We went to the holy bathing place where the spring had never failed, there were ducks and geese and cormorants and the pool was filled with big catfish. There were old men on the steps fixing up the rocks where the ceremonies take place. The sky was mist or Mumbai fog and this was an old, old place. The stones laid here, the water deep, probably three thousand years old. The taxi man said he came here for the energy; and we both sat quietly upon the stones in the peace and the heat and the history.   *  …