of these openings we came into the central canal and saw fishermen's boats looking like dark bushes in the distance. A little further, and we had arrived at our destination.
The fishermen who guarded the main gateway of the canal had not thought it necessary to set any guard over this spot. They had set up here what is called the 'net lure'. When the canal is dry, fishermen plant wooden posts in a row from one end of the canal to the other and fix a net on the outer side of these posts. Then in the rainy season when big fish like rohi and katla come down the canal they leap over the posts to avoid them and get caught in the net.
In the twinkling of an eye Indra landed five or six rohis and katlas weighing ten, fifteen, or twenty seers[1] each. The huge fish seemed to do their best to break the frail canoe to pieces, lashing their tails against its sides and flapping noisily about.
'What will you do with so many fish, Indra?'
'I want them. But that is enough now. Let's get away', and he let the net go from his hand. There was now no further need for rowing, and I sat still. We were making for the opening through which we had come, going as secretly as before. After being carried down the canal by the swift current for two or three minutes, our little canoe, with a sudden jerk, entered the adjoining field of maize. Taken unawares by this sudden change of direction, I asked, 'What's the matter? What has happened?' Indra sent the canoe further inland with another push, and whispered, 'Silence! The rascals have
- ↑ One seer = 2 lbs. approximately.
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