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H.P. Blavatsky - From the Caves and Jungles of Hindostan
pansupari (betel leaves), their heads drooping under the weight of the precious stones on their turbans,
and each of their fingers and toes adorned with rich golden rings. While the evening I am describing
lasted, however, we saw no elephants, no giraffes, though we enjoyed the company of Rajas and
ministers. We had in our box the hand-some ambassador and late tutor of the Mahararana of Oodeypore.
Our companion was a Raja and a pandit. His name was a Mohunlal-Vishnulal-Pandia. He wore a small
pink turban sparkling with diamonds, a pair of pink barege trousers, and a white gauze coat. His raven
black hair half covered his amber-colored neck, which was surrounded by a necklace that might have
driven any Parisian belle frantic with envy. The poor Raiput was awfully sleepy, but he stuck heroically
to his duties, and, thoughtfully pulling his beard, led us all through the endless labyrinth of metaphysical
entanglements of the Ramayana. During the entr'actes we were offered coffee, sherbets, and cigarettes,
which we smoked even during the performance, sitting in front of the stage in the first row. We were
covered, like idols, with garlands of flowers, and the manager, a stout Hindu clad in transparent muslins,
sprinkled us several times with rose-water.
The performance began at eight p.m. and, at half-past two, had only reached the ninth act. In spite of
each of us having a punkah-wallah at our backs, the heat was unbearable. We had reached the limits of
our endurance, and tried to excuse ourselves. This led to general disturbance, on the stage as well as in
the auditorium. The airy chariot, on which the wicked king Ravana was carrying Sita away, paused in the
air. The king of the Nagas (serpents) ceased breathing flames, the monkey soldiers hung motionless on
the trees, and Rama himself, clad in light blue and crowned with a diminutive pagoda, came to the front
of the stage and pronounced in pure English speech, in which he thanked us for the honour of our
presence. Then new bouquets, pansu-paris, and rose-water, and, finally, we reached home about four a.m.
Next morning we learned that the performance had ended at half-past six.
On The Way To Karli
It is an early morning near the end of March. A light breeze caresses with its velvety hand the sleepy
faces of the pilgrims; and the intoxicating perfume of tuberoses mingles with the pungent odors of the
bazaar. Crowds of barefooted Brahman women, stately and well-formed, direct their steps, like the
biblical Rachel, to the well, with brass water pots bright as gold upon their heads. On our way lie
numerous sacred tanks, filled with stagnant water, in which Hindus of both sexes perform their
prescribed morning ablutions. Under the hedge of a garden somebody's tame mongoose is devouring the
head of a cobra. The headless body of the snake convulsively, but harmlessly, beats against the thin
flanks of the little animal, which regards these vain efforts with an evident delight. Side by side with this
group of animals is a human figure; a naked mali (gardener), offering betel and salt to a monstrous stone
idol of Shiva, with the view of pacifying the wrath of the "Destroyer," excited by the death of the cobra,
which is one of his favourite servants. A few steps before reaching the railway station, we meet a modest
Catholic procession, consisting of a few newly converted pariahs and some of the native Portuguese.
Under a baldachin is a litter, on which swings to and fro a dusky Madonna dressed after the fashion of
the native goddesses, with a ring in her nose. In her arms she carries the holy Babe, clad in yellow
pyjamas and a red Brah-manical turban. "Hari, hari, devaki!" ("Glory to the holy Virgin!") exclaim the
converts, unconscious of any difference between the Devaki, mother of Krishna, and the Catholic
Madonna. All they know is that, excluded from the temples by the Brahmans on account of their not
belonging to any of the Hindu castes, they are admitted sometimes into the Christian pagodas, thanks to
the "padris," a name adopted from the Portuguese padre, and applied indiscriminately to the missionaries
of every European sect.
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