# Gujarát and the Gujarátis/Home Life in Gujarát

HOME LIFE IN GUJARÁT.
A few details of domestic life in Gujarát may not be uninteresting. Let us begin with the beginning—birth. The birth of a child is, of course, an event in the family. Want of issue is felt as a curse and a reproach by the wife as well as the husband. No Hindu can enter Swarga, his heaven who does not leave a son and heir in the world to perform the post mortem ceremony named Shrádha. The Parsi is not quite free from this superstition. When conjugal life is unblessed with issue, a thousand means are tried by the poor wife. She is not an honoured wife before she becomes a mother. She appeals to gods and goddesses without number to grant her prayer. Charlatans and impostors are not wanting to take advantage of her ignorance. It ​would fill a volume to record the adventures of a Hindu wife in search of offspring. Suffice to say that the uneducated Hindu wife will stop at no means to get at the desired end. She is at peace when once the prize is secured, no matter how, where, or when.
Boyhood.
Every care and comfort is lavished on the mother expectant. She who was a few months ago the most despised of the family, even less important than the servants, now finds herself real mistress of the house. As the time of trial and triumph approaches, a dinner party is given in her honour, at which, besides some insane rites, the poor creature has to put up with many a rabid joke and ribald song. Three days after the child is born the astrologer prepares its horoscope. The young mother's heart sometimes "bursts with happiness" as she listens to the astrologer's glib forecast of the child's career. If it is a boy, the baby is taken in hand by the grandparents, who transfer all their affection for their son to the little infant. At an early age the boy has the Janoi ceremony performed ​upon him, which [makes a real and responsible Hindu of him. The Parsi boy likewise has the Kusti ceremony performed on him, and the Mahomedan undergoes Sunnat.
Girlhood.
The girl is a heavy responsibility, and parents are always uneasy about her future. They anxiously look out for a suitable match, and as soon as they can they get rid of the dangerous possession. "A girl is best at her father-in-law's," says the native proverb, "as is the elephant at the Rájá's." Indeed, every parent looks upon a daughter as a" white elephant." Amongst the Hindus it is extremely difficult to find suitable husbands in one caste and suitable wives in another.
Marriage among Hindus.
Not only is intermarriage between two castes nearest in customs and rites prohibited, but marriage between cousins of the remotest degree sternly is looked down upon. Such connection is incest according to Hindu law. The rarity of a ​really happy marriage can be conceived. And still, curious to say, a Hindu marriage seldom turns out unhappy. The credit of this is mainly due to the Hindu woman.
Parsi Marriage.
Parsis, too, cannot marry out of caste; but there is an incipient revolt at work against this ruling, and several daring youths have taken unto them fair European brides. But this happens in rare instances, and it is not at all desirable, I believe.
But the Parsi can marry his cousin—even first cousins marry. In fact, such alliance is always preferred. To such an extent is this practice of "breeding in and in" carried by certain families, that the results have told disastrously on the progeny. Eminent medical men have strongly condemned this practice. Of one European doctor, high up in the profession, it is said that he was once called to the side of a young Parsi lady in trouble. The new comer was so slow in coming, that the mother's life was at one time despaired of. But at last she came. Her grandfather, a very wealthy merchant, looking at the tiny little girl, small enough to make a morsel ​for man or beast, asked the doctor very plaintively how it was that his grandchildren were so very diminutive and often deformed. The doctor replied, "My dear sir,if you keep up the practice of marrying cousins, I will not be surprised if, ten years hence, you get babies no better than half-formed ourang-outangs!"
And no mistake.
Too much of cousin-marriage has given us not a few ourang-outangs in physique as well as in intellect.
The Parsi is a monogamist; not so the Hindu and the Mahomedan. Polygamy obtains amongst the very highest circles or the very lowest.
A friend of mine has a Dhobi (a washerman), a low class Hindu, who has six wives. Being asked one day what a poor man like him could do with so many costly luxuries, the man explained, with a wicked leer, that he had originally married only one wife, of his own caste, that she was his queen-wife, and she attended to his personal wants. The second wife, he explained, he had married for mere convenience, and so also the other four. The first looked after his kitchen, the second and third earned money for the whole family, the fourth was intended for perpetuation of his race; she having failed, the fifth was taken ​in, and the sixth was her sister! All save the first were of lower caste than himself, and besides paying him in money for his condescension in marrying them, besides working for him like slaves, they felt honoured and happy! He did literally nothing, he continued with another horrid leer, except going to customers on pay-day. Not a bad idea!
Marital Travesties.
Marriages, both among Parsis and Hindus, especially the latter, are often very strange perpetrations. I read some time ago a graphic account of a marriage recently perpetrated at Poona. The "happy bridegroom" had just entered on his fifth year when he took to him the "blooming bride" of two-and-a-half. The parties concerned seemed to have taken the matter very lightly; so much so, that to the outsider the ceremony seemed to have been performed between the two parents who stood sponsors, and to whom the usual query, "Dost thou take him" or "her as thy lawful," &c., was addressed by the priest. The bridal preparations were complete to a degree—the groom was turned out in all the bravery of the toga virilis and a huge ​sugar-loaf turban, whilst of the bride nothing could be recognised save the blinking eyes and the cry for "the bottle" from under her heap of trousseau. It was a Parsi marriage, and indicates "the march of progress" characteristic of a highly advanced people. But such "marriages" are not frequent among Parsis.
Marriages among Kudwá Kunbis.
Perhaps the strangest form of this kind of "marriage" obtains amongst the Kudwá Kunbis of Gujarát, a wealthy and otherwise intelligent class in that province. The "season" for marriage among the Kudwás occurs only once in twelve years, when all marriages are settled after consulting Mátá, the tutelary goddess. Among these are adult marriages, child marriages, infant marriages, and marriages in the womb. The last-mentioned are highly amusing arrangements, in which the mothers expectant undergo the preliminaries. Many curious results attend these marital travesties; but the national instinct is equal to all extraordinary occasions. For instance, if the "married mothers" both give birth to girls or boys, these are looked upon as sisters or brothers, and the previous marriage annulled. ​The marriage is held good only in case of one of the births being a boy, the other a girl. And in this case neither disease nor deformity, nor any physical inadaptability stands in the way of the validity of the marriage contract. Who will say, after this, that the Hindu mind is not saturated with a sense of rich and grotesque humour? Of this marriage in embryo and its results, I have culled an account from several curious manuscripts, in prose and verse, that came in my way during my travels. Many of the quaint incidents recorded in my idyl were witnessed by myself personally or by Hindu friends who have gone through the harrowing experiences.
An Aryan Idyl.
Motichand Zaver and Kastur Pitamber were merchant princes. They were castemen, neighbours, and friends; each was called the very "nose" of Ahmedábád society. Mrs. Moti and Mrs. Kastur were also sisters. Many a friendly chat had the two Sheths together, chewing pán supári and congratulating each other on the success of the week's "operations." Many also ​were the meetings between the two Shethánis, who went to the holy Máháráj together, and often examined each other's heads to detect parasites (an unfailing sign of bosom friendship). One afternoon, as Bái Devkore was looking into Bái Shámkore's locks, she pinched the latter's cheek and chid her for not having acquainted her "own sister" with an interesting secret she had only then discovered by accident.
"Sister," said Devkore, "thy heart is not clear like mine. Did I not tell thee, without asking, that I was six months gone? How far art thou?"
Then replied the modest Shámkore, "Oh, sister Devkore, I was so ashamed you would go on joking and teasing. You have done it so often—you have four already. I am five months gone, and it will be a boy, I know."
"I'll have a girl," replied the impetuous Shámkore. "What say you to a match, sister mine?"
"Oh, sister," replied the younger, "it will be an honour to our family; I'll ask my This (husband)."
​That night Shámkore's "This" saw Devkore's "This," and in less than a week the mothers-expectant were "married" in right Shráwak fashion. "It is a splendid stroke, my dear," said the uxurious Kastur to his young wife that night. "That hog [his friend Moti] is worth a plum."
But unluckily for them, both gave birth to girls. This was a sore disappointment, but it was overcome by the arrangement that the next male birth should wed the promised bride. It was four years before Mrs. Kastur did present her lord with a thing which the midwife declared would be a boy by-and-bye. Unfeigned were the rejoicings thereupon, not somuch at Kastur's house as at Shett Motichand's. Mrs. Moti was wild with joy. "Oh, sister mine, I feel as if I had done it, I so badly want the little rogue, my poor Mánkore (the promised bride) is growing so."
Time flies. Mánkore is now sixteen, her boy-husband is nearing twelve. Mánkore looks older than her age by at least five years. Devchand, her husband, looks nine at most. He is short, dull, consumptive. She is the reverse. But is she not his promised bride? The families ​now live away from each other; but the wife is informed of her husband's rapid progress, physical and mental. Mánkore is "bursting" with youth and hope; she is already a moogdhá; her season of leafage is over; her wise mother has already disclosed to her enraptured gaze the mysteries of wifehood. "Oh, dear, how I long to meet my lord. I am more eager for his company than is the pea-hen for raindrops. Indeed, indeed, I must be married, mother." And married she was.
Mánkore's heart died within her when, after all these years, she beheld her lord. Her fancy had pictured another form altogether. But she would not repine. She would consecrate her life to rendering his happy.
"He is little,he is ignorant, he is ugly; but is he not my wedded lord? I'll give him my own health, my own knowledge, my own beauty. Bhugwán will help a virtuous wife. O Brahmá! O Shiva! O Vishnu! ye thirty-three crores of devás and devis, make me ugly and ignorant, and give the gifts ye have given to me to my dear lord. I'll cherish him in my heart, ​I'll soothe him in my arms, I'll kiss him into glorious manhood, I'll be a motherly wife unto him."
So reasoned Mánkore and so she vowed. The wedding ceremonies are over; the bridal party disperse; the bridegroom is carried into his room. An hour later the bride follows. All is hushed. With a light step Mánkore enters the magnificent apartment, mirrored all round, with the scented bedstead, its silk and satin trappings, its gold and silver posts, its lovely curtains. But she heeds not all these tinsel effects. The "life" of all this beauty is her lord, and he is—SNORING! There is no ecstasy of impatience on his part. He sleepeth the sleep of the innocent. Mánkore sees this and sighs. But her love for the miserable little fellow is supremely unselfish. She feasts her eyes on the object which, under other circumstances, she could not have too strongly loathed. She lays herself down gently on the floor. Oh, the horrors of this bridal night! "The water of despair extinguishes the fire of my love, but I'll venture." Gently she nears the bed, and looking around, all fearful, she touches his feet. They are so clammy! Then, overpowered by an undefinable feeling, ​pity, loneliness, despair, she attempts to ravish a chaste wifely kiss from the slumbering bride-groom. But, unused to such osculatory exercise, the idiot awakes, sets up a terrible shriek: "Oh, má! oh, bapá! come, come! this strange woman is biting mylips! oh, má! she is gagging my mouth! oh, she is breaking my legs! oh, oh, oh!" There is a rush into the room. The poor fainting bride is removed gently to another room by the mother-in-law. There is wondrous sympathy between these two women. The little Sheth Devchand is soothed to slumber by promise of a long holiday from school, and the Bhaiají sleeping with him.
And thus ends my Aryan Idyl: what followed is only known to the chief actors. The Máháráj tried to improve his opportunity. But Mánkore is not like her mother or her mother-in-law. She can only cry in corners, read Karsandás Mulji's Moral Essays, pray to her "true" God. She is very gently treated;her parents are gone, her husband is going. He cannot last over a few ​years more. She waits upon her lord. "I am his handmaid, and I pray that he may live; I am quite happy," she reasons falsely. "Let him only live—he must survive me. Is he not my lord? What he can't give me here he'll give me there, surely—I have learned that much." Poor child, poor child! What a wealth of faith and hope is thine! Widow of a living imbecile, amidst trials and temptations, surrounded by sin and sorrow, thou art pure of heart—a virgin immaculate! But thou canst not hide it from thyself that custom and the folly of parents have blighted thy life. May none of thy sisters realise thy fate!
Experiences of a Newly-Married Parsi.
An odd marriage is not a rarity among Parsis, too, as I have said—it may be odd in various ways. Here are the experiences—of a "mixed" character—of my friend Ookerji, confided to me as a friend. Any honest Parsi can vouch for the facts, though I very much doubt if any will like to be identified as the "happy" bridegroom or his dear wife's mother!
Last week I was dined by my mother-in-law. Mother-in-law is a well-endowed widow who ​keeps her own accounts and her own counsels. I hail from Panch Kaliani, a small possession of Nawáb Khudá Bux of Mowlághar. I was an orphan before I was born; so one might well doubt my existence. But fact is a stern thing, and so is mother-in-law, to whom at once I must return. Well, the dinner was in honour of my marrying mother-in-law's only daughter. It was an "affair of the heart," for had not mother-in-law set her heart on it? And when she sets her heart, or head, or hand, or foot on anything, there is small hope of resistance, you may be sure. Our union was arranged for just after the fury of the 1864—5 share mania had subsided into bankruptcy and suicide. One day father-in-law "was not." So mother-in-law came to Panch Kaliani a woe-begone widow to all appearance, but with small effects of large value hidden in many odd corners of her capacious motherly person. I distinctly remember this visit. My old aunt received her, and a little girl trotting behind her, at the threshold. I was busy eating raw Indian corn, but instinctively made out that the little girl was her daughter and my destiny. They lived with us for about a year, during which time our troths were plighted. Shortly after my ​poor old aunt died, leaving me and her neat little fortune to mother-in-law's care. We then came up to Bombay, where mother-in-law at once set up for a rich widow with no desire to become a woman again. She put us both to cheap schools—me and my wife—where we were happier than at home. Mother-in-law had a horror of over-feeding us, and whenever we cried from hunger she would remind us of the day when we would be wedded and free. And, in very sooth, she was making grand preparations for the day, and the repeated threat was, "The wedding once over, I'll lay down my aching bones in peace." This was an empty boast, for, as far as could be gathered from a respectful distance, the doctor was of opinion that her constitution was not predisposed to generating ossific substance. But I see the reader is looking out for a picture of mother-in-law. Well, she was no meet subject for a poetic pen. Horizontally and perpendicularly she measured the same. She had a fine head of hair, which grew in rank luxuriance, shooting out their delicate downy germs on the fallow surface of her facial region, notably on her upper lip and chin. In voice and manners she was more mannish than is usual. ​So much for mother-in-law. As to her daughter, I am not the man to betray what is in my keeping.
How the Marriage was managed.
Well, mother-in-law worked for a successful wedding business, as I said. She set apart Rs. 5,000 for one day's expenses. She got thick placards printed in red and blue, commencing with a brief history of her house, mentioning the names of parties to be married, and concluding with an invitation to the recipient and "all with you"—meaning your whole race, including the ayás, hymáls, and even the next-door neighbour. Those invitation cards mother-in-law got liberally distributed by Parsi priests, who have, somehow or another, taken leave of their priestly calling, but who make excellent dry-nurses, match-makers, waiters, and errand-boys. Well, well, the day came, and with the crowing of the cock we started for the wedding-hall. A thousand cushioned chairs were scattered over the spacious grounds, while the hall inside was being swept and scoured. That day must ​have cost mother-in-law ten years of her life. She lived in an acute agony of hope and fear. Would the day go off well? One local magnate would send word that he could not join, because his wife was ill; and away would go poor mother-in-law to the stubborn dame, coax, cajole, and bribe her into gracing the occasion. In some instances, she says, she positively bought brilliant silk dresses for ladies who did not care to disgrace their families by appearing in the garments their husbands could afford! By 4 o'clock visitors commenced pouring in. We were now asked to go and purify ourselves—me and the bride. This is done by repeating sundry prayers said by the priest, drinking a glass of niranga, and taking an oath. A rupee to the priest had changed the niranga into most palatable eau de vie. On dressing we were seated side by side, and the high priests approached with a high-and-mighty gait. One of these "holy men " managed to tread upon some rotten plantain bark. I dare not describe the result, but that evening another priest had to officiate for Dastur Banámeijad. We were soon married, and then mother-in-law came to wash my feet, according to custom. The five minutes occupied by this ceremony were to ​me an age. I was in constant fear of having the foot disjointed. But mother-in-law was all smiles that evening. She formulated the motherly blessing, "May I be thrown from over thy head," and then the thing was over.
I was now led to a seat outside between two venerable guests, and took a leisurely survey of the assembly. Most of the guests were Parsis, but there were some Mussulmans, Hindus, and Portuguese. How these latter gentlemen came to know our family is still a mystery to me; but mother-in-law is certain they were representatives of the Government. As far as I could guess, one of them was Dr. de Lucha, the Sonápore apothecary, and the other Mr. Annunciation, the undertaker. But each had a cocoa-nut and a nosegay in his hand, and that means they were welcome guests. I have no time to speak of the dresses of ladies and gentlemen, and of the exquisite music the former discoursed alternately with the Portuguese band.
But here's how we dined on the occasion. The guests sat at table instead of squatting on the floor, each having before him a fresh plantain leaf. On this leaf the waiter served the dinner—about two dozen little dainties from sugar, ghee, ​and plantain, up to cake, custard, and cream. It was beautiful to see the liquid ghee meandering through the viands and making friendly overtures to the coat and trousers of the diner, while the oil-lamp was flickering from nervous exhaustion. It was beautiful to see how the dinner was eaten—the rice dál and plantain first, and then the solids and substantials by way of dessert. The toasting, too, was beautiful to witness. How the health of deceased ancestors was first drunk, then the health of remote descendants, and, oftener than was necessary, of the living worthies of the community. The health was, of course, drunk in what goes by the name of "wine." The toasts were proposed by professional toasters, sometimes by friends of the host and sometimes by the waiters. Have you seen the dirtiest chimney-sweep of London? Well, then, the average Parsi waiter beats him. There is not one white speck to relieve the dread darkness of his appearance. A cold shiver runs through your body as you see the waiter stalking out of the kitchen and serving the pudding or custard with his five dirty fingers. His appearance strikes terror into children, and I was told of a mother that was to be on whom the sight of him ​had a most disastrous effect. The Parsi waiter is only next in harrowing associations to the Parsi corpse-bearer. There is a subtle sympathy between the two wretches which the student of nature can easily account for.
Death—its Effects on the Living.
In dealing, though very cursorily, with such a solemn subject as life, it would not be well to omit death, the twin-brother of life. Death is not a stranger to us; but he is never a welcome guest. And by none is a visit from him so much dreaded as by the Hindu wife. The death of her husband is a crushing blow to her; she cannot recover from its effects. The Hindu widow is doomed to wearing life-long weeds. The widow is not treated like a human being. Her look is "inauspicious," her touch pollutes everything. Despised, neglected, and often betrayed by the wolves of society, her woman's life often becomes a burden to her. She has nothing for it but either to abandon her pure womanhood to impure customs, or to drag on her miserable solitary sojourn to the bitter end, often reached long before it is time! I am here speaking of the young hindu widow—she who has all her ​life before her. The widow who has the consolation of children left to her is not so completely at the mercy of caste and custom. Indeed, the widow with grown-up boys does not think she is to be so much pitied as her neighbour who has been left "alone." Of such widows my bold but unhappy heroine, Moghi Thakrani, is a notable instance. Let me speak of her class "by her mouth."
The Confessions of Moghi Thakrani.
A Chapter of Lapses, Relapses, and Collapses.
"My father married late in life—after his forty-eighth year. My mother was then about twelve. She looked old for her age, my aunt Kevli tells me. My father was really old, having led a laborious and irregular life; but he had hoarded money, with which he bought my mother. She made a devoted wife. He, too, was kind to her in his own way. Three years after the marriage my mother gave me life and lost hers in the attempt. My father mourned her truly, but his grief was selfish and arbitrary. What grieved him was not so much her death, as her not having left him a son and heir. My father loved and was very proud of me. He ​would not part with me under Rs. 50,000, he used to say. I remember my youth from six years upwards. At this age I was first taken to the Máháráj's Mandir. My aunt and several of my cousins came with me. Up to nine I worshipped the Máháráj at a distance; but after my marriage with an old man I was initiated into the sacred rites of Máháráj worship. My father as well as my husband did not know, or rather pretended not to know of mydedication to the 'Source of True Bliss.' On the day of our visit my aunt decked me out in the best of clothes and richest of ornaments, murmuring softly all the while, 'Thou little lucky rogue, thy life will be blessed to-day.' And thus fell upon my life the cruellest blight that could befal womanhood. I would not have the heart to wish such a curse to fall upon my deadliest enemies. But we are all alike. After my dedication I went to live with my husband. He was an old man, with many of the infirmities of age—he was deaf and colour blind, for two things, and made dreadful mistakes through jealousy. I had scarcely been with him for three months when an undesirable acquaintance sprang up between me and an opposite ​neighbour. I made very light of the sin, and so we lived on for about six months. The knowledge no way interfered with my happiness. But soon came its punishment. The Brahmin cook, learning of it, besieged me, and threatened exposure when I disregarded his importunities. It is impossible to deny favours which are asked as a price for secrecy. Next year I presented my husband with an heir, who died in a few weeks. The old man himself died soon after.
"I now entered on a career of unbridled license. When inconveniently situated, I would organise pilgrimages to holy shrines, whither I would go in company of half a dozen wives and maidens, accompanied by two or three servants. Having fallen myself, I felt a kind of satisfaction in seeing others fall. I think I have this way ruined a hundred women."
Let me now give a few instances of the sad results of caste. A man being strictly forbidden to marry out of caste, and eligible girls being very few, he has to pass the best years of his life in low intrigues for the acquirement of money and the gratification of brute passions. He is nearly a wreck at the time of his marriage, and makes an indifferent guardian for what is his ​exclusively. After a few years of the marital foolery, the husband either dies or is quietly removed. And then the young widow, used to sin, breaks out into open profligacy, undermining the morals of all who come in contact with her.
On the other hand, when the wife dies first, leaving a son of say ten years, the father gets for him a bride of thirteen or fifteen. There is a double object in view. He cannot marry again if he is a poor man. He will have sooner or later to bring a wife for the son; so he resorts to this stratagem. Such arrangements are rare, but people know what they are made for. The re-marriage of widows and permission to marry one degree out of caste, would do away with practices the infamy of which attaches to almost all sections of uneducated Hindus.
The Thraldom of Caste—Its Approaching End.
Oh Caste! what havoc hast thou wrought in Gujarát in the name of religion, and under the sanction of antiquity! We have been thy slaves for centuries—and no slaves so abject as we Gujarátis, no tyrant so absolute as thou, cruel, cruel Caste! But thy days are numbered. Yes, ​the reign of King Caste is drawing to a close. Nature, the sovereign controller of all mundane affairs, is already asserting her supremacy; and though it may be years, perhaps whole decades yet, before the rightful sovereign comes into her own, I doubt not that Caste, in his more hateful aspects, is retreating. Twenty years ago, the re-marriage of a Hindu widow was an event not to be dreamt of. In the course of last year I have recorded at least fifteen such unions. The bold spirits who defy Caste in order to save their honour and secure the happiness to which instinct tells them they are entitled, have to put up with bitter persecution, even personal violence from bigots in power; but the eye of an All-wise Providence watches over the victims. The time is coming when, sanctified by Him and blessed by all sensible Gujarátis, widow re-marriage will grow up an institution of the land. Meantime, the following account of a Caste meeting may afford some cue to the observant reader as to the knowledge and power for good of the representatives of Caste, and the attitudes of the advocates of reform. The proceedings are conducted in a very primitive manner. But I need not apologise for that, inasmuch as it is my business to place ​before the reader the real pictures of life and manners, rough, crude, sometimes half-naked, but always natural.
A Hindu Caste Meeting.
Thákar Khokhrá, the Shett (smoking opium from his hubble-bubble).—Brothers, it has come to my ears that some of us here assembled are children of the devil.
Manhordás (ardent reformer).—Yes, father.
Thákar Khokhrá.—Why should it be so, my son?
Manhordás.—Father, if thou wilt forgive thy chhoru (child), I'll speak.
Rangiláaka(gay widower).— Yes,Manhorbhái, tell the truth and shame the devil.
Manhordás.—Well, then, we are going to the devil, as Khokhrá bápá says, because we would rather follow the devil than such a Máháráj as Chandoolálji.
Ládubhat (orthodox priest).—Shut up your mouth, shut up your mouth; you are to-day a sudhár awálá (reformer), but did you never worship the Máhápurasha?
Manhordás.—Never.
Ládubhat.—I have myself seen you kissing ​the sacred toe. (Cries of "Shame! shame!" "The hypocrite!")
Mánhordas.—It is false. I can prove it false.
Khokhrá Shett.—Prove it, young man.
Manhordás.—Because on the 5th vad of Vaishák 19—the Máháráj's toe was bitten off by rats whilst he lay exhausted after a drunken frolic. Dr. Bhan Daji could prove it. (Hisses and groans and uproar.)
Thákar Khokhrá (upsetting the hubble-bubble).—You shameless infidel! I have put you out of caste.
Veshdhári (a man who loves widows inprivate and hates them in public).—I declare that Manhordás is a Kristan fellow. He is a vutlel (convert). What are these Sudháráwálá? One cheats widows out of their portions; another keeps a number of widows in his house under pretence of protection; a third gambles and becomes a bankrupt: they become Sudhárawala to please the Sahib loques, and that way assume importance. They are the thieves and pirates of society. Shame upon their birth!
​Manhordás.—Don't make me speak out, Veshadhári. I know you and the widows of your family!
Veshadhári.—They are your mothers, you rascal!
Manhordás.—Ah! they never keep their children!
Veshadhári (losing temper).—Oh, you slanderous murderer! Is not your widowed sister a witch?
Manhordás (relapsing into street Arabism).—Your daughter, your sister, your mother!
Veshadhári.—Your aunt, your grandmother—were they not Mahomedans?
Manhordás.—And can you swear who is your father?
Veshadhári.—Yes, and I can also swear who your real father is. Now, will you fight it out, you malicious liar?
Thákar Khokhrá (waking from his nap and falling back upon the hubble-bubble).—Is the business before the meeting over?
Manhordás.—No; you must listen to me.
Khokhrá Shett (striking his belly).—I will listen to this first. I have put you out of caste, also all your family and friends, unless you do ​the proper penance in time, and give three caste dinners of ghee, mango juice, and assafœtida. So long as I live I will trample upon Sudhárá. I am not such a fool as to pretend to be wiser than my fathers. Return home in peace and hope, my children, and may the blessing of the Máháráj be with the faithful!
* ↑ The sacred thread.
* ↑ The triple cord.
* ↑ Circumcison
* ↑ In affection.
* ↑ Leading wealthy citizens.
* ↑ Wealthy matrons.
* ↑ Mature.
* ↑ God.
* ↑ Mother.
* ↑ Father.
* ↑ Devchand has forgotten all about the marriage.
* ↑ Gate-keeper.
* ↑ Women attendants.
* ↑ Men house-servants.
* ↑ Our most accomplished Hindu physician and scholar of Bombay—died in 1872.
* ↑ Christian.