When these recluses can no longer support their self-inflicted privation, they open the door of their hut, a signal anxiously watched for by such persons as have a desire to meet the eye of the holy man, of whom they would inquire on some (to them) interesting matter; probably regarding their future prospects in the world, the cause of the ill-health and prospects of recovery of a diseased member of their family, or any like subject of interest to the inquirer.

The Soofie, I am told, does not approve of being thus teased by the importunities of the thronging crowd, who beset his threshold the instant his door is heard to open.  Being weak in body, after the fatigue of a protracted fast of weeks together, his replies to the questions (preferred always with remarkable humility) are brief and prompt; and the Natives assure me dependence may always be placed on the good Soofie’s reply being strictly the words of truth.  On this account, even if the oracle’s reply disappoint the hopes of the questioner, he retires without a murmur, for then he knows the worst of his calamity, and if God orders it so, he must not complain, because Infinite Wisdom cannot err, and the holy man will assuredly speak the truth.

The practice so long prevailing in Europe of visiting the cunning man, to have the hidden mysteries of fate solved, occurred to my recollection when I first heard of this custom in India.

’Will my son return from his travels during my lifetime?’—­was the inquiry of a truly religious man, whom I knew very intimately, to one of the professed Soofie class, on his emerging from his hut.  The reply was as follows:—­’Go home!—­be happy;—­comfort your heart;—­he is coming!’ By a singular coincidence it happened, that the following day’s daak produced a letter, announcing to him that his son was on his way returning to his home and his father, who had for some years despaired of ever again seeing his son in this life.

It is needless to say, that the veneration shown to this Soofie was much increased by the singular coincidence, because the person who consulted him was a man of remarkable probity, and not given to indulge in idle conversations with the worldly-minded of that city.

There are many men in this country, I am told, who make Soofieism their profession, but who are in reality hypocrites to the world, and their Maker:  actuated sometimes by the love of applause from the multitude, but oftener, I am assured, by mercenary motives.  A Soofie enjoying public favour may, if he choose, command any man’s wealth who gives credit to his supposed power.  All men pay a marked deference to his holy character, and few would have the temerity to withhold the desired sum, however inconvenient to bestow, should the demand be made by one professing to be a Soofie.