Lastly, There Were The Mad
Dacoits, Whose Dens Are Scattered In Mountains Inaccessible To
The Police, Who Often Shoot Europeans Simply To Afford Themselves
The Pleasure Of Sending Ad Patres One Of The Hateful Bellatis
(Foreigners).
Three days before our arrival the wife of a Brahman
disappeared, carried off by a tiger, and two favorite dogs of the
commandant were killed by snakes.
We declined to wait for further
explanations, but hurried to our rooms. At daybreak we were to
start for Karli, six miles from this place.
In The Karli Caves
At five o'clock in the morning we had already arrived at the limit,
not only of driveable, but, even, of rideable roads. Our bullock-cart
could go no further. The last half mile was nothing but a rough sea
of stones. We had either to give up our enterprise, or to climb on
all-fours up an almost perpendicular slope two hundred feet high.
We were utterly at our wits' end, and meekly gazed at the historical
mass before us, not knowing what to do next. Almost at the summit
of the mountain, under the overhanging rocks, were a dozen black
openings. Hundreds of pilgrims were crawling upwards, looking,
in their holiday dresses, like so many green, pink, and blue ants.
Here, however, our faithful Hindu friends came to our rescue. One
of them, putting the palm of his hand to his mouth, produced a
strident sound something between a shriek and a whistle. This
signal was answered from above by an echo, and the next moment
several half naked Brahmans, hereditary watchmen of the temple,
began to descend the rocks as swiftly and skillfully as wild cats.
Five minutes later they were with us, fastening round our bodies
strong leathern straps, and rather dragging than leading us upwards.
Half an hour later, exhausted but perfectly safe, we stood before
the porch of the chief temple, which until then had been hidden
from us by giant trees and cactuses.
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