The mirror., 1910-09-15

the sleek priest unclothed to the
waist is performing his simple toilet
in the open air, quite unabashed.
For couple of miles we ride slow
ly along lovely road, the branches
of the banyan trees interlacing over
hoad and making a perfect screen
from the too warm rays of the sun;
all along we are accompanied by a
tribe of monkeys springing from tree
to tree and threatening every now
and then to drop on us, keeping up
an incessant chatter the while, even
the mothers holding their young add
their voices to the babel.
We are glad to reach quieter
ground and canter along the broad
bund Of the tank" (worthy of
better name, for it's area is several
miles, and depth considerable tax
ing note by the way of tribe of
gypsies, who have encamped among
the roots of the trees bordering the
bund. Happy, contented folks they
are, though their sole possessions are
few chatties, (earthenware pots)
and the rags that do duty as clothing.
They seldom appear to be in want,
though always ready to beg when op-
portunity occurs.
Now we are nearing the bazaars,
all alive with the business of the day;
here comes a group of women fetch
ing the matutinal supply of water
from the well, the young ones full
of grace in their perfect bearing and
symmetry, the elder ones either stout
and unshapely or lean and wrinkled,
but all alike balance the chumboos
with ease on their small shapely
heads, while keeping up brisk and
animated conversation. The mar
row streets are filled with motley
crowd; market vendors shouting their
wares at the tops OF their voices, or
haggling with a purchaser; COWS, buf-
faloes and goats being driven to pas
ture by shrill-voiced boys, clad only
with narrow strip of cloth; dogs,
crows and children anywhere and
everywhere. Here may be seen a
group of merchants, intent only on
rupees, annas and pies; while on the
pial close by sits native student
reading his Shakespeare in a loud,
nasal voice, not at all disturbed by
! the harsh jingling bells of the puck
ali (water- bullock), or the hoarse
shouts of his driver who tries to clear
a way for him and his dripping wa
terbags.
Slowly and carefully we thread
our way through this maze, but neal
the exit of the bazaar we are brought
to standstill by no less a parsonage
than the Brahminee Bull, the village
deity A noble animal he is, con-
scious of his royal state as he stands
right across the narrow road, leisure
ly eating some vegetables from an
old woman's stall, no one daring tc
say him nay" His high black hump
shading down to gray, his satiny dew.
lap reaching nearly to the ground
and bringing to mind a ripping
brook when he shakes his head, his
delicate feet and neither limbs, al
make picture only to be met with
in India. Around him are some de-
vout handy drivers, carrodies water
carriers) and others, with folded
hands and supplicating voices, call
ing him Lyah," and requesting hil
honor" to let them pass; to all ol
which he slowly whisks his tail and
takes another bunch of greens from
the stall.
Warned, however, by the sum s ray,
that we must not linger, we turr
down bye path and in few min
utes reach the grateful shade of oul
avenue, and dismounting, feel re-
freshed bodily and mentally by tht
pleasureable exercise of our morn
ing ride.
AN ENGLISH LADY.
NOTE The above essay was writ
ten by an English lady in Indi.
twenty years ago, but has never be
fore been in print.-Ed.