THE CLOUDS 103 



of prey, all the wild creatures turning longing eyes 

 to the heavens, which are hard and bright as burnished 

 steel above their heads. And under all the thirsty 

 land, mother and provider, waits dumbly, helplessly, 

 looking indeed as if it would never again bear green 

 leaf or brilliant fruit. 



Far out at sea, in that mysterious region remote 

 from the ken of these waiting millions, the celestial 

 machinery is at work, countless thousands of tons of 

 sweet water are being drawn upwards from the exhaust- 

 less ocean, ready for conveyance eastward to where 

 they are so sorely needed. But ready though the 

 burden may be, it must await the means of locomotion, 

 must tarry the coming of the south-west wind. And 

 there that mighty mass of water hangs in the sky, 

 black, forbidding and threatening in appearance, yet 

 in reality laden with life for millions of human beings 

 as well as the countless hosts of lower creation. At 

 last the marching orders arrive, the breeze springs up, 

 the waiting masses begin to move in orderly battalions 

 across the vast concave of the sky. Courage, per- 

 sisting ones ; patience, famishing ryot in your distant 

 burning fields, relief is at hand, coming faster than 

 any human agency could provide it, for it is being 

 borne upon the wings of the wind. And in a few 

 hours, when the precursors of this mighty army of 

 blessing strike the shores of the waiting land, and, 

 with a prodigality only seen in the operations of 

 Nature, begins to pour down its revivifying floods, 

 there flashes from end to end of the waiting continent 

 the glad message of life, even from the gates of the 

 grave, " The monsoon has burst." 



