w their
devotional exercises upon rude and primitive representations of
impossible men and animals made of twisted straw. These are sometimes set
up in the open air on big horseshoe-shaped frames, and sometimes they are
beneath a shed. In the privacy of their own dwellings the Bengali ryot
bows the knee and solemnly worships a bowl of rice or a cup of arrack.
The bland and childlike native of Hindostan falls down and worships
almost everything that he recognizes as being essential to his happiness
and welfare, embracing a wide range of subjects, from Brahma, who created
all things, to the denkhi with which their women hull the rice. This
denkhi is merely a log of wood fixed on a pivot and with a hammer-like
head-piece. The women manipulate it by standing on the lever end and then
stepping off, letting it fall of its own weight, the hammer striking into
a stone bowl of rice. The denkhi is said to have been blessed by Brahma's
son Narada, the god who is distinguished as having cursed his venerable
and all-creating sire and changed him from an object of worship and
adoration to a luster after forbidden things.

The country continues hilly, with the dense jungle fringing the road; all
along the way are little covered platforms erected on easily climbed
poles from twelve to twenty feet high. These are apparently places of
refuge where benighted wayfarers can seek protection from wild animals.
Occasionally are met the fleet-footed postmen, their rings jangling
merrily as they bound briskly along; perhaps the little platforms are
built expressly for their benefit, as they are not infrequently the
victims of stealthy attack, the jingle of their rings attracting Mr.
Tiger instead of repelling him.

Mount Parisnath, four thousand five hundred and thirty feet high, the
highest peak of the Bengal hills, overlooks my dak bungalow at Doomree,
and also a region of splendid tropical scenery, dark wooded ridges, deep
ravines, and rolling masses of dark-green vegetation.

During the night the weather actually grows chilly, a raw wind laden with
moisture driving me off the porch into the shelter of the bungalow. No
portion of Parisnath is visible in the morning but the base, nine-tenths
of its proportions being above the line of the cloud-masses that roll
along just above the trees. Another day through the hilly country and, a
hundred and fifty miles from Calcutta, the flourishing coal-mining
district of Asansol brings me again to the E