Our Little Hindu Cousin Part 3

"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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds."

"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.

CHAPTER IV

THE CHILDREN TRAVEL IN THE BIG OX-WAGON

THE next day everybody in the house began to make preparations for the journey. Not that they hurried about it as we do. No, indeed! Everything was done very leisurely, though there was a lot of talking and disputing and the giving of contrary orders. At last, however, the great "_ruth wagon_" drawn by oxen, was ready in the courtyard. It was a heavy and ungainly vehicle with _solid_ wooden wheels and a canopy closed in with lattice-work and curtains.

The old porter was there, directing and scolding the servants as they piled the rugs and blankets and bags of food and pots and pans and dishes into the wagon. Chola's father and mother had to take all these things with them on the journey because there are no hotels at which they might stay, only camping-places, or "_paraos_" beside the roads, where the traveller could buy his food if need be and camp for the night.

It was a wonder there was any room left for the people, but they were all finally stowed away; except Mahala's father, who was to take Harajar's place at the shop in the Bazaar while he was away, and the many cousins who were left behind to look after the house.

There was quite a procession when at last the big wagon rumbled out through the gateway.

Behind it came the grandmother, in her "_dhoolie-dak_," a sort of a litter, or easy-chair, swung between two long poles. This was carried by two men, one in front and one behind, who rested the end of the poles on their shoulders.

Besides the family there were many servants, and several others walked beside the slow-moving wagon. The cook, too, went with them.

"Good-bye!" shouted little Nao from his garden wall as they went by.