pause to smell the air.’ He stared at both of us. All reluctance, all self-restraint seemed gone from his face now, and his eyes burned with the keenness of the seeker after truth. He turned and stared out at the looming form of the tower. The hunt is on, my friends,’ he announced. ‘Let us go, and see what we can find.’
On we crept, then, for perhaps a quarter of a mile. Occasionally we would see figures shuffling below us, but we kept well hidden and we were neither spotted nor smelled. The tower was looming impressively now and we began to hear other instruments over the drums - sitars and flutes, wailing like the ghosts of the ruined town. The drum beats too were quickening, as though rising to some climax that we couldn’t glimpse, for the great wall continued to block out our view and I grew more and more eager to see what lay beyond. As the pace of the tabla increased, so we began to move faster ourselves until at last we were running across open ground. The ruins had fallen away now and there were fewer creepers and trees, so that we were, to all intents and purposes, almost wholly exposed. Once I thought we had been seen, for a group of hillsmen, shuffling like the rest, turned and I could make out the glint in their eyes; their stare, however, remained dead, and it was clear they had failed to make us out; we waited until they had moved on, and then we scrambled on towards the wall ourselves. It must once have formed the rampart of the ruined town; it was a mighty structure still, if a little broken-down, and it was with some effort that we clambered up its side. At length, however, we reached the top, as the beat of the tabla grew ever more fierce and the sitar’s wail seemed to rise up to the stars. We heard a great cry from a multitude of voices, somewhere between a cheer and a sob, and then, following it, a grinding, creaking sound. I crept forward and pressed my eye to a gap in the wall.
I crouched there in silence. Stretching away from the wall on which I stood, upwards of a hundred people were gathered – silent and utterly motionless. Their backs were turned to me, and they stood facing what seemed to be a wall of fire. The flames rose fitfully from a crack in the rock and a single bridge, narrow but ornately carved, arched high above their reach. From the bridge, a path then snaked up a steepish cliff towards the temple. This seemed built up from the very rock and loomed ghastly and massive over all of us. The riot of its statuary was more distinct now and had been painted, I saw, in black and violent shades of red. For some reason the very sight of it dampened my spirits, and as I stared at its summit I felt my heart begin to quail.
A particularly vivid spurt of flame writhed up from the abyss, and against the orange of the fire I could make out a hellish form. It was a statue of Kali. Her face was beautifully, and therefore all the more grim, for it was suffused with an incredible cruelty so vivid that I almost thought the statue to be real, and not only real but staring at me. Everyone in the crowd, I realised, was gazing at it, and I too studied it, trying to fathom what secret it held thus to capture and besot such a multitude. It had four arms, two raised up high with hooks in their grip, and two below, holding in each one what appeared to be an empty bowl. The feet, I saw, were attached to a metal base, and the base in turn to a mass of cogs and wheels. I heard a cracking sound; the statue began to move; and I saw that it was the machine which was serving to turn it round. The crowd moaned – and a devilish noise it was, for it seemed to speak of anticipation and greed. At that same moment, I felt Eliot tap me on the back.
‘Unless I’m much mistaken…’ he said.
‘Yes?’
He pointed. ‘Isn’t that Private Compton over there?’
I looked. At first I couldn’t understand what Eliot was talking about, for I could see only a group of savages, their faces frozen and dead, their
On we crept, then, for perhaps a quarter of a mile. Occasionally we would see figures shuffling below us, but we kept well hidden and we were neither spotted nor smelled. The tower was looming impressively now and we began to hear other instruments over the drums - sitars and flutes, wailing like the ghosts of the ruined town. The drum beats too were quickening, as though rising to some climax that we couldn’t glimpse, for the great wall continued to block out our view and I grew more and more eager to see what lay beyond. As the pace of the tabla increased, so we began to move faster ourselves until at last we were running across open ground. The ruins had fallen away now and there were fewer creepers and trees, so that we were, to all intents and purposes, almost wholly exposed. Once I thought we had been seen, for a group of hillsmen, shuffling like the rest, turned and I could make out the glint in their eyes; their stare, however, remained dead, and it was clear they had failed to make us out; we waited until they had moved on, and then we scrambled on towards the wall ourselves. It must once have formed the rampart of the ruined town; it was a mighty structure still, if a little broken-down, and it was with some effort that we clambered up its side. At length, however, we reached the top, as the beat of the tabla grew ever more fierce and the sitar’s wail seemed to rise up to the stars. We heard a great cry from a multitude of voices, somewhere between a cheer and a sob, and then, following it, a grinding, creaking sound. I crept forward and pressed my eye to a gap in the wall.
I crouched there in silence. Stretching away from the wall on which I stood, upwards of a hundred people were gathered – silent and utterly motionless. Their backs were turned to me, and they stood facing what seemed to be a wall of fire. The flames rose fitfully from a crack in the rock and a single bridge, narrow but ornately carved, arched high above their reach. From the bridge, a path then snaked up a steepish cliff towards the temple. This seemed built up from the very rock and loomed ghastly and massive over all of us. The riot of its statuary was more distinct now and had been painted, I saw, in black and violent shades of red. For some reason the very sight of it dampened my spirits, and as I stared at its summit I felt my heart begin to quail.
A particularly vivid spurt of flame writhed up from the abyss, and against the orange of the fire I could make out a hellish form. It was a statue of Kali. Her face was beautifully, and therefore all the more grim, for it was suffused with an incredible cruelty so vivid that I almost thought the statue to be real, and not only real but staring at me. Everyone in the crowd, I realised, was gazing at it, and I too studied it, trying to fathom what secret it held thus to capture and besot such a multitude. It had four arms, two raised up high with hooks in their grip, and two below, holding in each one what appeared to be an empty bowl. The feet, I saw, were attached to a metal base, and the base in turn to a mass of cogs and wheels. I heard a cracking sound; the statue began to move; and I saw that it was the machine which was serving to turn it round. The crowd moaned – and a devilish noise it was, for it seemed to speak of anticipation and greed. At that same moment, I felt Eliot tap me on the back.
‘Unless I’m much mistaken…’ he said.
‘Yes?’
He pointed. ‘Isn’t that Private Compton over there?’
I looked. At first I couldn’t understand what Eliot was talking about, for I could see only a group of savages, their faces frozen and dead, their
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