or; but half as many more
thronged the roofs of the stockade buildings and hung--multicoloured
density--from their parapets. And above all, a few tall tamarisk trees
drooped long branches under hundreds of small boys.

Famous nautch-girls had come from distant cities and trained with those
of Hurda for an important part in the celebration. They were all
staged on twelve Persian-carpeted platforms, ranged on the ground
within the outer edge of the arena and close against the foot of the
circular tier of seats. Artists of the world had wrought to clothe
these women. Artists in fabric-weaving, in living singing dyes; in
cloths of gold, in pure wrought-gold and in the setting of gems.

People were looking to find the concealed lights which revealed this
scene of amazing splendour, when thirty-nine of the Chief
Commissioner's elephants came out through the stockade gates, single
file. Many drums of different kinds, together with a thousand voices,
beat a slow double pulse. The elephants, setting their feet precisely
to the steady rhythm of it, marched around the entire arena three
times. Those elephants were perfect enough--and they knew it! They
were freshly bathed and groomed. Their ears showed rose-tinted
linings, when they flapped. Their ivories were smooth and pure. Their
howdahs--new-lacquered--gleamed rose and orange and blue, with crimson
and green silk curtains. Their caparisons of rich velvets, hung heavy
with new gold fringes.

Every elephant turned toward the centre of the arena, coming to pause
at his own appointed station, evenly spaced around the circle. Then
every mahout straightened, freezing to a fixed position that did not
differ by a line from the position of his neighbour on either side.
Now the people saw that this celebration for Neela Deo, King of all
elephants, was to show as much pomp as is prepared for kings of
men--and they were deeply content.

The strings of one sitar began to breathe delicate tones. Other sitars
came in illusively, till they snared the current of human blood in a
golden mesh and measured its flow to the time of mounting emotion.
Then Neela Deo himself--Neela Deo, the Blue God!--appeared at the
stockade gates alone, with Kudrat Sharif on his neck. His caparison
was of crimson velvet, all over-wrought with gold thread. The gold
fringes were a yard deep. The howdah was lacquered in raw gold--its
curtains were imperial blue. Kudrat Sharif was clothed in pure t