THE CHILDREN'S HOLIDAY
"CHOLA, art thou there?" said little Nao the next morning, peeping in
between the mats of the veranda. Nao lived in a pretty pink house next
to Chola's, and their gardens joined; so he and the two cousins were
great playmates.
"Yes, but I'm busy," said Chola, without looking around. The barber had
come to shave his father, and Chola had begged to be allowed to hold for
his father the little looking-glass which the barber had brought with
him, as he reclined on a rug while the barber shaved him. The barber
made his rounds from house to house each day, carrying the tools of his
trade with him; and he not only shaved his patrons' faces, but their
heads as well.
"I only wanted to tell thee that there is a man just outside the gate
with a basket," replied Nao, in a tantalizing way; "but if thou _must_
help the barber--"
"There are plenty of men in the street with baskets," returned Chola;
but he was beginning to be interested.
"But this man carries a flute," answered his little friend, smiling.
"Oh, it is the snake-charmer!" cried Chola, jumping up.
"I see thou art tired of playing barber. Give me the mirror, and thou
mayst run away," said his father.
Out in the street the boys found the man dressed all in bright pink,
with a basket on his arm. He had seated himself down in the shade of a
tree, and a crowd of children had gathered around him.
Presently he began to whistle on a little pipe or flute. "Look,"
whispered Nao, as a snake's head pushed up the lid of the basket and
crept slowly out. Then another and another followed, until several
snakes were crawling and wriggling around in the dust, all keeping time
to the music of the flute. Soon the snakes began to climb and crawl all
over the man, winding themselves around his neck and arms to the great
delight of the children. Finally one of the snakes wound itself around
the man's neck; and one around each arm; after which the man piped them
back into their basket.
Then he spread the handkerchief on the ground, which was a sign for the
children to pay for the show. This was enough to send most of the
children flying away; for, though they had enjoyed the performance, many
of them were not willing to pay for it. Both Chola and Nao, however,
threw some _cowrie_ shells on the handkerchief before they left.
"May good luck attend thee, my little masters," said the snake-charmer
with a deep _salaam_. Then he picked up his basket again and went piping
down the street to find another audience.
"Thou hast on thy yellow dress. Hast thou been to the temple?" asked
Nao, as he and Chola came back into the garden.
"No, I wait for Mahala. Where can he be?" said Chola, running back into
the courtyard.
Mahala was there, busily washing out the inkstand which he always
carried to school, while Shriya hung out of one of the _zenana_ windows
talking to him.
"I cleaned my inkstand yesterday, oh, tardy one!" exclaimed Chola.
"Mine, too, is ready," said Mahala, giving it a final polish as he
spoke. "Now we will be off."
To-day was the great holiday for the children. It was the festival of
Sarasvati, the Hindu Goddess of Learning, who is supposed to be the
especial guardian of children.
The boys were going to the temple to lay their inkstands before the
queer image of the Goddess of Learning, as was the custom on this
holiday festival.
"Thou art not keeping the holiday," called out Nao, looking up at
Shriya.
"No, indeed," answered the little girl, shaking her head. "I do not want
to be a widow some day; and the grandmother says this is what would
happen if I should read books and learn to write while I'm little."
The boys laughed; and then ran out to join the crowd of little boys, who
were making their way toward the temples, all dressed in bright yellow
in honour of the day, some carrying their inkstands stuck in their
belts, others swinging them in their hands.
"What shall we do to amuse ourselves?" asked Mahala, after they had
dutifully laid their inkstands before the queer image of Sarasvati.
"I know," answered Chola. "We will find the potter and beg a bit of clay
from him. It will be fun to make some toys for ourselves."
The boys turned down a street; and there, under a big tree on the
river-bank, the potter was at work with piles of damp clay around him.
As usual, a lot of children were gathered about him. They loved to watch
him take the clay and put it on a revolving wooden wheel before him and
mould dishes and jugs and bowls of all sorts and shapes. Each
neighbourhood has a potter whose business it is to make the ware for
that village; and he does a good trade, for it is the custom among many
of the people to throw away their dishes after each meal. This of course
means that they must have new ones all the time.
"Eh! well, thou wouldst have clay for thy toys?" said the gray-bearded
old potter, when the boys explained what they wanted. "Here it is then,"
he said, good-naturedly, and gave them each a lump of the wet clay.
Carrying their treasure carefully the boys hurried back to Chola's
garden.
Shriya was there in a shady nook, swinging Chola's baby brother gently
as he lay in his cradle. His cradle was a kind of little hammock, swung
between two bamboo supports, and, as Shriya swayed it gently backward
and forward, she was singing:
"Here is a handful of white rice,
Here is a bit of sweet,
Here is a tamarind ripe and nice,
A curry for thee and me."
"The little one is fretful. He is not well; and it may be that he has a
fever, the mother fears," said Shriya, stopping her song as the boys
came up.
"I will make him a horse to play with," and Chola seated himself and
began to mould the clay as he had seen the old potter do.
"I shall make a buffalo like the sacred one that stole the sweets
yesterday," said Nao, falling to work.
"Tush! this only sticks to my fingers!" exclaimed Mahala, impatiently,
after a few minutes' work.
"Give it to me and let me try," said Shriya, eagerly.
"Thou canst take it; and a good riddance, too," and Mahala held out a
pair of dirty hands.
"There!" cried Chola, "here is thy horse, little one; but wait, I must
put a saddle on him," he said, as the baby crowed and put out his
hands.
"A horse, indeed," laughed Mahala; "it looks as much like a horse as
Nao's buffalo."
"I couldn't make the horns stick on mine," grumbled Nao.
"And thou hast forgotten thy buffalo's tail, too!" Chola laughed,
heartily.
"But, look," he continued, "Shriya's are the best of all."
Shriya's nimble little fingers had indeed made the two little dolls
which she had moulded look very lifelike.
"I shall put a bit of real cloth on their heads for veils," she said.
"We will put them here in the sun to dry," said Chola, admiring his
horse as he held it up.
"Ah, and if we leave them here, perhaps 'Sir Banas' will come to the
garden to-night and make them all alive," whispered little Shriya,
mysteriously.
The children believed that there was a strange being who came during
the night and made their dolls walk and talk as if they were alive.
Later on all the family went to the big square near by, where games were
going on; and everybody took a ride on the big "merry-go-round," which
was very much like the ones we have. Shriya's father put her up into one
of the swinging seats, all red and gold, and took his seat in another,
for the grown people were as fond of riding in a merry-go-round as the
children. The boys were already holding on tight, each in one of the
funny little swings; and away they went, the long ends of their turbans
flying behind them, until they were too dizzy to see. But this is the
fun of a merry-go-round the world over. Then they went home merrily in
the warm, dusky twilight, very happy, with their hands and mouths sticky
with sweetmeats.
One evening, not long after this, as Chola and Mahala came home from
school, Shriya met them at the garden gate with a very solemn face.
"See," she whispered to Chola, "the priest from the temple sits there
talking with thy father. He says the only way to make thy little brother
well is to take him to Benares, that he may be bathed in the holy
river."
All the family were gathered under the big tamarisk-tree that stood in
the centre of the garden. It was their custom to spread mats on the
brick pavement under the tree and sit there after the evening meal, the
men smoking their big _hookahs_, while the women, with their faces
tightly wrapped in long veils, sat a little back of them gossiping
together. As the children slipped into their places, everybody was
earnestly watching the old Brahmin priest who sat there, too, looking
very fine in his pink turban and red brocaded silk gown; and also
looking very wise as he drew various sorts of curious lines in the dust
about him. When he had finished he looked up and said:
"It is indeed the will of the gods that the little one be taken to the
sacred city."
The Ganges is the most important river in India, and the Hindus know it
as the "Sacred River." They think that their sins will be washed away
and that they will be cured of all illness if they will but bathe in its
waters and drink of them.
"It is well said," answered Harajar Chumjeree, after a long pause. "We
will make the pilgrimage and bathe in the waters of the holy river; thus
will the child be made well and we shall achieve merit."
Chola's baby brother had not been well for some weeks. His mother and
grandmother had given him many bitter drinks made from various healing
herbs until he cried and would take no more of the nasty things, just as
children in our country cry over their medicine. His mother even
dressed him in girl's clothes, and then charms were brought from the
temple written on pieces of paper, and Lalla, the baby's mother, soaked
the ink off the bits of paper in water which she gave the baby to drink.
Even this did not make him fat and rosy. So it was this evening that
they came to decide to make the pilgrimage.
"But first," went on the wise old priest, "there must be made an
offering of money and a white calf to the gods of the temple." This
would ensure their making the pilgrimage safely. The Brahmins are very
cunning, however, for they live within the temple and get the benefits
of the offerings which are sent there.
"Ah, truly, the white calf is not forgotten," muttered the old
grandmother behind her veil, but loud enough to be heard. She liked to
doctor her grandchildren herself; and was rather jealous of the supposed
effects of the Brahmin's paper charms. She and the priest had many hot
words as to which of their remedies was the best.
"Peace!" said her son; "it is right to obey the gods."
"Shall we go in the 'fire-wagons,' father?" whispered Chola. He thought
the "fire-wagons," as they called the railway trains, were the most
wonderful and terrible things in the world.
"I like not this flying over the ground with a great noise," answered
his father. "But it will take us quickly and at less cost than if we
travelled by road."
"Indeed I shall not ride in those 'devil-wagons!'" cried the
grandmother, "nor shall the son of my son" (meaning her grandson). "Do
you wish him to die before he can bathe in the holy river?"
"In my young days there were none of these fire-spitting things rushing
all over our country," she continued, throwing back her veil in her
excitement; "people were content to ride in their wagons and
palanquins."
Harajar Chumjeree was easy-going, and the mother cared only to start as
soon as might be; so the old lady had her own way, and it was settled
that they should travel in the big, slow-moving ox-wagon, while she
should be carried in her own special palanquin.