The difficulties of the road very much increased after leaving Bidhar. We were bumped and battered over a stony road, nor was there anything to be seen but a great wilderness for many miles. When we inquired the distance to the next halting-place our guide, who was very musical, stopped his song and replied, "_Chulla joa oodhur hai_" ("Go along! it is there"). But where we could not make out. Finally, we were obliged to spend the night under a tree in our wagons not far from a great nullah which was thought unsafe to cross after sunset. On the opposite side of us was a large party of men and women, gossains and priests, fellow-travellers, with four wagon-loads of dancing-girls, some of whom were very interesting seen in the dusk. They were a troup of actors and actresses returning from some village theatre to their head-quarters at Oude Gera, a city in this vicinity. A little after dawn next morning we crossed the nullah, which was by no means as dangerous as represented by our guide. Along the road we saw some beautiful wild flowers and trailing vines, among them a little hardy blossom like the anemone, and of a lovely rose-color. In the afternoon of the next day we crossed the Godaveri, the famous Tyndis of the ancients, rising in the Thull Ghauts and flowing through the length and breadth of the great high plain of the Deccan to pour itself into the Bay of Bengal. We found no difficulty in fording the river at this season, when the rains were over. In some places its banks were high and steep, and here and there were striking views of the country. We met hosts of carts and natives on horses crossing the river at this point. After another long day's journey we took refuge at last at the dhurrum-sala at Aurungabâd. From the verandah of the dhurrum-sala at this truly picturesque Mohammedan city is a most enchanting view--the Dhuna River winding away through the plain; the leafy woods, not very dense, but full of trees noble and stately; the lime-groves in full blossom sweetly scenting the air, while with pertinacious grace the full-blown leaves of many creeping vines droop over the verandah to fan us gently in the evening breeze; in the distance the domes, the tall, graceful minarets, the shining roofs of mosques and palaces of the once-famous city of Aurungabâd amid eternally verdant gardens. Gradually the sun sets on the charming scene, but we still linger and gaze; few lights are seen, but now and then a rushlight or the glimmer of a fire prepared for the evening meal.