"Am I alone, then, Heavenly Ones? Shall I smooth out my flood
lest unhappily I bear away their walls? Will Indra dry my
springs in the hills and make me crawl humbly between their
wharfs? Shall I bury me in the sand ere I offend?"

"And all for the sake of a little iron bar with the
fire-carriage atop. Truly, Mother Gunga is always young!" said
Ganesh the Elephant. "A child had not spoken more foolishly. Let
the dirt dig in the dirt ere it return to the dirt. I know only
that my people grow rich and praise me. Shiv has said that the
men of the schools do not forget; Bhairon is content for his
crowd of the Common People; and Hanuman laughs."

"Surely I laugh," said the Ape. "My altars are few beside those
of Ganesh or Bhairon, but the fire-carriages bring me new
worshippers from beyond the Black Water - the men who believe
that their God is toil. I run before them beckoning, and they
follow Hanuman."

"Give them the toil that they desire, then," said the River.
"Make a bar across my flood and throw the water back upon the
bridge. Once thou wast strong in Lanka, Hanuman. Stoop and lift
my bed."

"Who gives life can take life." The Ape scratched in the mud with
a long forefinger. "And yet, who would profit by the killing?
Very many would die."

There came up from the water a snatch of a love-song such as the
boys sing when they watch their cattle in the noon heats of late