Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - XVI. India—Its People, Religion, Etc.—The Fertility of the Country—The Climate—The Dwellings—Punkah—Costumes—Calcutta—Dalhousie Square—Life in the Streets
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Story of an Emigrant.
3 35
nient for himself or his wife, perhaps, or occupying himself
with a piece of embroidery or fine crochet work.
In front of yonder fine office building is seated a Durwan
j ~
(doorkeeper), who is a Brahmin or priest. lie sits at that
door or gate all day long, and sleeps in front of it at night
on his little bed, which resembles a camp cot. Early in the
morning he takes up his bed and walks with it to the rear,
where stands a little cookstove in which he prepares his
food for the day, consisting chiefly of boiled rice and
vegetables. Just now he is reading aloud, and with a singing
voice, from the Shastras (the Hindoo Bible) to a crowd of
listeners, who eagerly and reverently seize on everv word
/ o j .
from the holy writings. Just behind me on a green spot in
the park a dozen or more Mohammedans lie prostrate, their
foreheads touching the ground, repeating their prayers; and
if it happens to be at the setting of the sun hundreds of
people are seen in the streets, shops, hotel corridors, or wherever
they happen to be, turning their faces toward the holy city
Mecca, reverently kneeling and saying their evening prayers.
Here on the side-walk, close by, me sits a money-changer
and broker. He has a box filled with coins of almost every
kind and description; he buys and sells gold and silver of
other countries, such as are not current in Calcutta, loans
money on jewelry and other valuables, and does a general
banking business on a very small scale. There comes a
peddler,—more of them. Now they are crowding in by the
hundred, selling canes, parasols, embroideries, watches,
jewelry, and trinkets of every description, following the
foot passengers, running beside the carriages going at full
speed, sticking their goods through the windows and
imploring the occupants to buy.
Going around to the more quiet side of the square, I find a
professional writer squatted on the side-walk. He has a
bundle of dry palm leaves, and a customer of the lowest
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