"What do the pilgrims there, for they go, it would seem, to Omkar?"
Barlow queried.

"There has been a death--perhaps it was even a year ago, and at a
shrine of Krishna, especially this one that is on a water that is like
a trickle of holy tears to the sacred Narbudda, _straddhas_ (prayers
for the dead) are said. Come, Sahib, we will look upon this mummy, the
only savour of grace about the infidel thing being that it perhaps
brings to their hearts a restfulness, having the faith that they have
helped the soul of the dead."

Barlow rose from where he sat and they went down to where a party of a
dozen were engaged in the service of an appeal to the god for rest for
the soul of a dead relative. The devotees did not resent the
appearance of the two who were garbed as Moslems. The shrine was one
of those, of which there are many in India, that, curiously enough, is
sacred to both Hindus and followers of the Prophet. On a flat rock,
laved by the stream, was an imprint of a foot, a legendary foot-print
of Krishna, perhaps left there as he crossed the stream to gambol with
the milkmaids in the meadow beyond. And it was venerated by the
Musselman because a disciple of Mohammed had attained to great sanctity
by austerities up in the mountain behind, and had been buried there.

But Barlow was watching with deep interest the ceremonial form of the
_straddha_. He saw the women place balls of rice, milk, and leaves of
the _tulsi_ plant in earthenware platters, then sprinkle over this
flowers and kusa-grass; they added threads, plucked from their
garments, to typify the presenting of the white death-sheet to the dead
one; a priest all the time mumbling a prayer, at the end of the simple