We went up on foot through an odd mixture of gateways and pillars, all curiously carved, and here and there were stone figures of mythological birds and beasts, abundantly provided with shaindoor, a kind of red paint, and offerings of flowers. The largest temple had an image of Khandoba, a terrific-looking monster. In one of the upper chambers there was a colossal drum that gave sunset warnings and served to call the priests, priestesses, and other attendants to prayers, midnight devotions, or revelries; which latter are held on certain days, or rather nights, of the waxing moon. About two hundred women, all young, many of them mere children, are attached to this temple, which is in every sense one of the relics of the ancient Mahratta usages before the introduction of Brahmanism. Many of these girls were scattered about in groups or were seen reclining at their ease in a semi-nude costume about the aisles of the temples, producing a charming Oriental effect, though one could not help shuddering at the thought of their lives. And, in spite of the doom laid upon them even before they were born, many of them had singularly interesting, pensive faces. One girl who was pouring water into the vessels around the shrine of Khandoba was a picture of grace and adorned with glittering jewels. These strange priestesses of passion live in cells attached to the temples or are scattered in the service of their peculiar divinity around the temples in the neighborhood, but here they are yearly recruited, and here they are formally married as virgins to the idol of Siva or Khandoba, as the case may be. There are here long corridors and intricate arrangement of passages, with little stairs leading up and down and around, where the girls are kept under the surveillance of old women who once were doomed to the same service. How inexplicable is such a life, looking at it from a Christian's point of view! But with these poor devotees the more revenue they bring in for the temple the better their future life, in which they dream of becoming loved wives and mothers of divine sons and daughters in a heaven prepared for them. We noticed in our ramblings over this curious spot a strange-looking man, naked as the day on which he was born, his hair, long and streaked with gray, falling in masses around his naked shoulders, his hands and feet emaciated, the nails on his fingers and toes looking like huge claws, begrimed with dirt and masses of red paint, sitting alone, muttering all to himself and twirling in his hands an old battered-looking lota, or drinking-vessel, made of some dark metal. This was the mad _gossain_, or devotee, of Jijuhre. When we approached him he started up and took his place on the edge of a crumbling rock.