What matter if it was hidden? For the gold-shod feet might falter and fall ere that goal was reached; but the hidden spring of cleansing at the Pool of Immortality was theirs. It would rise at dawn; rise as it did always, every year.
"Hârâ! Hârî! Hârî! Hârâ!"
What matter Birth or Death, if the finding of that lost paradise of purity was certain.
Out on the bridge, whence the cry came oftenest, there was no doubt regarding this certainty; but as each weary pair of feet stumbled on the first stones of the town, it stumbled into an atmosphere in which nothing seemed sure, save that there was change; that Eshwara was not what it had been.
To begin with, it held soldiers. Wherefore? And why had dead women been sent back to it by Mother Ganges to curse the men whose love had killed them?
But what wonder, when the very logs, the fishes, were stolen from the river nowadays; and from the people also. Then what of this strange new light? The light which fed on men's brains!--that came and went at pleasure--that was quite small at first, when but seven or eight men had been sacrificed, but which, only an hour or so agone, had showed in a huge ray, feeling here and there through the darkness for God knows what, then settling on it, making it impossible to hide aught, prying into the very Holiest of Holies! Had it not shot into Mother Kali's very temple, and shown the worshippers that two of her mighty arms were stuck on with sealing wax! What God would stand that! And how could the very Gods themselves work miracles if everybody could see how they were done?
They had already refused to work them for pious jogi Gorakh-nâth. What wonder? The Gods did not like laughter, especially the laughter of M'lléchas.[[10]]
Therefore, who was to tell if the spring would even rise in the Pool? So those who were wise would make certain of at least a modicum of salvation, and go straight to the bathing-steps; since the river, anyhow, must be there.
This suggestion of a cautious hedge was diligently spread by the bathing-ghat priests among the new arrivals; who listened patiently. But so they did also to the other priests whose business it was to scorn the possibility of failure, and to deny the displeasure of the Gods. To say that jogi Gorakh-nâth had been found out by the Huzoors in one of his usual tricks; that was all. So that people who wanted the genuine article, and a real, good, old crusted miracle, had better come as usual to the Pool.
The weary-footed, anxious-eyed climbers of the golden stairs listened patiently, silently, even when the antagonists began, in vehement quarrel, to bandy threats, and hint at worse portents to come. To their experience, their hope, it seemed impossible even to dream their pilgrimage in vain. The dawn would show, anyhow. So hour by hour, minute by minute, the tide of pilgrims set citywards till it brimmed over with faith and hope. And these are dangerous things when charity depends on them, and there are antagonistic claims to every alms. So Eshwara was restless.