In the hand of his servant was displayed
a number of straw-covered bottles. Then on that white, soft, spacious
bed, a gold-coloured mat being laid, a spirit-stand was placed
thereon, and the sunset-coloured liquid goddess poured into the
power-giving decanter. A cut-glass tumbler and plated jug served as
utensils for worship. From the kitchen a black, ugly priest came,
bearing hot dishes of roast mutton and cutlets to take the place of
the sacred flowers. Then Debendra, as a devoted worshipper, sat down
to perform the rites.
Then came a troop of singers and musicians, and concluded the
ceremonies with their music and songs.
At length a young man of about Debendra's age, of a placid
countenance, came and sat with him. This was his cousin, Surendra.
Surendra was in every respect the opposite of Debendra, yet the latter
was much attached to his cousin; he heeded no one in the world but
him. Every night Surendra came to see him, but, fearing the wine, he
would only sit a few minutes.
When all were gone, Surendra asked Debendra, "How are you to-day?"
"The body," replied Debendra, "is the temple of disease."
"Yours is, especially," said his cousin, "Have you fever to-day?"
"No.
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