The Adventures of Kathlyn

Dawn. A few dung fires smoldered. From the doorway of one of the mud

huts came a lean man, his naked torso streaked with wet ashes, his

matted hair hanging in knots and tangles on his emaciated shoulders.

His aspect was exceedingly filthy; he was a holy man, which in this mad

country signifies physical debasement, patience and fortitude such as

would have adorned any other use. A human lamprey, sticking himself

always at the thin and meager board of the poor, a vile parasite, but

holy!

The holy man directed his steps to the narrow beaten pathway which led

to the temple, where, every morning, he performed certain rites which

the poor benighted ryots believed would some day restore the ruined

city and the prosperity which attends fat harvests. The holy man had

solemnly declared that it would take no less than ten years to bring

about this miracle. And the villagers fell down with their foreheads

in the dust. He was a Brahmin; the caste string hung about his neck;

he was indeed holy, he who could have dwelt on the fat of the land, in

maharajahs' courts. The least that can be said is that he performed

his duties scrupulously.

So, then, the red rim of the March sun shouldered up above the rolling

jungle as he came into the beaten clay court which fronted the temple.

The lion stalked only at night, rarely appearing in the daytime. Once

a month he was given a bullock, for he kept tiger and leopard away, and

the villagers dwelt in peace. The lion had escaped from Allaha, where

the species were kept as an additional sport. Since he had taken up

his abode in the temple there had been fewer thefts from the cattle

sheds.

The holy man was about to assume his squatting posture in the center of

the court, as usual, when from out of the sarcophagus rose languidly a

form, shrouded in white. The form stretched its lovely arms, white as

alabaster, and presently the hands rubbed a pair of sleepy eyes. Then

the form sat down within the sarcophagus, laid its arms on the rim, and

wearily hid its face in them.

The watcher was the most dumfounded holy man in all India. For the

first time in his hypocritical life he found faith in himself, in his

puerile rites. He had conjured up yonder spirit, unaided, alone. He

rose, turned, and never a holy man ran faster. When he arrived,

panting and voiceless, at the village well, where natives were coming

and going with water in goatskins and jars and copper vessels, he fell

upon his face, rose to his knees, and poured hands full of dust upon

his head.

"Ai, ai!" he called. "It is almost done, my children. The first sign

has come from the gods. I have brought you in human form the ancient

priestess!" And he really believed he had. "O my children, my little

ones, my kids! I have brought her who will now attend to the sacred

fires; for these alone will restore the city as of old, the fat corn,

the plentitude of fruit. Since the coming of the lion two rains ago

the leopard and the striped one have forsaken their lairs. One bullock

a month is better than fire, together with the kids and the children.

Ai!" More dust.