Man, woman and child would pray Kharvani, Bride
of Siva the Destroyer, to intercede with Siva and cause him to rise
and smite the English. On the skyline, glinting like flashed signals
in the early sun, bright English bayonets had appeared; and between
them and Hanadra was a dense black mass, the whole of old Hanadra's
able-bodied manhood, lined up to defend the city. Now was the time
to pray. Fifty to one are by no means despicable odds, but the aid
of the gods as well is better!
So the huge dome of Kharvani's temple began to echo to the sound of
slippered feet and awe-struck whisperings, and the big, dim auditorium
soon filled to overflowing. No light came in from the outer world.
There was nothing to illuminate the mysteries except the chain-hung
grease-lamps swinging here and there from beams, and they served only
to make the darkness visible. Bats flicked in and out between them
and disappeared in the echoing gloom above. Censers belched out
sweet-smelling, pungent clouds of sandalwood to drown the stench
of hot humanity; and the huge graven image of Kharvani--serene and
smiling and indifferent--stared round-eyed from the darkness.
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