and perceived that he was perfectly secure, for the water wasso solid that a man could surely step out upon it, and standing stillwith his legs apart to keep his balance--this was the most importantpoint--would be borne with great and easy speed to the shore. But yeta better plan came to him. It needed only an exertion of will for thesoul to hurl the body ashore as wind drives paper; to waft itkite-fashion to the bank. Thereafter--the boat spun dizzily--supposethe high wind got under the freed body? Would it tower up like a kiteand pitch headlong on the far-away sands, or would it duck aboutbeyond control through all eternity? Findlayson gripped the gunnel toanchor himself, for it seemed that he was on the edge of taking theflight before he had settled all his plans. Opium has more effect onthe white man than the black. Peroo was only comfortably indifferentto accidents. "She cannot live," he grunted. "Her seams open already.If she were even a dinghy with oars we could have ridden it out; but abox with holes is no good. Finlinson Sahib, she fills." "_Accha!_ I am going away. Come thou also." In his mind Findlayson had already escaped from the boat, and wascircling high in air to find a rest for the sole of his foot. Hisbody--he was really sorry for its gross helplessness--lay in thestern, the water rushing about its knees. "How very ridiculous!" he said to himself, from his eyrie; "that--isFindlayson--chief of the Kashi Bridge. The poor beast is going to bedrowned, too. Drowned when it's close to shore. I'm--I'm on shorealready. Why does n't it come along?" To his intense disgust, he found his soul back in his body again, andthat body spluttering and choking in deep water. The pain of thereunion was atrocious, but it was necessary, also, to fight for thebody. He was conscious of grasping wildly at wet sand, and stridingprodigiously, as one strides in a dream, to keep foothold in theswirling water, till at last he hauled himself clear of the hold ofthe river, and dropped, panting, on wet earth. "Not this night," said Peroo in his ear. "The Gods have protected us."The lascar moved his feet cautiously, and they rustled among driedstumps. "This is some island of last year's indigo crop," he went on."We shall find no men here; but have great care, Sahib; all the snakesof a hundred miles have been flooded out. Here comes the lightning, onthe heels of the wind. Now we shall be able to look; but walkcarefully." Findlayson was far and far beyond any fear of snakes, or indeed anymerely human emotion. He saw, after he had rubbed the water from hiseyes, with an immense clearness, and trod, so it seemed to himself,with world-encompassing strides. Somewhere in the night of time he hadbuilt a bridge--a bridge that spanned illimitable levels of shiningseas; but the Deluge had swept it away, leaving this one island underheaven for Findlayson and his companion, sole survivors of the breedof man. An incessant lightning, forked and blue, showed all that there was tobe seen on the little patch in the flood--a clump of thorn, a clump ofswaying, creaking bamboos, and a gray, gnarled peepul over-shadowing aHindoo shrine, from whose dome floated a tattered red flag. The holyman whose summer resting-place it was had long since abandoned it, andthe weather had broken the red-daubed image of his God. The two menstumbled, heavy-limbed and heavy-eyed, over the ashes of a brick-setcooking-place, and dropped down under the shelter of the branches,while the rain and river roared together. The stumps of the indigo crackled, and there was a smell of cattle, asa huge and dripping Brahminee Bull shouldered his way under the tree.The flashes revealed the trident mark of Shiva on his flank, theinsolence of head and hump, the luminous stag-like eyes, the browcrowned with a wreath of sodden marigold blooms and the silky dewlapthat night swept the ground. There was a noise behind him of otherbeasts coming up from the flood-line through the thicket, a sound ofheavy feet and deep breathing. "Here be more beside ourselves," said Findlayson, his head against thetree-pole, looking through half-shut eyes, wholly at ease. "Truly," said Peroo thickly, "and no small ones." "What are they, then? I do not see clearly." "The Gods. Who else? Look!" "Ah, true! The Gods surely--the Gods." Findlayson smiled as his headfell forward on his chest. Peroo was eminently right. After the Flood,who should be alive in the land except the Gods that made it--the Godsto whom his village prayed nightly--the Gods who were in all men'smouths and about all men's ways? He could not raise his head or stir afinger for the trance that held him, and Peroo was smiling vacantly atthe lightning. The Bull paused by the shrine, his head lowered to the damp earth. Agreen Parrot in the branches preened his wet wings and screamedagainst the thunder as the circle under the tree filled with theshifting shadows of beasts. There was a Black-buck at the Bull'sheels--such a buck as Findlayson in his far-away life upon earth mighthave seen in dreams--a buck with a royal head, ebon back, silverbelly, and gleaming straight horns. Beside him, her head bowed to theground, the green eyes burning under the heavy brows, with restlesstail switching the dead grass, paced a Tigress, full-bellied anddeep-jowled. The Bull crouched beside the shrine and there leaped from the darknessa monstrous gray Ape, who seated himself man-wise in the place of thefallen image, and the rain spilled like jewels from the hair of hisneck and shoulders. Other shadows came and went behind the circle, among them a drunkenMan flourishing staff and drinking-bottle. Then a hoarse bellow brokeout from near the ground. "The flood lessens even now," it cried."Hour by hour the water falls, and their bridge still stands!" "My bridge," said Findlayson to himself. "That must be very old worknow. What have the Gods to do with my bridge?" His eyes rolled in the darkness following the roar. A Crocodile--theblunt-nosed, ford-haunting Mugger of the Ganges--draggled herselfbefore the beasts, lashing furiously to right and left with her tail. "They have made it too strong for me. In all this night I have onlytorn away a handful of planks. The walls stand! The towers stand! Theyhave chained my flood, and my river is not free any more. HeavenlyOnes, take this yoke away! Give me clear water between bank and bank!It is I, Mother Gunga, that speak. The Justice of the Gods! Deal methe Justice of the Gods!" "What said I?" whispered Peroo. "This is in truth a Punchayet of theGods. Now we know that all the world is dead, save you and I, Sahib." The Parrot screamed and fluttered again, and the Tigress, her earsflat to her head, snarled wickedly. Somewhere in the shadow a great trunk and gleaming tusks swayed toand fro, and a low gurgle broke the silence that followed on thesnarl. "We be here," said a deep voice, "the Great Ones. One only and verymany. Shiv, my father, is here, with Indra. Kali has spoken already.Hanuman listens also." "Kashi is without her Kotwal to-night," shouted the Man with thedrinking-bottle, flinging his staff to the ground, while the islandrang to the baying of hounds. "Give her the Justice of the Gods." "Ye were still when they polluted my waters," the great Crocodilebellowed. "Ye made no sign when my river was trapped between thewalls. I had no help save my own strength, and that failed--thestrength of Mother Gunga failed--before their guard-towers. What couldI do? I have done everything. Finish now, Heavenly Ones!" "I brought the death; I rode the spotted sickness from hut to hut oftheir workmen, and yet they would not cease." A nose-slitten,hide-worn Ass, lame, scissor-legged, and galled, limped forward. "Icast the death at them out of my nostrils, but they would not cease." Peroo would have moved, but the opium lay heavy upon him. "Bah!" he said, spitting. "Here is Sitala herself; Mata--thesmall-pox. Has the Sahib a handkerchief to put over his face?" "Small help! They fed me the corpses for a month, and I flung themout on my sand-bars, but their work went forward! Demons they are, andso sons of demons! And ye left Mother Gunga alone for theirfire-carriage to make a mock of. The Justice of the Gods on thebridge-builders!" The Bull turned the cud in his mouth and answered slowly, "If theJustice of the Gods caught all who made a mock of holy things, therewould be many dark altars in the land, mother." "But this goes beyond a mock," said the Tigress, darting forward agriping paw. "Thou knowest, Shiv, and ye, too, Heavenly Ones; ye knowthat they have defiled Gunga. Surely they must come to the Destroyer.Let Indra judge." The Buck made no movement as he answered, "How long has this evilbeen?" "Three years, as men count years," said the Mugger, close pressed tothe earth. "Does Mother Gunga die, then, in a year, that she is so anxious to seevengeance now? The deep sea was where she runs but yesterday, andto-morrow the sea shall cover her again as the Gods count that whichmen call time. Can any say that this their bridge endures tillto-morrow?" said the Buck. There was a long hush, and in the clearing of the storm the full moonstood up above the dripping trees. "Judge ye, then," said the River sullenly. "I have spoken my shame.The flood falls still. I can do no more." "For my own part"--it was the voice of the great Ape seated within theshrine--"it pleases me well to watch these men, remembering that Ialso builded no small bridge in the world's youth." "They say, too," snarled the Tiger, "that these men came of the wreckof thy armies, Hanuman, and therefore thou hast aided----" "They toil as my armies toiled in Lanka, and they believe that theirtoil endures. Indra is too high, but Shiv, thou knowest how the landis threaded with their fire-carriages." "Yea, I know," said the Bull. "Their Gods instructed them in thematter." A laugh ran round the circle. "Their Gods! What should their Gods know? They were born yesterday,and those that made them are scarcely yet cold," said the Mugger."To-morrow their Gods will die." "Ho!" said Peroo. "Mother Gunga talks good talk. I told that to thepadre-sahib who preached on the _Mombassa_, and he asked the BurraMalum to put me in irons for a great rudeness." "Surely they make these things to please their Gods," said the Bullagain. "Not altogether," the Elephant rolled forth. "It is for the profit ofmy mahajuns--my fat money-lenders that worship me at each new year,when they draw my image at the head of the account-books. I, lookingover their shoulders by lamplight, see that the names in the booksare those of men in far places--for all the towns are drawn togetherby the fire-carriage, and the money comes and goes swiftly, and theaccount-books grow as fat as--myself. And I, who am Ganesh of GoodLuck, I bless my peoples." "They have changed the face of the land--which is my land. They havekilled and made new towns on my banks," said the Mugger. "It is but the shifting of a little dirt. Let the dirt dig in the dirtif it pleases the dirt," answered the Elephant. "But afterward?" said the Tiger. "Afterward they will see that MotherGunga can avenge no insult, and they fall away from her first, andlater from us all, one by one. In the end, Ganesh, we are left withnaked altars." The drunken Man staggered to his feet, and hiccupped vehemently in theface of the assembled Gods. "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 worshipBhairon--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." "Gunna, I have seen thy bed at Pryag black with the pilgrims," saidthe Ape, leaning forward "and but for the fire-carriage they wouldhave come slowly and in fewer numbers. Remember." "They come to me always," Bhairon went on thickly. "By day and nightthey 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? Ismy staff Kotwal of Kashi for nothing? He keeps the tally, and he saysthat never were so many altars as to-day, and the fire-carriage servesthem well. Bhairon am I--Bhairon of the Common People, and thechiefest 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 thedelight of my people, and ye know what I am. Kali, my wife, thouknowest also." "Yea, I know," said the Tigress, with lowered head. "Greater am I than Gunga also. For ye know who moved the minds of menthat they should count Gunga holy among the rivers. Who die in thatwater--ye know how men say--come to us without punishment, and Gungaknows that the fire-carriage has borne to her scores upon scores ofsuch anxious ones; and Kali knows that she has held her chiefestfestivals among the pilgrimages that are fed by the fire-carriage. Whosmote at Pooree, under the Image there, her thousands in a day and anight, and bound the sickness to the wheels of the fire-carriages, sothat 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-carriageshave served thee well, Mother of Death. But I speak for mine ownaltars, who am not Bhairon of the Common Folk, but Shiv. Men go to andfro, making words and telling talk of strange Gods, and I listen.Faith follows faith among my people in the schools, and I have noanger; for when the words are said, and the new talk is ended, to Shivmen 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, wherethey worship one God and His Prophet; and presently my image is alonewithin their shrines." "Small thanks," said the Buck, turning his head slowly. "I am that Oneand His Prophet also." "Even so, father," said Hanuman. "And to the South I go who am theoldest of the Gods as men know the Gods, and presently I touch theshrines of the new faith and the Woman whom we know is hewntwelve-armed, and still they call her Mary." "Small thanks, brother," said the Tigress. "I am that Woman." "Even so, sister; and I go West among the fire-carriages, and standbefore the bridge-builder in many shapes, and because of me theychange their faiths and are very wise. Ho! ho! I am the builder ofbridges, indeed--bridges between this and that, and each bridge leadssurely to Us in the end. Be content, Gunga. Neither these men northose that follow them mock thee at all." "Am I alone, then, Heavenly Ones? Shall I smooth out my flood lestunhappily I bear away their walls? Will Indra dry my springs in thehills and make me crawl humbly between their wharfs? Shall I bury mein the sand ere I offend?" "And all for the sake of a little iron bar with the fire-carriageatop. Truly, Mother Gunga is always young!" said Ganesh the Elephant."A child had not spoken more foolishly. Let the dirt dig in the dirtere it return to the dirt. I know only that my people grow rich andpraise me. Shiv has said that the men of the schools do not forget;Bhairon is content for his crowd of the Common People; and Hanumanlaughs." "Surely I laugh," said the Ape. "My altars are few beside those ofGanesh or Bhairon, but the fire-carriages bring me new worshippersfrom beyond the Black Water--the men who believe that their God istoil. I run before them beckoning, and they follow Hanuman." "Give them the toil that they desire, then," said the River. "Make abar across my flood and throw the water back upon the bridge. Oncethou wast strong in Lanka, Hanuman. Stoop and lift my bed." "Who gives life can take life." The Ape scratched in the mud with along forefinger. "And yet, who would profit by the killing? Very manywould die." There came up from the water a snatch of a love-song such as the boyssing when they watch their cattle in the noon heats of late spring.The Parrot screamed joyously, sidling along his branch with loweredhead as the song grew louder, and in a patch of clear moonlight stoodrevealed the young herd, the darling of the Gopis, the idol ofdreaming maids and of mothers ere their children are born--Krishna theWell-beloved. He stooped to knot up his long, wet hair, and the parrotfluttered to his shoulder. "Fleeting and singing, and singing and fleeting," hiccupped Bhairon."Those make thee late for the council, brother." "And then?" said Krishna, with a laugh, throwing back his head. "Yecan do little without me or Karma here." He fondled the Parrot'splumage and laughed again. "What is this sitting and talking together?I heard Mother Gunga roaring in the dark, and so came quickly from ahut where I lay warm. And what have ye done to Karma, that he is sowet and silent? And what does Mother Gunga here? Are the heavens fullthat ye must come paddling in the mud beast-wise? Karma, what do theydo?" "Gunga has prayed for a vengeance on the bridge-builders, and Kali iswith her. Now she bids Hanuman whelm the bridge, that her honour maybe made great," cried the Parrot. "I waited here, knowing that thouwouldst come O my master!" "And the Heavenly Ones said nothing? Did Gunga and the Mother ofSorrows out-talk them? Did none speak for my people?" "Nay," said Ganesh, moving uneasily from foot to foot; "I said it wasbut dirt at play, and why should we stamp it flat?" "I was content to let them toil--well content," said Hanuman. "What had I to do with Gunga's anger?" said the Bull. "I am Bhairon of the Common Folk, and this my staff is Kotwal of allKashi. I spoke for the Common People." "Thou?" The young God's eyes sparkled. "Am I not the first of the Gods in their mouths to-day?" returnedBhairon, unabashed. "For the sake of the Common People I said--verymany wise things which I have now forgotten--but this my staff----" Krishna turned impatiently, saw the Mugger at his feet, and kneeling,slipped an arm round the cold neck. "Mother," he said gently, "getthee to thy flood again. The matter is not for thee. What harm shallthy honour take of this live dirt? Thou hast given them their fieldsnew year after year, and by thy flood they are made strong. They comeall to thee at the last. What need to slay them now? Have pity,mother, for a little--and it is only for a little." "If it be only for a little----" the slow beast began. "Are they Gods, then?" Krishna returned with a laugh, his eyes lookinginto the dull eyes of the River. "Be certain that it is only for alittle. The Heavenly Ones have heard thee, and presently justice willbe done. Go, now, mother, to the flood again. Men and cattle are thickon the waters--the banks fall--the villages melt because of thee." "But the bridge--the bridge stands." The Mugger turned grunting intothe undergrowth as Krishna rose. "It is ended," said the Tigress, viciously. "There is no more justicefrom the Heavenly Ones. Ye have made shame and sport of Gunga, whoasked no more than a few score lives." "Of _my_ people--who lie under the leaf-roofs of the villageyonder--of the young girls, and the young men who sing to them," saidKrishna. "And when all is done, what profit? To-morrow sees them atwork. Ay, if ye swept the bridge out from end to end they would beginanew. Hear me! Bhairon is drunk always. Hanuman mocks his people withnew riddles." "Nay, but they are very old ones," the Ape said, laughing. "Shiv hears the talk of the schools and the dreams of the holy men;Ganesh thinks only of his fat traders; but I--I live with these mypeople, asking for no gifts, and so receiving them hourly." "And very tender art thou of thy people," said the Tigress. "They are my own. The old women dream of me, turning in their sleep;the maids look and listen for me when they go to fill their lotahs bythe river. I walk by the young men waiting without the gates at dusk,and I call over my shoulder to the white-beards. Ye know, HeavenlyOnes, that I alone of us all walk upon the earth continually, and haveno pleasure in our heavens so long as a green blade springs here, orthere are two voices at twilight in the standing crops. Wise are ye,but ye live far off, forgetting whence ye came. So do I not forget.And the fire-carriage feeds your shrines, ye say? And thefire-carriages bring a thousand pilgrimages where but ten came in theold years? True. That is true to-day." "But to-morrow they are dead, brother," said Ganesh. "Peace!" said the Bull, as Hanuman leaned forward again. "Andto-morrow, beloved--what of to-morrow?" "This only. A new word creeping from mouth to mouth among the CommonFolk--a word that neither man nor God can lay hold of--an evil word--alittle lazy word among the Common Folk, saying (and none know who setthat word afoot) that they weary of ye, Heavenly Ones." The Gods laughed together softly. "And then, beloved?" they said. "And to cover that weariness they, my people, will bring to thee,Shiv, and to thee, Ganesh, at first greater offerings and a loudernoise of worship. But the word has gone abroad, and, after, they willpay fewer dues to your fat Brahmins. Next they will forget youraltars, but so slowly that no man can say how his forgetfulnessbegan." "I knew--I knew! I spoke this also, but they would not hear," said theTigress. "We should have slain--we should have slain!" "It is too late now. Ye should have slain at the beginning, when themen from across the water had taught our folk nothing. Now my peoplesee their work, and go away thinking. They do not think of theHeavenly Ones altogether. They think of the fire-carriage and theother things that the bridge-builders have done, and when your prieststhrust forward hands asking alms, they give unwillingly a little. Thatis the beginning, among one or two, or five or ten--for I, movingamong my people, know what is in their hearts." "And the end, Jester of the Gods? What shall the end be?" said Ganesh. "The end shall be as it was in the beginning, O slothful son of Shiv!The flame shall die upon the altars and the prayer upon the tonguetill ye become little Gods again--Gods of the jungle--names that thehunters of rats and noosers of dogs whisper in the thicket and amongthe caves--rag-Gods, pot Godlings of the tree, and the village-mark,as ye were at the beginning. That is the end, Ganesh, for thee, andfor Bhairon--Bhairon of the Common People." "It is very far away," grunted Bhairon. "Also, it is a lie." "Many women have kissed Krishna. They told him this to cheer their ownhearts when the gray hairs came, and he has told us the tale," saidthe Bull, below his breath. "Their Gods came, and we changed them. I took the woman and made hertwelve-armed. So shall we twist all their Gods," said Hanuman. "Their Gods! This is no question of their Gods--one or three--man orwoman. The matter is with the people. _They_ move, and not the Gods ofthe bridge-builders," said Krishna. "So be it. I have made a man worship the fire-carriage as it stoodstill breathing smoke, and he knew not that he worshipped me," saidHanuman the Ape. "They will only change a little the names of theirGods. I shall lead the builders of the bridges as of old; Shiv shallbe worshipped in the schools by such as doubt and despise theirfellows; Ganesh shall have his mahajuns, and Bhairon thedonkey-drivers, the pilgrims, and the sellers of toys. Beloved, theywill do no more than change the names, and that we have seen athousand times." "Surely they will do no more than change the names," echoed Ganesh:but there was an uneasy movement among the Gods. "They will change more than the names. Me alone they cannot kill, solong as maiden and man meet together or the spring follows the winterrains. Heavenly Ones, not for nothing have I walked upon the earth. Mypeople know not now what they know; but I, who live with them, I readtheir hearts. Great Kings, the beginning of the end is born already.The fire-carriages shout the names of new Gods that are _not_ the oldunder new names. Drink now and eat greatly! Bathe your faces in thesmoke of the altars before they grow cold! Take dues and listen to thecymbals and the drums, Heavenly Ones, while yet there are flowers andsongs. As men count time the end is far off; but as we who know reckonit is to-day. I have spoken." The young God ceased, and his brethren looked at each other long insilence. "This I have not heard before," Peroo whispered in his companion'sear. "And yet sometimes, when I oiled the brasses in the engine-roomof the _Goorkha_, I have wondered if our priests were so wise--sowise. The day is coming, Sahib. They will be gone by the morning." A yellow light broadened in the sky, and the tone of the river changedas the darkness withdrew. Suddenly the Elephant trumpeted aloud as though men had goaded him. "Let Indra judge. Father of all, speak thou! What of the things wehave heard? Has Krishna lied indeed? Or----" "Ye know," said the Buck, rising to his feet. "Ye know the Riddle ofthe Gods. When Brahm ceases to dream the Heavens and the Hells andEarth disappear. Be content. Brahm dreams still. The dreams come andgo, and the nature of the dreams changes, but still Brahm dreams.Krishna has walked too long upon earth, and yet I love him the morefor the tale he has told. The Gods change, beloved--all save One!" "Ay, all save one that makes love in the hearts of men," said Krishna,knotting his girdle. "It is but a little time to wait, and ye shallknow if I lie." "Truly it is but a little time, as thou sayest, and we shall know. Getthee to thy huts again, beloved, and make sport for the young things,for still Brahm dreams. Go, my children! Brahm dreams--and till Hewakes the Gods die not." * * * * * "Whither went they?" said the Lascar, awe-struck, shivering a littlewith the cold. "God knows!" said Findlayson. The river and the island lay in fulldaylight now, and there was never mark of hoof or pug on the wet earthunder the peepul. Only a parrot screamed in the branches, bringingdown showers of water-drops as he fluttered his wings. "Up! We are cramped with cold! Has the opium died out? Canst thoumove, Sahib?" Findlayson staggered to his feet and shook himself. His head swam andached, but the work of the opium was over, and, as he sluiced hisforehead in a pool, the Chief Engineer of the Kashi Bridge waswondering how he had managed to fall upon the island, what chances theday offered of return, and, above all, how his work stood. "Peroo, I have forgotten much. I was under the guard-tower watchingthe river; and then--Did the flood sweep us away?" "No. The boats broke loose, Sahib, and" (if the Sahib had forgottenabout the opium, decidedly Peroo would not remind him) "in striving toretie them, so it seemed to me--but it was dark--a rope caught theSahib and threw him upon a boat. Considering that we two, withHitchcock Sahib, built, as it were, that bridge, I came also upon theboat, which came riding on horseback, as it were, on the nose of thisisland, and so, splitting, cast us ashore. I made a great cry when theboat left the wharf, and without doubt Hitchcock Sahib will come forus. As for the bridge, so many have died in the building that itcannot fall." A fierce sun, that drew out all the smell of the sodden land, hadfollowed the storm, and in that clear light there was no room for aman to think of dreams of the dark. Findlayson stared up-stream,across the blaze of moving water, till his eyes ached. There was nosign of any bank to the Ganges, much less of a bridge-line. "We came down far," he said. "It was wonderful that we were notdrowned a hundred times." "That was the least of the wonder, for no man dies before his time. Ihave seen Sydney, I have seen London, and twenty great ports,but"--Peroo looked at the damp, discoloured shrine under thepeepul--"never man has seen that we saw here." "What?" "Has the Sahib forgotten; or do we black men only see the Gods?" "There was a fever upon me." Findlayson was still looking uneasilyacross the water. "It seemed that the island was full of beasts andmen talking, but I do not remember. A boat could live in this waternow, I think." "Oho! Then it _is_ true. 'When Brahm ceases to dream, the Gods die.'Now I know, indeed, what he meant. Once, too, the _guru_ said as muchto me; but then I did not understand. Now I am wise." "What?" said Findlayson over his shoulder. Peroo went on as if he were talking to himself. "Six--seven--tenmonsoons since, I was watch on the fo'c'sle of the _Rewah_--theKumpani's big boat--and there was a big _tufan_, green and black waterbeating; and I held fast to the life-lines, choking under the waters.Then I thought of the Gods--of Those whom we saw to-night"--he staredcuriously at Findlayson's back, but the white man was looking acrossthe flood. "Yes, I say of Those whom we saw this night past, and Icalled upon Them to protect me. And while I prayed, still keeping mylookout, a big wave came and threw me forward upon the ring of thegreat black bow-anchor, and the _Rewah_ rose high and high, leaningtoward the left-hand side, and the water drew away from beneath hernose, and I lay upon my belly, holding the ring, and looking down intothose great deeps. Then I thought, even in the face of death, if Ilose hold I die, and for me neither the _Rewah_ nor my place by thegalley where the rice is cooked, nor Bombay, nor Calcutta, nor evenLondon, will be any more for me. 'How shall I be sure,' I said, 'thatthe Gods to whom I pray will abide at all?' This I thought, and the_Rewah_ dropped her nose as a hammer falls, and all the sea came inand slid me backward along the fo'c'sle and over the break of thefo'c'sle, and I very badly bruised my shin against the donkey-engine:but I did not die, and I have seen the Gods. They are good for livemen, but for the dead----They have spoken Themselves. Therefore, whenI come to the village I will beat the _guru_ for talking riddles whichare no riddles. When Brahm ceases to dream, the Gods go." "Look up-stream. The light blinds. Is there smoke yonder?" Peroo shaded his eyes with his hands. "He is a wise man and quick.Hitchcock Sahib would not trust a rowboat. He has borrowed the RaoSahib's steam-launch, and comes to look for us. I have always saidthat there should have been a steam-launch on the bridge-works forus." The territory of the Rao of Baraon lay within ten miles of the bridge;and Findlayson and Hitchcock had spent a fair portion of their scantyleisure in playing billiards and shooting Black-buck with the youngman. He had been bear-led by an English tutor of sporting tastes forsome five or six years, and was now royally wasting the revenuesaccumulated during his minority by the Indian Government. Hissteam-launch, with its silver-plated rails, striped silk awning, andmahogany decks, was a new toy which Findlayson had found horribly inthe way when the Rao came to look at the bridge-works. "It's great luck," murmured Findlayson, but he was none the lessafraid, wondering what news might be of the bridge. The gaudy blue and white funnel came down-stream swiftly. They couldsee Hitchcock in the bows, with a pair of opera-glasses, and his facewas unusually white. Then Peroo hailed, and the launch made for thetail of the island. The Rao Sahib, in tweed shooting-suit and aseven-hued turban, waved his royal hand, and Hitchcock shouted. But heneed have asked no questions, for Findlayson's first demand was forhis bridge. "All serene! 'Gad, I never expected to see you again, Findlayson.You're seven koss down-stream. Yes, there's not a stone shiftedanywhere; but how are you? I borrowed the Rao Sahib's launch, and hewas good enough to come along. Jump in." "Ah, Finlinson, you are very well, eh? That was most unprecedentedcalamity last night, eh? My royal palace, too, it leaks like thedevil, and the crops will also be short all about my country. Now youshall back her out, Hitchcock. I--I do not understand steam-engines.You are wet? You are cold Finlinson? I have some things to eat here,and you will take a good drink." "I'm immensely grateful, Rao Sahib. I believe you've saved my life.How did Hitchcock----" "Oho! His hair was upon end. He rode to me in the middle of the night andwoke me up in the arms of Morphus. I was most truly concerned, Finlinson,so I came too. My head-priest he is very angry just now. We will go quick,Mister Hitchcock. I am due to attend at twelve-forty-five in the statetemple, where we sanctify some new idol. If not so I would have asked youto spend the day with me. They are dam-bore, these religious ceremonies,Finlinson, eh?" Peroo, well known to the crew, had possessed himself of the wheel, andwas taking the launch craftily up-stream. But while he steered he was,in his mind, handling two feet of partially untwisted wire-rope; andthe back upon which he beat was the back of his _guru_.
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