Year: 1873

On the north bank of the sacred Ner-
budda, about twenty miles from the
mouth, there is little village called
Bhadbhut, which, with the exception of
one month in every eighteen years, ex-
lists in the quiet, placid way natural to
Hindu villages The houses are of mud
there is no bazar, and the only substan-
tial building in the place is the white
temple overlooking the river. No one
of higher authority lives here than the
village patels, who can scarcely read or
write, and the village accountant, who
docs those offices for them; and their
only subOrdinates are few Bhils, who
act as village watchmen, and are dis
tinguished from their non.oflicial breth-
ren only by the bows and arrows they
carry. But as that particular month
approaches the village begins to grow,
and by the time the new moon is visible
it is town. There is bazar, broad
and long, lined with the shops of grain
sellers, and cloth-sellers, and spice
sellers, and sweetmeat sellers, and bra
ziers; there is street after street of new
houses on the shore there is perfect
fleet of boats, each with its one mast,
supporting a mighty sweeping yard
three times tho length of itself, and
new boats arriving can hardly make
their way among the swarms Of bathcrs
The explanation of the change is that
the Jatra has begun. A year composed
Of lunar months, like that of the Hindu
calendar, is very rickety, and continu-
ally wants patching and it is pre-
scribed that when the month Bhadara-
vas turn to be intercalated comes,
which happens in eighteen years, then
for the space of the second Bhada-
rava Jatra is to be held at
Bhadbhut. Now the most extra
ordinary thing about Jatra is the
absence of anything extraordinary.
That so many people should come so
far to see SO little, that they should be
so happy in doing nothing, and take so
much trouble about it, is really surpris-
ing. The belief that there is partiru-
lar virtue in bathing in the Nerbudda
at this particular time and place partly
accounts for the assemblage, but what
have holy pilgrims to do with merry 60
rounds, which are as crowded as the
temple? and what means the roaring
trade in brass and copper pots? But 1t
is neither religion nor traffic that brings
all these people together; thousands
come only for the fun of the thing, and
what the funis, is the greatest puzzle to
European. There are the merry-go-
rounds, certainly; nor are they con
fined to youth; full grown man will
mount small green wooden horse, and
ride as if his only object in life was to
catch the yellow one in front of him ;
and oil men who are past such severe
equestrian conflicts will still take seat
in the cars that travel an inner and more
sober circuit. Dancing and singing and
story telling go on too. Nautches are
not to be seen, but there is a simple
amateur dance, accompanied with the
voice. Legs and lungs qualify any one
to take part. Violent music, proceed
ing from tent, may induce few thou
sands to pay a small fee to go inside and
see two or three wooden figures making
foolish bows. Less sensational, but
more artistic representations OF scenes
from holy legends, with Krishna often
as the central figure, are also to be seen.
But the great sight of all is to see how
many people are doing nothing at all.
The hum of voices goes on all night,
and even and hour or two before dawn (;
in every quieter spot a armament OF
glowing cigarettes shows how many are
unwilling to waste these precious hours
in sleep.


The ordinary pilgrims attendance at
the temple is very brief. The crowd
pour in at one door and out at another
Immediately. To continue passing
through and through, from the calling
of the god in the morning till the terri.
BILE voice which is supposed to send him
to sleep at sunset, is work of merit.
Near the temple sit tho holy mendi'
cants and ascetics, almost naked