"What fool asks woman for advice? The world Holds her wit shallow.... Even when the truth Comes from her lips men stop their ears and smile. And yet without the woman where is man? We hold the power of Form--for us the Fire Of Shiv's creative force flames up and burns: Lo! we are thieves of Life and sanctuaries Of Souls. Vessels are we of virtue and of vice, Of knowledge and of utmost ignorance. Astrologers can calculate from books The courses of the stars, but who is he Can read the pages of a woman's heart? Our book has not been mastered; so men say 'She hath no wisdom' but to hide their lack Of understanding. Yet we share your lives, Your failures, your successes, griefs and joys. Hunger and thirst, if yours, are ours, and Death Parts us not from you; for we follow fast To serve you in the mansion of the Sun. Love of my heart! Lo! you are as a swan That rests upon my bosom as a lake. There is no rest for thee but here, my lord! And yet arise to Victory and Fame. Sun of the Chauhans! Who has drunk so deep Of glory and of pleasure as my lord? And yet the destiny of all is death: Yea even of the Gods--and to die well Is life immortal---- Therefore draw your sword, Smite down the foes of Hind; think not of self-- The garment of this life is frayed and worn, Think not of me--we twain shall be as one Hereafter and for ever.--Go, my king!" So the fiery cross sped round Râjputana, and ere long Prithvi-Râj could confront the enemy with an army of 300,000 horse, 3,000 elephants, and a large body of infantry. They encamped opposite and within sight of each other on the old battle-field, with the river Sarâswati, which was soon to lose itself in the desert sands beyond, running between the opposing armies. Despite the disparity in numbers the forces were not ill-matched, for the Indians were hampered by a thousand old traditions, old accoutrements, old scruples. The Mahomedans, on the other hand, were full up with desire for gold, for souls. But it was a holy war on both sides. The Hindus had sworn on Ganges water to conquer or die, the Moslem had sworn likewise on the Korân; so heads were bowed in humble prayer to the Lord of Hosts, and human hearts beat high with murderous hope. Quaint conjunction when all is said and done!