# The Slave Girl of Agra/Book 1/Chapter 5

V. SPRING FESTIVAL
One of the greatest festivals in which the simple joyousness of the Indian people finds expression all over the land is the Holi or the Spring Festival. The cold days of winter are over; wheat, barley and the winter rice have been reaped; pulses, lentils and oil seeds have been harvested. Husbandmen have paid their rents and laid in a stock in their granaries; their wives have indulged in new sarees and bracelets. Village women look with wistful eyes as the bales of itinerant traders are unpacked, and often, when money is wanting, a basketful of the newly-reaped wheat or rice is exchanged for shell bangles, scarfs or clothes of the newest pattern. The mango tree sheds its old green garb in this season, and wears its vesture of budding shoots; the mango flower scents the country with its fragrance. And the kokil, the Indian bird of love, is heard from every bush, and proclaims a season of festival and joy.
The Spring Festival in India is indeed a Festival of Love, and was dedicated in olden days to Kama, the God of Love. But, within the last thousand years, Krishna has unseated the old deity in the popular mind, and all legends and lays of love are his. Women sing of the loves of Krishna in every town and village in India; and men stop their work and devote themselves to merry-making. The Festival reaches its climax on the last day in a universal outburst of joyousness which lasts all night. Then, in the ​morning, the weary pleasure-seekers make their ablutions and return to their work, sober citizens once more.
Different rites and ceremonies are performed in different parts of India, but the custom which is universal to this day is the throwing of red powder at each other in the streets, in market-places and in houses. It is the carnival time of India, and none are free from this assault. The grey-haired minister has his gorgeous turban crimsoned by the mischievous boy in the streets, and the priest of the sacred temple has a shower of pink water sprinkled on his silken robe by the wanton woman of the bazaar!
Modest women avoid public places to escape the inevitable shower of red powder, and still more the street songs which would make them stop their ears. For the rest, the Festival draws men closer together as members of one community, and places the high and the low on a footing of equality, and even of familiarity, if it be only for a time. Philosophy smiles at these childish festivals and games of olden times; but it were well for humanity if something of that joyousness had survived in these days, when the pursuit of wealth is the one absorbing occupation, and the display of wealth the one diversion!
It was the last day of the Spring Festival, and Nobo Kumar himself issued out of the Palace with a face on which a beaming kindliness had wiped out all traces of thought. He was followed by Gokul Das, bent with age and care, but alive to the joyousness of the occasion.
Birnagar was crowded by thousands of people who had flocked from distant parts of the estate to share the festivities. And as Nobo Kumar and his ​companion threaded their way through crowded streets and market-places, hundreds of men shouted his name and blessed him. Women sang songs of Krishna which had a double meaning, and screaming children pelted him with red powder till he was crimsoned from head to foot.
As he passed the market-place and turned into a narrow lane of questionable reputation, he was greeted by a sudden outburst of songs. Women, some in their middle age and some still in the bloom of their early youth, had decked themselves in gay sarees and banded themselves together to guard that lane, and were a match for all comers. Their appearance bore marks of the toil of the day, their unbound locks were dripping, their garments flamed with red powder, and their feet were in a pool of red water. Their light-brown faces were flushed, and their bosoms heaved under the wet clothes with the excitement of a licensed saturnalia.
Nobo Kumar passed quickly, but no mercy was shown to Gokul Das, who followed. As soon as the old man came in view a shower of red water was sent on him. He tried to turn back, and slipped and fell; and instantly there was a wild chorus of laughter.
A fresh shower was poured on the prostrate man, and for a time he sprawled helplessly on the ground amidst universal merriment. Servants came and picked up the aged counsellor, and the whole party beat a hasty retreat from the lane so valiantly guarded. A fresh burst of screams and laughter rose on the air, and a wild song was chanted, which can only be imperfectly rendered into English.
I
"Lo! Gokul's young lover came making his love One morning in springtime so fine, oh! so fine! And Gokul's young lover came forth to the grove Where milkmaids were milking their kine, their own kine, For bright love was beaming on earth and the sky, A soft, wicked leer was in Gokul's dark eye.
II
'Oh! sweet is your milk, but still sweeter your faces,' Said Gokul's young shepherd to the girls, to the girls, 'And deep in your dark eyes are love's hidden traces, And brighter than sky are your curls, your soft curls, For bright love is beaming on earth and the sky, Then greet me, sweet maids, with a smile in your eye!'
III
Said milkmaids, with laughter, to Gokul's young lover, 'We milk and we sell in the fair, in the fair, We're honest young maidens, we trust not a rover, Whose love is as fleeting as the air, as the air, Though bright love is beaming on earth and the sky, Run home, Gokul, home, with a smack on your eye!'"
The last line was screamed, rather than sung, as a parting shot to the discomfited minister of Nobo Kumar, and Nobo Kumar himself joined in the laughter, and sent some presents to the brave Amazons.
Turning from the narrow lane, the party of Nobo Kumar went to visit a more respectable portion of the bazaar. A colony of North-west merchants had settled in this place, which was accordingly called Khotta-bazaar, or the market of the North-westerns. ​Men of Rajputana and Northern India were, as they are to this day, the greatest bankers and the keenest traders in India. Their banking houses had branches in every important city, their bills of exchange were received and honoured all over the land, and crowned heads in India not unfrequently saved their states in times of distress and war by borrowing from these princely merchants. A number of these enterprising traders and bankers had established branch houses even in the small town of Birnagar, and the appointment, first of Raja Todar Mull, and then of Maja Man Singh, to Bengal, had brought fresh numbers of these northern traders.
They accosted Nobo Kumar with respectful obeisance as he visited their quarter, and presented him with a silver plate full of red powder. Nobo Kumar touched the plate, according to old custom, to signify his acceptance, and at the same time slipped a gold coin on it. Bankers, whose great houses could have bought up Nobo Kumar's estate, accepted this trifling douceur as a recognition of the rank and position of the giver.
But little imps in the street, sons of these merchants, were no respecters of persons. They had their hands full of kum-kums, or little pith balls filled with red powder, and in spite of the frowns of their elders they sent some Parthian shots at the august party and screamed and scampered away. Nobo Kumar himself received one or two on his turban with his usual good-humour, and wiped his face as he walked away.
He had not proceeded far when he met the women of these Western people coming from their ablutions in the Ganges. They were modest women, known ​for their strict decorum, but the festive day allowed a certain degree of licence. No sooner had Nobo Kumar and his party approached them than they greeted him with a song of Krishna in their own Northern language.
I
"Will Kanu go to Dwarka Leaving us alone? Cheerless be our village home, Joyless maids and shepherds roam, Lightless be Mathura's dome, When Kanu shall be gone.
II
Will Kanu go to Dwarka, At breaking of the day? Our cows will leave the pasture ground, Not listening to the dulcet sound Of Kanu's flute with silver bound, And Kanu's rustic lay!
III
Will Kanu go to Dwarka, From Jumna's verdant grove? Brindaban's milkmaids long will sigh, And miss the bright, the languid eye, The peacock plume, the bearing high, Of him who won their love!
IV
Oh, weep ye for Basudeb, And for Jashoda weep! For Radhika of matchless grace, Of jasmine bosom, lotus face, Of silken frame and swan-like pace, Our maids and matrons weep!"
​The wailing voices of all the women as they sang the last verse struck Nobo Kumar, and he paused and listened. But Gokul Das whispered in his ear, with a cynic smile, "Come, Master, come away. They will sing the same song to Noren to-morrow, after we are gone!"
"Thou art heartless, Gokul Das, to speak so unkindly of our well-wishers. My heart is not of flint like thine, and can respond to the kindly feelings of honest women, although they be but transient."
"All is not so fair as it looks, my Master. There are some in the town who remember such festive days when Birnagar was ruled by Noren's grandfather. May be we may meet them yet. Let us pass on."
Cotton and silk weaving was the main industry of Bengal in the olden days, and merchants of all nations of the West competed to secure the trade of the Indian fabrics. The Portuguese, under the renowned Albuquerque, had established an Empire over the Eastern seas, and from the south of Africa to the eastern limits of China the vast coast-line of many thousand miles was studded with Portuguese seaports. Thousands of the Portuguese had settled in Bengal and taken Bengal women as their wives, and they have left descendants who form the greater portion of the present Eurasian community of India. The enterprising Dutch, who were at this very time waging their war of independence, were also sending vessels to the East. And the British too, under Queen Elizabeth, were seeking a share in this lucrative Eastern trade. Millions of men and women in Bengal found a profitable occupation in weaving and spinning, ​and the looms and spindles of Bengal sent out vast quantities of goods to the bazaars of Northern India and to the markets of Europe.
No part of Bengal produced finer and more valuable silk fabrics than the district of Malda, in which Birnagar was situated. Weavers in the countryside reared the silkworm, wove fabrics in their humble huts, and brought them to the merchants, who had grouped themselves in a narrow lane at Birnagar, which was known as Cheli-pati or the silk market. Nobo Kumar and his party walked through the narrow lane, flanked by houses two or three storeys high, and the silk merchants accosted the manager of Birnagar in all humility, and strewed the red powder on his turban. They also brought some rose water in a chased silver vessel placed on a silver tray, and some betel leaves prepared with spices. Nobo Kumar took a betel leaf, touched the fragrant water, and slipped a gold coin on the tray as he walked away.
The braziers of the brass-market, smiths and carpenters, goldsmiths and jewellers, all the different guilds, which lived in the busy little town of Birnagar, accosted the representative of the ruling house as he visited their shops one after another. Mohammedan traders too, who had settled down in Birnagar, stood in front of their little mosque, accosted Nobo Kumar as he passed, and offered a silk scarf on a silver plate on this Hindu festal day. Nobo Kumar graciously accepted the gift, and slipped a gold piece into the hands of the chief Mulla. Hindus and Mohammedans lived in peace in every town in India; the Great Akbar sought to unite them, and Raja Man Singh ​had made a gift to the Musalmans of Birnagar for the building of their mosque.
It was nearly mid-day before Nobo Kumar and his party could turn homewards. Not far from the lion-gate of the Zemindari House two little boys, all crimson with red powder, were dancing and playing under a tree, reciting some verses with a monotonous cadence. Something in their voice and antics struck Nobo Kumar, and although he was tired with the morning's long walk through the town, he stood awhile and listened.
I
'Lo! Kansa the tyrant is ruling the land, And lords o'er the people in fury and might, And the sturdiest bend neath his iron-bound wand, And the lowliest flee from his cold, cruel sight!
II
But the rule of the tyrant will never endure, His end is approaching, as prophets can tell, For a Child hath been born, and his vengeance is sure, He will rise in his wrath and the tyrant will fell!
III
The tyrant hath heard and he knoweth no rest, He doometh the young and the sinless to die, And they slaughter the babe on the young mother's breast, And shrieks of the dying fill earth and the sky!
IV
But new-born Murari will escape in the night, And the hood of the cobra the infant will shield, And Jumna's blue waters will part in their height, And darkness will hide him in cottage and field.
V
Lo! Kansa the tyrant is ruling the land, And he lords o'er the people in fury and might,
But comes great Murari!—resistless his hand— He comes and he slays, and he wins his own right!"
The mid-day hour struck in the Palace, and crowds of people from distant villages were pouring into the town. But Nobo Kumar stood thoughtful for a while. At last he turned towards Gokul Das and spoke:
"What means this lay, Gokul Das?"
"It means that the old servants of Birnagar House are still faithful to old memories. That need not ruffle my Master; there never has been a time within these ten years when they have not conspired against us. But Gokul Das has his eyes open, and his Master is safe."
"But I would know more of these boys—and of those who sent them to defy me even at the Palace gate. Find them out, Gokul Das, for my soul is troubled."
But the boys had disappeared amidst the crowds of pleasure-seekers who were surging into the town from all parts, and no trace of them could be found. Nobo Kumar retired into the Palace thoughtful and morose, and did not witness the bonfires and the festivities of the evening.
* ↑ Krishna pastured his cows in the village of Gokul. The word is a pun on the name of Gokul Das.
* ↑ Kanu or Kanhai is a name of Krishna. He left Mathura on the banks of the Jumna to found a kingdom at Dwarka in Gujrat. Nobo Kumur's intended departure from Birnagar to Debipur was alluded to in the song.
* ↑ Basudeb was the father and Jashoda the mother of Krishna. Radhika was his own true love.
* ↑ Murari is a name of Krishna. As an infant he escaped from Mathura when Kansa ordered the slaughter of the innocents. And he returned as a young man and slew the tyrant.