w.
What have the Gods to do with my bridge?"

His eyes rolled in the darkness following the roar. A Mugger--the
blunt-nosed, ford-haunting Mugger of the Ganges--draggled herself before
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 only torn
away a handful of planks. The walls stand. The towers stand. They have
chained my flood, and the river is not free any more. Heavenly Ones,
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 me the Justice
of the Gods!"

"What said I?" whispered Peroo. "This is in truth a Punchayet of the
Gods. Now we know that all the world is dead, save you and I, Sahib."

The Parrot screamed and fluttered again, and the Tigress, her ears flat
to her head, snarled wickedly.

Somewhere in the shadow, a great trunk and gleaming tusks swayed to and
fro, and a low gurgle broke the silence that followed on the snarl.

"We be here," said a deep voice, "the Great Ones. One only and very
many. 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 the
drinking-bottle, flinging his staff to the ground, while the island rang
to the baying of hounds. "Give her the Justice of the Gods."

"Ye were still when they polluted my waters," the great Crocodile
bellowed. "Ye made no sign when my river was trapped between the walls.
I had no help save my own strength, and that failed--the strength of
Mother Gunga failed--before their guard-towers. What could I do? I have
done everything. Finish now, Heavenly Ones!"

"I brought the death; I rode the spotted sick-ness from hut to hut of
their workmen, and yet they would not cease." A nose-slitten, hide-worn
Ass, lame, scissor-legged, and galled, limped forward. "I cast 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--the small-pox.
Has the Sahib a handkerchief to put over his face?"

"Little help! They fed me the corpses for a month, and I flung them out
on my sand-bars, but their work went forward. Demons they are, and sons
of demons! And ye left Mother Gunga alone for their fire-carriage to
make a mock of The Justice of the Gods on the bridge-builders!"

The Bull turned the cud