But Braja Mohan wanted to get the journey over as quickly as possible.
"We can't stop here," he said, "there's a moon for the first half of the night; we'll go on to Baluhata and tie up there. I'll make it worth your while."
The men rowed on accordingly. On one side were sand-banks shimmering in the heat, on the other a high crumbling bank. The moon rose through the haze, but it shone with a lurid glare like the eye of a drunken man. The sky was still cloudless when suddenly without warning the stillness was broken by a hoarse rumble as of thunder. Looking back the travellers saw a column of broken branches and twigs, wisps of grass and straw and clouds of dust and sand, raised as it were by some vast broom and sweeping down on them.
There were frantic cries of "Steady! steady! Hold on! Hold on! Mercy! Help!"
What happened next will never be known.
A whirlwind, following as usual a narrow path of destruction, descended on the boats, uprooting and overturning everything that lay in its track; and in a moment the hapless flotilla was blotted out of existence.
