# Gujarát and the Gujarátis/Holidays

HOLIDAYS.
A hasty glance at some of the national holidays of Gujarát may not be an unfitting conclusion of our itinerary. Chief among Hindu holidays is, of course, the far-famed
Diwáli.
No description of Diwáli would be complete that did not extend from nine days before Dasará to fifteen days after Diwáli proper. The holiday preceding Dasará is called nava rátri, "nine nights," which in vulgar parlance has come to be called nortá.
These nine nights are sacred to garbás, generally amorous ditties sung in the streets of Gujarát. A few oil-lamps are placed on a lamp-holder in the centre of an area, close to which are placed ​a virgin pair—"a bonny youth and maiden fair." About these a bevy of from twenty to sixty women of all ages circle round and round, taking up a refrain, and often repeating in chorus a verse sung by one and, at times, two women, keeping time to clap of hands. These garbás are evanescent scintillations of the genius of Dayarám, the Byron of Gujarát. The hero of the songs is Krishna, the lord of 16,000 gopikás, who are maddened by love of him, who are drawn to the "nourisher of our souls" by the enchanting tones of his murli in the by-lanes of Brindaban, and who fly to him at early morn—one "slipping from her husband's side," another "leaving the morning duties undone," and a third without "suckling her babe," all with tumultuous delight, panting, perspiring, and half naked! There, in the wilderness of unbought love, they meet him, the "soul-subduer," and in converse with him their souls "drink delight." This legend is asserted to be no more than a poetical portraiture of the passionate yearning the soul feels towards her Maker—a feeling that surpasses in intenseness the love we feel for ​children or parents, even that selfish and vehement longing we have for "the flesh of our flesh, the bone of our bone." This harmless legend is worked by Dayárám into various orgies of songs whose luscious sweetness and witchery of style have done more than any other social vagaries to perpetuate the horrors of those dens of iniquities, the Vaishnava Máhárájs' Mandirs. In this respect Dayárám's poetry works in Gujarát as "procuress of the lords of Hell." But the days of street garbás in Gujarat are numbered. Surat was head-quarters of these midnight songs, and attracted, during the nava rátri, visitors from out-lying places, even from so far as Bombay.
To be allowed to join a garbá was an honour, and none but your Langtrys and Wests could claim the privilege. The ambitious songstress must have a figure like the cypress, her eyes a pair of young lotuses, her mouth a full moon, her teeth a row of pearls or pomegranate seeds, her breath like citron, her lips corals, her forehead virgin marble, her nose the parrot's beak, her hair like the graceful nágavel, her cheeks ​dimpled love-gardens, her chin a sloping meadow, her neck like the swan's, her breast like the dove's, her waist like a liquid jet, her feet like moonbeams playing at hide-and-seek, and her dance must be like the peacock's! Her laugh must be a shower of mográs her voice sweet but varied, now simmering like the soft undulating bubbles in a bowl of Cyprian wine, then roaring and splashing like the giant Niagárá, now warbling like the silver flute of a Circassian houri, then thundering like the war-drum of a fierce Amazon! For months and months was the pure virgin soul saturated with sweet silly domestic legends, and thus prepared to take part in the garbás.
But those scenes are now, happily, "visions of the past." In place of the lovely, sylph-like, Hinduáni—the maiden who blushes as she smiles at her heart's happiness in having been allowed to join the street song, and whose guileless glance enthrals a crowd of fluttering butterflies—you have now the substantial matron, with her brown little progeny pulling at her skirts, whose voice is formed all for gutturals, and whom the gayest dandy refuses to ogle.
Garbás sung by Males.
In other places, especially in temples, you have males keeping up the garbás—Banias and Bhathias swaying backwards and forwards their fat inelastic carcases, ogling one another, and "making night hideous" with their vociferous howls and hand-clapping. I know several influential Hindu merchants, Government officials, and even ministers of native states joining in the incongruous buffoonery. At Bombay you have nothing like street garbás, except those sung by the gipsies for hire. These are wanton wanderers of the lowest order, going about from street to street and asking the housewives, "Will you have the garbo sung, ladies?" The songs are rude, disjointed snatches stolen from here, and there—a sort of patchwork poetry, sacred to Amba Bhowáni.
The Dasará.
At the end of Navarátri you have the Dasará. This is a grand national holiday, commemorating the event of the stupendous myths,the Pandavas, having girded their loins against their cousins, ​the Kaurawas. But the Dasara, and, in fact, the whole range of days from Navarátri to Kártiki Purnimá, is more a social than a religious holiday. It is the national harvest holiday. Pity such an interesting holiday has not yet been immortalised by any local bard. Dasará is a most auspicious day for sending children to school, for the Mahrattas marching against the enemy, &c. The housewife gets up that morning before the cock crows, cleans and sweeps and scours the house, chanting a simple hymn the same time in subdued tones, lest that sluggard of her husband be disturbed in his slumbers. She is assisted by her daughter, if the domestic circle is blessed with any such "phantom of delight." There is nothing more beautiful in the home life of the Hindu than the love between mother and daughter. Through thick and thin, through good report and evil report, the two beings cling to each other at every and any sacrifice. As soon as the master of the house gets up, there is uproarious bustle in the house. All metal gods and ornaments are furbished up, the domestic pets are fondled and decorated with flowers, the horse is ​presented with a new harness, &c. Later on in the day the father and children go to a tree called sonpatra, worship it, pick or purchase a leaf of it, go to their friends, embrace them and get embraced (a regular bear-hug), return home, make a havana, feeding the fire with grain and ghee, partake of holiday dainties, making a sly compliment now and then to the poor drudge of a wife who waits upon her "lord" while at dinner, and then go to bed.
Dhana Terasa and Káli Chandas.
Twenty days after Dasará is Diwáli. It commences on the 12th of the dark part of the month. That day is Vágha Bárasa or Guru Dwádashi. The day after Bárasa is Dhan Teras or Dhan Trayodashi, when the merchant brings together his hoards into one room, and after gloating over the heap, offers prayers to it, sprinkles it with red ochre, and kneeling, requests the presiding deity not to take unto her wings. The deity presiding over wealth is Lakshmi. Then come Káli Chondasa or Narka chaturdashi, observed in honour of Vishnu's victory over Narakásura. The most effective illumination is generally on this day. The ​house-wife gets up early this morning, sets a lamp burning in each nook and corner of the house, rubs herself and children, and even her "lord," with ointment, and performs hot-water ablutions. The hotter the water, the greater the efficacy of the prayer following. No little urchin in the house can escape a good smothering bath, and happy he whose skin does not peel off under the operation. The mistress of the house then performs the árti with a lamp in a brass plate in her hand, and receives various presents.
Diwali Proper.
Next day is Diwáli proper. The day is sacred to Saraswati, goddess of learning, when all the shop papers are solemnly worshipped. The worship is called Vahipujá. The family priest, a "little round fat oily man of God," requests Saraswati Mátá, on this day not to desert his client. The merchant opens new accounts, new branches of his firm, and new business on this auspicious day. These are public ceremonies; there are private doings, too, on these occasions, drinking, gambling, and revelling. In these games the Hindu is joined heartily by the Parsi and the Mahomedan. Diwáli illuminations are ​enjoyed by all classes, young and old, rich and poor. The vast multitude of a hundred nationalities surging up the thoroughfares like the waves of the ocean, in all colours of the rainbow, each heart bent upon enjoying the present, and each face beaming with the enjoyment, must be a magnificent sight indeed. No one feature of the night is perhaps more attractive than the different head-gears. The Parsi "sugar-loaf," the European "chimney-pot," and the Mahratta "cart-wheel." The glory of Diwáli holidays is now almost gone. But even in these degenerate days the Hindu merchant is able to show you a decidedly larger margin on Diwáli than the Parsi or Mahomedan. And this, not because the Hindu has greater sagacity or enterprise, but because the Parsi or Mahomedan knows not what a "large revenue parsimony is" to the merchant.
Next to her marriage day and the day on which she becomes a mother, Diwáli is the most welcome occasion to the Hindu female. The poor weary heart has then some glimpses of light and sunshine; it is full of song and sweetness, and of the thousand little charities peculiar to her sex. Two days after the Diwáli is the ​Bhaubij day, a holiday reminding you of patriarchal times and customs. On this day all members of the family are drawn towards the warmth of the family hearth; brothers gone to other towns on business, sisters gone to their husbands, uncles, nephews, aunts, nieces, all meet at home. The wife is nowhere this day. She must make room for her husband's sister, who cooks his food and serves him with it. In return she gets presents from him before returning to her husband's.
The Kártiki Purnimá—a Tremendous God-fight.
The last of the holidays is Kartiki Purnimá. It celebrates the victory of Shiva over the demon Tripurásura. The monster once upon a time grew so unmanageable that Brahmá and the other gods, whom he had driven out of Swarga, were obliged to seek redress of Shiva the Destroyer. Shiva received this deputation of deities with courtesy, and promised to make short work of their common foe. One fine morning the mighty Destroyer sallied forth. No one can say that our warrior went ill-equipped. The Earth was his chariot, with the Sun and the Moon as its wheels. No less a god than Brahmá ​was made his Jehu, the Himálaya mountain served him as his bow, the Serpent King as his bowstring, and Vishnu himself as his quiver! Tripurásura fought Shiva manfully, but even he could not long cope with the Destroyer thus equipped. The worshippers of Shiva promote a splendid fair on the anniversary of this renowned pre-historic battle. At Bombay the fair is held at Wálkeshwar. At Surat you have it on the open maidán about the Castle.
The Khiáls of Surat.
The Surat fair was enlivened by the singing of Khiáls, rhymed romances and philosophical or polemic songs. There are two schools of Khiáls, the Turráwálás and the Kalagiwálás. The first worship the male essence as the prime cause, the second the female power. This is the bone of contention. The founders of the two schools are said to have been Tukangir and Allábux. Both claim divine origin and divine inspiration. Both had miraculous powers, such as bringing down rain, causing eclipses, and even reviving the dead. This used to be centuries ago, and we ​had better not be too inquisitive about such miraculous doings. About fifty years ago the two schools were represented by Báhádursing and Allibhái. The former was a Pardesi, the latter a Borá. Both were illiterate. The first served as gate-keeper for Rs. 7 a month, the second eked out a precarious existence by patching up old gunny-bags. What would Carlyle have said to this? Men who could answer, in impromptu verse, the most intricate questions of philosophy and metaphysics, who could thus hold forth at public meetings for a week and a fortnight: illiterate, ill-favoured men "building the lofty rhyme" with the rapidity with which fairies build enchanted castles! Few know of the struggles of these heroic souls, the "mute inglorious Miltons" of India—men like Kabirand Nának, Sahajánand, Tukárám, and Bahadursing and Allibhái.
The Kalagiwálás were remarkable for their "linked sweetness," a lively fancy, and all those ​lovable little arts which suit and adorn the sex. The Turráwálás, on the contrary, were known for the vigour and solidity of their productions. From their lips flowed "wisdom married to immortal verse." Both schools have now sunk into obscurity, and thus one great charm of the Diwáli holidays has fled Gujarát.
* ↑ Cowherdeases.
* ↑ Flute.
* ↑ The bronzed counterparts of two far-famed English beauties.
* ↑ Betel plant.
* ↑ Jasmine flowers.
* ↑ Hindu lady.
* ↑ The Mahratta type of the dread goddess Kali.
* ↑ The heroes of the Máhábhárata.
* ↑ The heroes of the Máhábhárata.
* ↑ Esplanade.
* ↑ North India man, or stranger.
* ↑ Great Sikh reformer.
* ↑ Founder of the Sikh faith.
* ↑ The great Gujarat reformer.
* ↑ The great Mahratta poet and reformer.