It was nearly as big as the New York Subway, only built of huge stone blocks instead of concrete.

It seemed to be an inferno, in which cobras hunted rats perpetually; but we saw one swarm of fiery-eyed rats eating a dead snake.
There were baby cobras by the hundred--savage, six-inch things, and even smaller, that knew as much of evil, and could slay as surely, as the full-grown mother-snake that raised her hood and hissed as we passed.
The snakes seemed afraid of the Mahatma, and yet not afraid of him--much more careful to keep out from under his feet than ours, yet taking no other apparent notice of him, whereas hundreds of them raised their hoods and hissed at us.

And though nothing touched him, at least fifty times rats and snakes raced over King's feet and mine, or slipped between our legs.
"This fellow has some use for us," King said over his shoulder.

"He'll neither be killed himself, nor let us be if he can help it.

This is no new trick.