At the head of the procession, carried on a platform gaily decorated
with gaudy cloths, borne on the shoulders of four men, was a figure of
Ganesha. The obese, four-armed, jovial son of Shiva, bobbing in the
rhythmic stride of his carriers, seemed to nod his elephant head at the
horseman approvingly, wishing him luck as was the wont of Ganesha. The
procession drove in upon Barlow's mind the thought that they were
nearing Mandhatta; he realised it with a pang of reluctance. It seemed
but a matter of just minutes since he had lifted Bootea to the saddle.
It had hurried the Gulab's mind, too, for at another turn where the
road slid into the valley, bringing to their nostrils the soft perfume
of _kush-kush_ grass and the savour of _jamun_ that grew luxuriantly on
the banks of the Narbudda, the Gulab asked: "The Sahib will marry the
young Memsahib who is at the city of the Peshwa?"
Barlow was startled. It was like a voice crying out in the night that
shattered a blissful dream.
"Why do you ask that, Gulab?"
"Because it was said. And the Missie Baba's heart will be full of the
Sahib, for he is like a god.
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