There was along hush, and in the clearing of the storm the full moon stood up above the dripping trees.
“Judge ye, then,” said the River, sullenly. “I have spoken my shame. The flood falls still. I can do no more.”
“For my own part”—it was the voice of the great Ape seated within the shrine—“it pleases me well to watch these men, remembering that I also builded no small bridge in the world’s youth.”
“They say, too,” snarled the Tiger, “that these men came of the wreck of thy armies, Hanuman, and therefore thou hast aided—”
“They toil as my armies toiled in Lanka, and they believe that their toil endures. Indra is too high, but Shiv, thou knowest how the land is threaded with their fire-carriages.”
“Yea, I know,” said the Bull. “Their Gods instructed them in the matter.”
A laugh ran round the circle.
“Their Gods! What should their Gods know? They were born yesterday, and those that made them are scarcely yet cold,” said the Mugger, “tomorrow their Gods will die.”
“Ho!” said Peroo. “Mother Gunga talks good talk. I told that to the padre-sahib who preached on the Mombassa, and he asked the Burra Malum to put me in irons for a great rudeness.”
“Surely they make these things to please their Gods,” said the Bull again.