Word: cart
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...thousands of years since the time of legendary King Indradyumna, the three gods made their triumphal procession from their temple at Puri to their summer house, a mile away down a broad avenue. It was an awesome sight. For Jagannath is the famous Juggernaut, riding the vast cart beneath whose creaking wheels fanatic worshipers once threw themselves to be crushed to death...
...fans and yak tails, the priests began bringing out the gods. The crowd cheered and surged against police lines at the sight of each deity swathed in colored gauze, profusely garlanded and shaded by an umbrella. In a shimmering uproar of crashing gongs they were loaded aboard their high carts. The 29-year-old Raja of Puri, hereditary superintendent of the Jagannath Temple, swept each cart with a golden broom to show that in the eyes of the god all men are lowly...
Twenty minutes later, Subhadra's cart shuddered on its way. At last, in a din of gongs and cymbals and a blaze of flags came the Lord of the Universe himself. The sound of praying paced the god's slow journey to his garden house, and before his passage people fell back in heaps...
...Lack of Truth. From the start, investigation of the brutal slaughter at Hola seemed strangely halfhearted, often clouded by deceit and outright lies. Day after the incident, an official Nairobi communique said the prisoners had died "after drinking water from a water cart." When Coroner W. H. Goudie began his own inquiry, he got little assistance from witnesses who testified, including, in his opinion, Hola's white Camp Commandant Michael Sullivan, whose veracity he frankly doubted. The coroner's verdict was itself curiously negative: "It is impossible to determine beyond reasonable doubt which injuries on the deceased were...
...shots of the city dramatized Brandt's argument. Stalinallee. where in 1953 tough kids stood up to Russian tanks with nothing but stones, looked deserted now. Only a tired old man walked the street, pushing his two-wheeled cart. The Kurfurstendamm of the West zone was alive with traffic, its sidewalk cafes thick with prosperous citizens enjoying their coffee with whipped cream. But in the end it was a refugee, a single, haunted man, looking nervously over his shoulder as he scuttled down a long subway corridor toward freedom, who pointed up Huntley's point: "It seems...