“Of my people--who lie under the leaf-roofs of the village yonder--of the young girls, and the young men who sing to them in the dark--of the child that will be born next morn--of that which was begotten to-night,” said Krishna. “And when all is done, what profit? To-morrow sees them at work. Ay, if ye swept the bridge out from end to end they would begin anew. Hear me! Bhairon is drunk always. Hanuman mocks his people with new riddles.” “Nay, but they are very old ones,” the Ape said, laughing. “Shiv hears the talk of the schools and the dreams of the holy men; Ganesh thinks only of his fat traders; but I--I live with these my people, asking for no gifts, and so receiving them hourly.” “And very tender art thou of thy people,” said the Tigress. “They are my own. The old women dream of me turning in their sleep; the maids look and listen for me when they go to fill their lotahs by the river. I walk by the young men waiting without the gates at dusk, and I call over my shoulder to the white-beards. Ye know, Heavenly Ones, that I alone of us all walk upon the earth continually, and have no pleasure in our heavens so long as a green blade springs here, or there are two voices at twilight in the standing crops. Wise are ye, but ye live far off; forgetting whence ye came. So do I not forget. And the fire-carriage feeds your shrines, ye say? And the fire-carriages bring a thousand pilgrims where but ten came in the old years? True. That is true, to-day.” “But to-morrow they are dead, brother,” said Ganesh. “Peace!” said the Bull, as Hanuman leaned forward again. “And to-morrow, beloved--what of to-morrow?” “This only. A new word creeping from mouth to mouth among the Common Folk--a word that neither man nor God can lay hold of--an evil word--a little lazy word among the Common Folk, saying (and none know who set that word afoot) that they weary of ye, Heavenly Ones.” The Gods laughed together softly. “And then, beloved,” they said. “And to cover that weariness they, my people, will bring to thee, Shiv, and to thee, Ganesh, at first greater offerings and a louder noise of worship. But the word has gone abroad, and, after, they will pay fewer dues to your fat Brahmins. Next they will forget your altars, but so slowly that no man can say how his forgetfulness began.” “I knew--I knew! I spoke this also, but they would not hear,” said the Tigress. “We should have slain-we should have slain!” “It is too late now. Ye should have slain at the beginning when the men from across the water had taught our folk nothing. Now my people see their work, and go away thinking. They do not think of the Heavenly Ones altogether. They think of the fire-carriage and the other things that the bridge-builders have done, and when your priests thrust forward hands asking alms, they give a little unwillingly. That is the beginning, among one or two, or five or ten--for I, moving among my people, know what is in their hearts.”