The love of Surya is vain, Asura will not
listen to him. But under the flaming arrows of the enamoured god
she blushes and in appearance loses her purity. The natives call
this plant lajjalu, the modest one.
We were spending the night by a brook, under a shadowy fig-tree.
The Sannyasi, who had made a wide circuit to fulfil Dayanand's request,
made friends with us; and we sat up late in the night, listening
whilst he talked about his travels, the wonders of his native country,
once so great, and about the heroic deeds of old Runjit-Sing, the
Lion of the Punjab.
Strange, mysterious beings are found sometimes amongst these traveling
monks. Some of them are very learned; read and talk Sanskrit; know
all about modern science and politics; and, nevertheless, remain
faithful to their ancient philosophical conceptions. Generally they
do not wear any clothes, except a piece of muslin round the loins,
which is insisted upon by the police of the towns inhabited by Europeans.
They wander from the age of fifteen, all their lives, and die generally
very aged. They live never giving a thought to the morrow, like the
birds of heaven, and the lilies of the field. They never touch money,
and are contented with a handful of rice. All their worldly
possessions consist of a small dry pumpkin to carry water, a rosary,
a brass cup and a walking stick. The Sannyasis and the Swamis are
usually Sikhs from the Punjab, and monotheists.
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