Upon The Eve Of The New Year, While Driving Through The Bazaar,
We Saw Preparations For The Approaching Festival; Many
Of the houses
were well garnished with lamps, the shops were swept and put into
order, and the horns of
The bullocks were garlanded with flowers,
while fire-works, and squibs and crackers, were going off in all
directions.
On the following evening, I went with a party of friends, by
invitation, to the house of a native gentleman, a Parsee merchant of
old family and great respectability, and as we reached the steps of
his door, a party of men came up with sticks in their hands, answering
to our old English morice-dancers. These men were well clad in white
dresses, with flowers stuck in their turbans; they formed a circle
somewhat resembling the figure of moulinet, but without joining
hands, the inner party striking their sticks as they danced round
against those on the outer ring, and all joining in a rude but not
unmusical chorus. The gestures of these men, though wild, were neither
awkward nor uncouth, the sticks keeping excellent time with the song
and with the action of their feet. After performing sundry evolutions,
and becoming nearly out of breath, they desisted, and called upon the
spectators to reward their exertions. Having received a present, they
went into the court-yard of the next mansion, which belonged to one of
the richest native merchants in Bombay, and there renewed their dance.
We found in the drawing-room of our host's house a large company
assembled.
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