r
influence to things spiritual. They, too, have caught the modern disease
of politics for the million. And the supreme appeal is to youth--plastic
and impressionable, aflame with fervours of the blood that can be
conjured, by heady words, into fervours infinitely more dangerous to
themselves and their country.

In an atmosphere dense with spilled kerosene, with over-breathed air and
over-charged emotion, that appeal rang out like a trumpet blast.

"It is to youth the divine message has come in all ages; the call to
martyrdom and dedication. 'Suffer little children to come unto me,' said
the inspired Founder of Christianity. So also I say in this time of
revival, suffer the young to fling themselves into the arms of the
Mother. My sons, she cries, go back to the Vedas. You will find all
wisdom there. Reject this alien gift--however finely gilded--of a
civilisation inferior to your own. Hindu Rishis were old in wisdom when
these were still unclothed savages coloured with blue paint. Shall the
sacred Motherland be inoculated with Western poison? It is for the
young to decide--to act. Nerve your arms with valour. Bring offerings
acceptable, to the shrine of Kali Mai. Does she demand a sheep? A
buffalo? A cocoanut? Ask yourselves. The answer is written in your
hearts----"

His emaciated arms shot up and outward in a gesture the more impressive
because it was maintained. For a prolonged moment the holy one seemed to
hover above his audience--as it were an eagle poised on outspread
wings....

Roy came to himself with a start. His friend the policeman had plucked
his sleeve; and they retreated a step or two through the open door.

"The Sahib heard?" queried Man Singh in cautious undertone.

"There's hearing--and hearing," said Roy, aware of some cryptic message
given and understood. "I take it _they_ all know what he's driving at."

"True talk. They know. But _he_ has not said. Therefore he goes in
safety when he should be picking oakum in the jail khana. They are
cunning as serpents these holy ones."

"They have the gift of tongues," said Roy. "May one ask what is Mai
Kali's special taste in sacrifices?"

The Sikh gave him an odd look. "The blood of white goats--meaning
Sahibs, Hazur."--Roy's 'click' was Oriental to a nicety.--"'A white goat
for Kali' is an old Bengali catchword. Hark how their tongues wag. But
there is still another--much esteemed by the student-_log_; one who can
skilfully flavour a _pillau_[16]