And the Great God said: “She is wife to the Destroyer. This is his business.” And Shiva thought long and earnestly, for even he could not causelessly retake the strength that he had given.... And the end of the meditation was that he went forth from Heaven and lay in her path as she came down from the Snow mountains in her dance of Death. And she, mad with victory and blood, seeing nothing, danced on to his chest exultant, when looking down, she recognized her husband, and was shamed and sobered. And this final vision of Kali is the one worshipped by her children--Kali, the four-armed, the Conqueror of Demons, vanquished only by the husband who lies under her feet. In one hand beareth she the head of a victim, in another a sword, with a third she blesseth, and with the fourth she holdeth out fearlessness to all her followers. She wears a garland of skulls, and a waistlet of hands,--and no more danceth she the dance of Death. Yet to her, the Mother, come alike all who are drunk with blood, righteous or unrighteous, for she understands; and all who would have the strength of the Gods to slay the Evil in the world--for was not this the purpose of her being, in the old, old days when the world was young?... Thus to me one of my gentle friends of “The Inside” in this land of legend and silences. Then we turned to her of many years and long meditations, who sat by listening--“Is that how you know the story, Mother?” “Yea, my children,” made she answer. “Even so--and when mine eyes are shut these are the thoughts that come to me--blessing and cursing, destruction and creation, death and life--are not both companions of Time?” “But the skull and hands, Mother--read that parable.” And she--“All is destroyed save intelligence and work--these outlast us.” So, museful, I took my way to the Mount of Kali, which lies without the City, past many ancient tanks grown rank with vegetation, past flowering trees, and swamps of mat huts and malaria. A bright-eyed baby played upon a log, see-sawing over a nauseous drain--Was this one measure of the dance of Death?... An avenue now of shops--the Precincts--Gods and Godlings and sacrificial vessels were for sale, with the beads of the Sacred, and water-bottles made of Ganges sand blown fine as glass.... I lingered among the women making purchase. Images of Kali seemed most popular, with bright red and yellow horses for the children, nor was the picture shop neglected--and I laughed softly to myself to see a German print of Romeo and Juliet in the balcony scene selling clamorously for “Radha Krishna,” the gay God with his favourite lady.