t off fireworks, offer each other pieces of sugar-cane, and
rejoice in every conceivable way till the dawn of the next day.

A Witch's Den

Our kind host Sham Rao was very gay during the remaining hours of
our visit. He did his best to entertain us, and would not hear of our
leaving the neighborhood without having seen its greatest celebrity,
its most interesting sight. A jadu wala--sorceress--well known in
the district, was just at this time under the influence of seven
sister-goddesses, who took possession of her by turns, and spoke their
oracles through her lips. Sham Rao said we must not fail to see her, be
it only in the interests of science.

The evening closes in, and we once more get ready for an excursion. It
is only five miles to the cavern of the Pythia of Hindostan; the road
runs through a jungle, but it is level and smooth. Besides, the jungle
and its ferocious inhabitants have ceased to frighten us. The timid
elephants we had in the "dead city" are sent home, and we are to mount
new behemoths belonging to a neighboring Raja. The pair, that stand
before the verandah like two dark hillocks, are steady and trust worthy.
Many a time these two have hunted the royal tiger, and no wild shrieking
or thunderous roaring can frighten them. And so, let us start!

The ruddy flames of the torches dazzle our eyes and increase the forest
gloom. Our surroundings seem so dark, so mysterious. There is something
indescribably fascinating, almost solemn, in these night-journeys in
the out-of-the-way corners of India. Everything is silent and deserted
around you, everything is dozing on the earth and overhead. Only the
heavy, regular tread of the elephants breaks the stillness of the night,
like the sound of falling hammers in the underground smithy of Vulcan.
From time to time uncanny voices and murmurs are heard in the black
forest.

"The wind sings its strange song amongst the ruins," says one of us,
"what a wonderful acoustic phenomenon!" "Bhuta, bhuta!" whisper the
awestruck torch-bearers. They brandish their torches and swiftly spin on
one leg, and snap their fingers to chase away the aggressive spirits.

The plaintive murmur is lost in the distance. The forest is once more
filled with the cadences of its invisible nocturnal life--the metallic
whirr of the crickets, the feeble, monotonous croak of the tree-frog,
the rustle of the leaves. From time to time all this suddenly stops
short and then begins again