Taken all in all, the worship of the Hindoos has something eminently rational about it; their worship is frequently bestowed upon some tangible object that contributes directly to their material enjoyment.  It is very much like going back to the first principles of gratitude for direct blessings received to worship “Mother Ganga,” the noble stream that brings down the moisture from the Himalayas to water their plains and quicken into life their needy crops, or to worship the gentle bovine that provides them daily with milk and cheese and ghee.  Wonderful legends are told of the cow in Hindoo mythology.  The Ramayana tells of a certain marvellous cow owned by a renowned hermit.  The hermit being honored by a visit from the king, who had with him a numerous retinue, was sorely puzzled how to provide refreshments for his princely guests.  The cow, however, proved herself equal to the emergency, and—­“Obedient to her saintly lord, Viands to suit each taste outpoured.  Honey she gave, and roasted grain, Mead, sweet with flowers, and sugar-cane.  Each beverage of flavor rare, And food of every sort, were there.  Hills of hot rice, and sweetened cakes, And curdled milk, and soup in lakes.  Vast beakers flowing to the brim, With sugared drink prepared for him; And dainty sweetmeats, deftly made, Before the hermit’s guest were laid.”

In all Brahman communities are sacred bulls, allowed to roam at their own sweet will among the crops and help themselves.

Chowel and dood (rice-and-milk) is obtained at noon from a village eating-stall; the rice is dished up to all customers in basins improvised from a broad banyan-leaf, so that nobody’s caste may be jeopardized by handling spoons or dishes that others have touched.  Most of the natives manage to eat with their fingers, but they bring for the Sahib a stiff green leaf which is bent into the form of a scoop and made to answer the purpose of a spoon.  The milk is served in valueless earthenware basins that are tossed into the street and broken after being once used.  There is a regular caste of artisans in India whose hereditary profession is the manufacture of this cheap pottery; almost every village has its family of pottery-makers, who manufacture them for the use of the community.  The people are curious about the bicycle, and the Sahib’s peculiar manner of travelling without the usual native servant and eating rice at an ordinary village stall.  They are, however, far from being in the least obtrusive or annoying; on the contrary, their respectfulness and conservatism is something to admire; although they gather about the bicycle in a compact ring, not a hand in all the company is meddlesome enough to touch it.

Through the smooth kunkah-laid bazaars of Jullundar, so different from the unridable bazaars we have heretofore been made familiar with, and I wheel past the Queen’s Gardens and into the cantonment along lovely avenues and perfect roads.  The detachment of Royal Artillery, whose quarters my road leads directly past, is composed largely of the gallant sons of Erin, and as I wheel into the cantonment, an artilleryman seated on a eharpoy beneath a spreading neem-tree, sings out to his comrades, “Be jabbers, bhoys; here’s the Yankee phat’s travellin’ around the worruld wid a bicycle.”