_Madhabad, Sunday_.

We have reached the unpronounceable place after much prayer and
fasting. What a day we had yesterday! We left the Lakserai Circuit
House at 10 a.m., preceded by Autolycus and a crowd of coolies bearing
luggage. Each coolie carries one thing, and as they are all paid the
same without regard to the weight carried, of course there is great
competition for the light packages. It is odd to see one man stagger
under a trunk while another trots gaily off with a cushion or a kodak.
We are allowed to take hand-luggage into the carriage, and we take
such a broad view of the word that it means with us dressing-bags,
suit-cases, tennis-rackets, gun-cases, polo-sticks, golf-clubs, and as
much more as the compartment will hold.

The station, when we reached it yesterday, was crammed with natives
squatting so thick on the platform one could hardly move without
treading on them. A great festival is going on which only happens once
in a long time--fifty years I think--and if they bathe in the holy
Ganges while the festival lasts all their sins are washed away. They
are flocking from all parts, eagerly boarding every train that stops,
regardless of the direction it is going in. The festival ends to-day
at twelve, so I greatly fear many will be disappointed. At all times
the native loves railway travelling, and, as he has no notion of
time-tables, he often arrives at the station the night before, sleeps
peacefully on the ground, and is in comfortable time for the first
train in the morning. Also, he has no idea of fixed charges, and when
he goes to the ticket-office and asks for his "tickut," and the babu
in charge tells him the price, he offers half. When that is refused he
goes away, and returns in an hour or so and offers a little more. It
may take a whole day to convince a native that he can't beat down the