ceremonially bathed.
We cannot account for our being allowed to see it, except by the fact
that the Brahmans had withdrawn for the moment, and we being, as our
custom is, in Indian dress, were not noticed in the crowd.

Near the place where the idol was being bathed, with much pomp by the
priests, was a little rest-house, where we had waited till some child
told us all was over. Then we came out and mingled with the throng, not
fearing they would misunderstand our motive. While we talked with them,
the Brahmans, who had been bathing in the river after the water had been
sanctified by the god, began to stream up the steps and pass through the
crowd, which opened respectfully and made a wide avenue within itself:
for well the smallest child in that crowd understood that no touch might
defile those Brahmans as they walked, wringing out their dripping
garments and their long black hair.

How we searched the faces as they passed!--sensual, cynical, cold faces,
faces of utter carelessness, faces full of pride and aloofness. But
there were some so different--earnest faces, keen faces, faces sensitive
and spiritual. Oh, the pathos of it all! How our hearts went out to
these, whose eager wistfulness marked them out as truly religious and
sincere! How we longed that they should hear the word, "Come unto Me,
and I will give you rest"! They passed, men young and old, women and
children, and very many widows; and then suddenly two palanquins which
had been standing near were carried down to the awning where the idol
had been bathed; and before we realised what was happening, they passed
us. In the first was the disk, the symbol of the god; in the second, the
god itself.

"We wrestle not against flesh and blood; but against principalities,
against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world,
against spiritual wickedness in high places"--this was the word that
flashed through us then. That small, insignificant, painted, and
bejewelled image, in its gaudy little palanquin, was not only that. It
was the visible representative of Powers.

We thought of a merry child in our nursery who was dedicated at birth to
this particular Power. By some glad chance that little girl was the
first to run up to us in welcome upon our return home in the evening. We
thought of her with thankfulness which cannot be expressed; but the
sorrow of other children bound to this same god swept over us as we
stood gazing after the palanquins, till