w, Heavenly
Ones, that I alone of us all walk upon the earth continually, and have
no pleasure in our heavens so long as a green blade springs here, or
there are two voices at twilight in the standing crops. Wise are ye,
but ye live far off, forgetting whence ye came. So do I not forget.
And the fire-carriage feeds your shrines, ye say? And the
fire-carriages bring a thousand pilgrimages where but ten came in the
old years? True. That is true to-day."

"But to-morrow they are dead, brother," said Ganesh.

"Peace!" said the Bull, as Hanuman leaned forward again. "And
to-morrow, beloved--what of to-morrow?"

"This only. A new word creeping from mouth to mouth among the Common
Folk--a word that neither man nor God can lay hold of--an evil word--a
little lazy word among the Common Folk, saying (and none know who set
that word afoot) that they weary of ye, Heavenly Ones."

The Gods laughed together softly. "And then, beloved?" they said.

"And to cover that weariness they, my people, will bring to thee,
Shiv, and to thee, Ganesh, at first greater offerings and a louder
noise of worship. But the word has gone abroad, and, after, they will
pay fewer dues to your fat Brahmins. Next they will forget your
altars, but so slowly that no man can say how his forgetfulness
began."

"I knew--I knew! I spoke this also, but they would not hear," said the
Tigress. "We should have slain--we should have slain!"

"It is too late now. Ye should have slain at the beginning, when the
men from across the water had taught our folk nothing. Now my people
see their work, and go away thinking. They do not think of the
Heavenly Ones altogether. They think of the fire-carriage and the
other things that the bridge-builders have done, and when your priests
thrust forward hands asking alms, they give unwillingly a little. That
is the beginning, among one or two, or five or ten--for I, moving
among my people, know what is in their hearts."

"And the end, Jester of the Gods? What shall the end be?" said Ganesh.

"The end shall be as it was in the beginning, O slothful son of Shiv!
The flame shall die upon the altars and the prayer upon the tongue
till ye become little Gods again--Gods of the jungle--names that the
hunters of rats and noosers of dogs whisper in the thicket and among
the caves--rag-Gods, pot Godlings of the tree, and the village-mark,
as ye were at the beginning. That is the end, Ganesh, for thee, and
for Bhairon--Bhairon of the C