gibberish, like that of the rascally priests in Apuleius, was a
carefully prepared oracle of general application, kept in stock for the
cozening of such prey as myself, I repeated to him my favourite Hindu
proverb[7], and gave him, in exchange for his benevolent cheque on the
future, a more commonplace article of present value, which led to our
parting on the most amicable terms. But I did him injustice, perhaps.
Long afterwards, having occasion to consult an astronomical chart, with
reference to this very story, all at once I started, and in an instant,
the golden evening, the walls of Delhi, and my friend of the many snakes
and sinister eyes, suddenly rose up again into my mind. For there,
staring at me out of the chart, was the mark on the cobra's head. It is
the sign still used in modern astronomy for "the head and tail of the
dragon," the nodes indicating the point of occultation, the symbol of
eclipse.

[7] "_Tulsi, in this world hobnob with everybody: for you
never know in what guise the deity may present himself._"
In the original it is a rhyming stanza.

What then induced or inspired the _gáruda_ to connect me with the moon?
Was it really black art, divination, or was it only a coincidence?
Reason recommends the latter alternative: and yet, the contrary
persuasion is not without its charm. Who knows? It may be, that the soul
grows to its atmosphere as well as the body, and living in a land where
dreams are realities, and all things are credible, and history is only a
fairy tale: the land of the moon and the lotus and the snake, old gods
and old ruins, former births, second sight, and idealism: it falls back,
unconsciously mesmerised, under the spell of forgotten creeds.