The next day everybody in the house began to make preparations for the journey. Not that they hurried about it as we do. No, indeed! Everything was done very leisurely, though there was a lot of talking and disputing and the giving of contrary orders. At last, however, the great "ruth wagon" drawn by oxen, was ready in the courtyard. It was a heavy and ungainly vehicle with solid wooden wheels and a canopy closed in with lattice-work and curtains.

The old porter was there, directing and scolding the servants as they piled the rugs and blankets and bags of food and pots and pans and dishes into the wagon. Chola's father and mother had to take all these things with them on the journey because there are no hotels at which they might stay, only camping-places, or "paraos" beside the roads, where the traveller could buy his food if need be and camp for the night.

It was a wonder there was any room left for the people, but they were all finally stowed away; except Mahala's father, who was to take Harajar's place at the shop in the Bazaar while he was away, and the many cousins who were left behind to look after the house.

There was quite a procession when at last the big wagon rumbled out through the gateway.

Behind it came the grandmother, in her "dhoolie-dak," a sort of a litter, or easy-chair, swung between two long poles. This was carried by two men, one in front and one behind, who rested the end of the poles on their shoulders.

Besides the family there were many servants, and several others walked beside the slow-moving wagon. The cook, too, went with them.

"Good-bye!" shouted little Nao from his garden wall as they went by.

"Good-bye!" called out Chola and Mahala to him, from their seats in front beside the driver. The boys were perfectly happy to think of all the new, strange sights they were going to see along the road. They shouted greetings to their friend the potter as they passed him, and also to the old "fakir," smeared all over with ashes, who sat in a little brick hut by the bridge and pretended to make wonderful cures.

"This is more fun than going to school," said Chola, as the oxen plodded along through clouds of dust. The young folks did not mind this, however, for the road was very lively with people going into the city, some in bullock-carts, some in big wagons like their own, and there were many on foot carrying big baskets on their heads, while beside them trudged little solemn-faced, dark-skinned children.

At noontime they halted for a rest near an orchard full of flowering fruit-trees, where some beautiful peacocks were sunning themselves on the garden walls, spreading out their great tails and strutting about. These lovely birds are found nearly everywhere in India, and in some parts run quite wild.

"There is a 'Holy Man,'" said Mahala, pointing to a man who was sitting cross-legged by the roadside, with only a cloth wrapped around his waist. His long matted hair hung on his shoulders, and he was saying his prayers with the help of a rosary of beads which he continually passed through his hands.

As the wagon came up, a young man who accompanied the "Holy Man" ran up and held out a begging-bowl, saying: "Give, oh, charitable people, to this Holy One." Chola's mother threw some cakes into the bowl as the wagon stopped.

"We will become beggars ourselves before we reach the 'Sacred City' if we are going to give to every beggar on the road," grumbled Harajar. "They are as thick as flies in our country."

"It is good to give to a 'Holy Man,'" said the gentle mother. "Maybe he will pray that our babe be made well;" and she sighed as she looked down at the white face of the baby in her arms.

No country in the world has so many beggars as India. Many of them are called "Holy Men" because they do nothing but make pilgrimages from one sacred place to another, living solely on the alms that are given to them.

When they had eaten their lunch, the young people went to explore the garden near them. "Perhaps there are dogs," said Mahala, a little fearfully, but they forgot about dogs when they saw a thicket of sugar-cane down by a stream. "Perhaps we can buy some from the man; there he is now ploughing by the stream," said Chola.

"I will give you some of the sweet cane, my little princelings," said the man, "if you will give a wreath of flowers to the Sacred River for me," when he learned that the boys were on their way to Benares.

The farmer stopped his oxen in the shade,—for oxen also do all the ploughing,—and began to cut some of the long purple stalks of cane. All at once Mahala cried out, and pulled Chola back, and there, just at their feet, was a pure white snake crawling out from the roots of the cane. It flattened out its head in a most astonishing fashion when it saw them.

"Behold! a pure white cobra," cried the farmer. "It must mean good luck to you, my young masters. It is a rare sight now-a-days to see one of these white cobras."

The children salaamed to it very politely, though they were careful to keep at a good distance. "It is looking for water," said the farmer, as he took a long stalk of cane and gently guided it down to the stream. The snake is another sacred animal of the Hindus, and they would not kill or injure one for anything.

"It may be a sign that the babe will be healed," said the mother, hopefully, when the children came back with their sugar-cane and told about the wonderful cobra. As they were about to move on again, they saw a great cloud of dust down the road. "It is an elephant and many men," said one of the servants. "A great ruler, doubtless," said another, as there came into sight a man on horseback carrying a silk banner or flag. It turned out that it was a great and powerful Rajah going in state on a journey to visit another Rajah, or ruler, of one of the small kingdoms or states of which modern India was formerly made up. And did he not look imposing!

First there came a big elephant, all decorated with silk and gold and silver. On the elephant's back was a "howdah," which is like a big chair with a canopy over it, and in this, sitting cross-legged, was the Rajah,—a big, fat fellow dressed in coloured silks and jewels, with a great diamond-set plume in his turban. The fittings of this "howdah" were most luxurious. It was lined and carpeted with expensive silken rugs, for the making of which certain castes are famous. There are many kinds of rugs in India; but those of woven silk, like the praying-rugs of the temples, and those upon which the great Rajahs sit in state, are the most beautiful and expensive. These rug-makers are mostly Mohammedans, a religious sect entirely different from the Hindus.

Behind the "howdah" stood a servant holding a big umbrella of fine feathers over the Rajah's head. The driver sat on the neck of the elephant and guided the big beast by prodding him on one side or the other with an iron-shod stick or goad.

After the Rajah, followed many men on horseback, all in fine dress and carrying lances and banners of silk; then a whole troop of servants who guarded the wagons filled with the Rajah's baggage and the presents he was carrying to the other Rajah.

"Isn't it fine to ride like that on a big elephant!" whispered Mahala to Chola, as the children picked flowers by the roadside and threw them before the Rajah's elephant, which is a pretty way the Hindus have of welcoming a person of importance.

"How happy the Rajah must be," said little Shriya, "to be able to ride like that and wear such beautiful jewels!" And all the rest of the day the little folk talked of nothing but the great Rajah and his escort.

At sunset they came to a parao, where they were to camp for the night. It was only a bare piece of ground under some trees, and a few stalls or little shops where one could buy food and fuel to make a fire.

Our party came to a halt among many other bullock-carts, the owners of which were already sitting around on the ground cooking their suppers or bargaining for food at the little booths. Soon, when their own pots and pans were got out, and the dishes and the bags of rice and meal, the cook made ready the supper.

"This is much more fun than eating at home," said Shriya, as the children were gathering big leaves from the trees. These they used for plates, heaping them up with their boiled rice, and curry, and fish, and all sorts of puddings and sweets.

Meanwhile the oxen tethered close by were eating their suppers of chopped straw. As supper was being eaten, another party stopped at the parao and camped not far away. There were many servants in the new party, and a fine litter with gold and silk coverings. When the litter was put down, a young boy stepped out, looking very proud and haughty. His servants at once spread a handsome rug on the ground for him to sit on and rushed about waiting on him, taking good care to keep every one at a distance.

"It is a noble Brahmin boy, and he must be a little prince at the very least," whispered Mahala to Chola in an awestruck voice. "See his rich dresses and the airs he puts on."

"Yes, and how he orders every one about him. Nothing seems good enough for him," replied Chola; "but he has a right to be proud, for he wears the 'Sacred Thread' about him," he continued, looking at the little boy with interest. Around the little Brahmin's neck was a thin cord or thread, which was the sign of his high caste.

Just then a little boy from one of the wagons crept up near and salaamed before him until his head touched the ground.

"Away! do not come so near my master," cried one of the servants, and ordered him off.

"Ha! the servant is right," said the children's grandmother, who was sitting in her palanquin-litter enjoying the lively scene. "When I was young like Shriya, a beggar boy like that would not have dared come so near a noble child." The old woman frowned at the little boy, who crept meekly back to his cart.

Meanwhile the haughty little Brahmin ate his supper, with his head turned away so no one could see him eat, and then, growing tired of respectful glances of the crowd around him, he got into his litter again and the servants fastened the curtains tightly around him.

Chola and Mahala were sleepy by this time, so they just rolled themselves up in quilts on the ground, while Shriya crept into the wagon with her mother. Everybody slept soundly, in spite of the fact that one of the servants was beating a drum most of the night, which they really believed was the way to keep off evil spirits.

The first thing Chola heard when he woke up the next morning was the cook scolding the doves, who were picking out of his meal bags while he was getting breakfast ready.

"Oh, the thieves!" he cried. "They are as bad as the beggars."

"They are hungry," said Chola. "It would not please thee to be scolded if thou wert hungry." Then he and Mahala amused themselves by throwing pieces of cake to the doves who were picking up their food around the carts, and the green paroquets which came flying out of the trees, where they had been roosting all the night.

They did not see the little Brahmin again. The curtains of his litter were still tightly closed when, after much shouting and running about, the bullocks were at last yoked into the wagon and the little procession rolled away down the dusty road long before the sun came up over the distant groves of mango-trees.

"What art thou guarding so carefully, Shriya?" asked her brother. He and Chola were walking beside the wagon for a change. The lattices were raised so Shriya and her mother and aunt could enjoy the fresh air.

"They are my dolls," said the little girl, sadly, as she patted the bundle beside her. "I take them as an offering to the holy river."

"Poor little woman! Must thou sacrifice thy toys, too?" smiled her uncle as he patted her head.

"It is right that she should," answered her mother; for she, too, had thrown her dolls into the sacred river when she was a child, at the yearly festival, when the children must sacrifice their playthings to the great river.

The boys suddenly looked gloomy, for they remembered that the day would come only too soon when they, too, would have to destroy all their toys. Chola wondered to himself as he walked along if he might not at least save the little tiger, painted a bright yellow with red spots, which was his favourite toy.

But the children could not be sad long, with so much going on about them, and they were soon shouting and laughing to a group of children by the roadside who were amusing themselves playing at making "graves." They were heaping up little mounds of dust and sticking flowers in them, which is the nearest thing little Hindu children have to "mud pies."

For several days our little party plodded along the flat, dusty road, camping out at night at the paraos, until at last they drew near the "Holy City of Benares."