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H.P. Blavatsky - From the Caves and Jungles of Hindostan
oracles through her lips. Sham Rao said we must not fail to see her, be it only in the interests of science.
The evening closes in, and we once more get ready for an excursion. It is only five miles to the cavern of
the Pythia of Hindostan; the road runs through a jungle, but it is level and smooth. Besides, the jungle
and its ferocious inhabitants have ceased to frighten us. The timid elephants we had in the "dead city" are
sent home, and we are to mount new behemoths belonging to a neighboring Raja. The pair, that stand
before the verandah like two dark hillocks, are steady and trust worthy. Many a time these two have
hunted the royal tiger, and no wild shrieking or thunderous roaring can frighten them. And so, let us
start!
The ruddy flames of the torches dazzle our eyes and increase the forest gloom. Our surroundings seem so
dark, so mysterious. There is something indescribably fascinating, almost solemn, in these night-journeys
in the out-of-the-way corners of India. Everything is silent and deserted around you, everything is dozing
on the earth and overhead. Only the heavy, regular tread of the elephants breaks the stillness of the night,
like the sound of falling hammers in the underground smithy of Vulcan. From time to time uncanny
voices and murmurs are heard in the black forest.
"The wind sings its strange song amongst the ruins," says one of us, "what a wonderful acoustic
phenomenon!" "Bhuta, bhuta!" whisper the awestruck torch-bearers. They brandish their torches and
swiftly spin on one leg, and snap their fingers to chase away the aggressive spirits.
The plaintive murmur is lost in the distance. The forest is once more filled with the cadences of its
invisible nocturnal life - the metallic whirr of the crickets, the feeble, monotonous croak of the tree-frog,
the rustle of the leaves. From time to time all this suddenly stops short and then begins again, gradually
increasing and increasing.
Heavens! What teeming life, what stores of vital energy are hidden under the smallest leaf, the most
imperceptible blades of grass, in this tropical forest! Myriads of stars shine in the dark blue of the sky,
and myriads of fireflies twinkle at us from every bush, moving sparks, like a pale reflection of the
far-away stars.
We left the thick forest behind us, and reached a deep glen, on three sides bordered with the thick forest,
where even by day the shadows are as dark as by night. We were about two thousand feet above the foot
of the Vindhya ridge, judging by the ruined wall of Mandu, straight above our heads. Suddenly a very
chilly wind rose that nearly blew our torches out. Caught in the labyrinth of bushes and rocks, the wind
angrily shook the branches of the blossoming syringas, then, shaking itself free, it turned back along the
glen and flew down the valley, howling, whistling and shrieking, as if all the fiends of the forest together
were joining in a funeral song.
"Here we are," said Sham Rao, dismounting. Here is the village; the elephants cannot go any further."
"The village? Surely you are mistaken. I don't see anything but trees."
"It is too dark to see the village. Besides, the huts are so small, and so hidden by the bushes, that even by
daytime you could hardly find them. And there is no light in the houses, for fear of the spirits."
"And where is your witch? Do you mean we are to watch her performance in complete darkness?"
Sham Rao cast a furtive, timid look round him; and his voice, when he answered our questions, was
somewhat tremulous.
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