The Nagas will drink anything, but the stronger it is the better they are pleased. They have a beverage of their own which they make of fermented rice water. They can drink great quantities of it with no bad effect at first, but they get very drunk on it if they go beyond a certain limit. They call this liquor Zu, and I have heard my husband say he found it very refreshing after a long hot march; but I never had the courage to touch it, as they offered it to one out of a bottle that was never cleaned and that everybody drank from. I suppose to a Naga there is nothing more delicious than roast dog washed down with quarts of this Zu. Poor doggies! They are only kept to be eaten. They are well fed while they are growing up, and then, when they are ready to be eaten, they are starved for a day. At the end of this they are given an enormous feed of rice and the remains of a former comrade, perhaps, which they eat up ravenously; and then the head man of the village gives the victim a blow on the head and converts him into curry and rice. On one occasion we were going up to our hill bungalow, and our village Nagas, wishing to do us honour, erected a triumphal arch at the entrance to our garden. Fortunately I looked up at it before going under, and saw, to my horror, the head of a dog, which had just been cut off, hanging in the centre of the erection, whilst his four paws and tail graced the sides, and the whole archway was so low that I should have touched the top of it as I rode under. I dismounted, however, and walked through.