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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



Photograph by Bourne and Shepherd 



BATHING AT CALCUTTA'S PRINCIPAL HINDU FANE) 



In Benares the fanatic and ignorant worship with their hearts in their mouths. At 

 Kalighat the half-Europeanized babu worships one of Hinduism's most repulsive demons 

 with his tongue in his cheek. Here young lambs are sacrificed to the destroying goddess, 

 Kali, whose name is revealed in the modern name of India's queen city. 



from the Hooghly, and it is the most con- 

 spicuous stock farm in the world. Sheep 

 browse here and there, cropping the grass 

 of cricket path or soccer field ; goats run 

 about, showing an independence un- 

 thought of by their meeker cousins ; 

 thoroughbred horses, cared for by pic- 

 turesque grooms, are led back and forth 

 in plaid blankets ; pedigreed pups are 

 cared for by men whose looks would en- 

 title them to more manly labor ; pet birds 

 are carried about as in China and fishes 

 are raised in ponds. Only the native 

 babies seem to grow up by themselves. 



Calcutta, of all India's cities, has suf- 

 fered most from commercializing tend- 

 encies. Beside the store where Benares 

 brocades are sold, American shoes shine 

 lustrously under electric lights, and close 

 to the curio shop where Tibetan temple 

 treasures are exposed for sale a costly 

 cabaret offers "jazz" to jaded pleasure- 

 seekers. 



One hazy morning, before the air has 

 begun to dance in the heat, we slide down 



the treacherous Hooghly in a spotless 

 little ship, with a sweet-voiced soprano 

 singing in the airy saloon. We pass 

 much shipping, gaily pennoned in honor 

 of the Duke, who is to open a new dock. 

 It is hours before we emerge from the 

 muddy waters of the stream, and our 

 prow piles up crystal cascades against the 

 deep blue of the bounding sea. 



Down the coast lies Burma, the land of 

 soft-colored silks and smiles, of elephants 

 piling teak, and the silver tinkle of the 

 temple bells. We lie down, happy in the 

 thought that soon a golden cone spearing 

 the sky will tell of gaily-dressed wor- 

 shipers surrounding Shwe Dagon. 



And after Burma, Colombo, Marseilles, 

 Paris — home. But happy is the thought 

 that we cannot forget the piles of carpets 

 outside Edwardes Gate, the gleam of the 

 golden temple in the balconied streets of 

 Lahore, the Friday worshipers in the 

 Delhi Mosque, moonlight at the Taj 

 Mahal, the hot sands of Allahabad, the 

 bathing ghats of Benares, and the golden 



