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through the metropolis. On this route were mosques in which the pilgrims could sleep without clogging up the streets. Excitement in the city was intense: each day, when the pilgrims set off towards their next resting--place, they were watched by enormous crowds, some sneering and hostile, but many bringing presents of sweetmeats,
Mirza Saeed, worn-out and filthy, was in a state of deep frustration on account of his failure to convince more than a handful of the pilgrims that it was better to put one's trust in reason than in miracles. Miracles had been doing pretty well for them, the Titlipur villagers pointed out, reasonably enough. "Those blasted butterflies," Saeed muttered to the Sarpanch. "Without them, we'd have a chance."
"But they have been with us from the start," the Sarpanch replied with a shrug.
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