enzy heightens.
Now from the other end of the hut two more rush forth, staggering, towards
the Tulsi shrine, and after the same mad gyrations dance towards the
Mother and bury their heads in the smoke; and they are followed at
momentary intervals by others who fly, some to the Tulsi shrine, others
to the Goddess but all mad with frenzy, dancing, leaping, swaying, until
they sink overpowered by fatigue. Meanwhile Rama is performing a devil
dance of his own in the smoke-clouds; the gong is ringing, cymbals
clashing, onlookers shouting; the tresses of the women have fallen down
and in the half-light look like black snakes writhing in torture; the
women themselves are as mad as the Bacchantes and Menads of old fable:
in a word, it is Pandemonium let loose!

* * * * *

The noise ebbs and flows, now dying down as the first frenzy fades away,
now rising more shrill as the spirit of the Mother wracks her devotees more
fiercely. That tall finely-formed young woman, who dances like a puppet
without will and who never seems to tire, is Moti, leader of the dancers
and the favourite choice of Jarimari. There behind her is Ganga, the
slightly-built, beloved of Devi, and in the midst of the smoke, swaying
frog-like, is Godavari, lashed to madness by Mother Ankai. Around them
dance by twos and threes the rest of the women with dishevelled locks and
loosened robes, whom Rama taps from time to time with his cane whenever
they show signs of giving in. But at length Nature reasserts her sway, and
the dancers one and all crouch down in the smoke, their dark sides heaving
painfully in the dim light like the implements of some ghostly forge. Now
Govind appears again with a tray and marks the brows of the women with a
finger-tip of vermilion, his own brow being marked by them in turn. He
places a cake of camphor on the tray and sets light to it; and as the clear
flame bursts forth in front of the Mother, the whole congregation rises and
shouts "Devi ki Jaya" (Victory to the Goddess). Then Moti takes the tray
and, balancing it on her head, dances slowly with long swinging stride
round the Mother, while the music bursts out with renewed vigour, urging
the other women, the human tabernacles of the cholera deities, to follow
suit. Thereafter the camphor-cake is handed round to both women and men in
turn who plunge their hands in the ashes and smear their faces with them;
and so, after distribution of the offering of