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 Opposite to the Akab Baths is the Moti Musjid, called the Pearl
Mosque, a most exquisite little building of white marble, a cluster of
three domes and many slender pinnacles terminated by lotus
flowers. It has many-cusped arches of Saracenic character, and a
fine bronze door.
It is sad to think that these lovely buildings are after all only
remnants of what were once on this spot when this Imperial Palace
was complete in all its splendour. The Burj-i-Shameli, the great
marble bath-room; the Metiaz-Mehal, a huge quadrangle of palaces
enclosing a garden 300 feet square; the Nobatkhama or music gate,
the Golden Mosque, the hareem courts, and fifty other lovely
pavilions, fountains, and gardens—think of it! The late W. S. Caine,
writing in his “Picturesque India,” adds the following passage:
“These and other glories of the palace have all been swept away by
successive barbarians. Nadir Shah, Ahmed Khan, and the Maratha
chiefs were content to strip the buildings of their precious metals
and jewelled thrones: to the government of the Empress of India
was left the last dregs of vandalism, which, after the Mutiny, pulled
down these perfect monuments of Mughal art, to make room for the
ugliest brick buildings from Simla to Ceylon.”
The Jama Musjid at Delhi is on a splendid scale, a mosque of red
sandstone inlaid with white marble. There are four great gateways,
approached by long flights of steps, through which the great
arcaded square court, in which the mosque stands, is entered.
Reputed relics of Buddha are shown to visitors at a shrine at one
corner of the court. On the eastern side the mosque faces an open
plain from which a large slice of the native city, which once
surrounded the mosque, had been cleared by the Government. This
gives a clear view of the noble building on this side, but must have
been rather distinctive of the character of the place, and one would
have thought the mosque, standing so high as it does, would have
easily dominated the native houses. In fact, if it had been designed
for a site on an open plain, there would have been no necessity to
raise it on such a lofty platform. Modern improvers are apt to forget
the logic of art.
 We went up a side street in the native town on the other side of
the mosque to see the Jain temple, which is an interesting and richly
decorated small building in the Mogul style of architecture,
approached by a doorway in the street and reached by a flight of
steps. It is extremely beautiful in detail. In the curious street there
were many interesting Mogul doorways. We stopped at a stall to buy
some specimens of the glass and lacquered bracelets commonly
worn by the native women which only cost a few annas.

THE JAMA MUSJID MOSQUE, DELHI

The Chandni Chowk (or silver street) is the main business street
or bazaar of Delhi. It is very wide, and has a sort of long island
down the middle planted with trees. This was said to have been
originally an aqueduct. It runs east and west, and we saw a striking
effect one evening—the glowing sunset behind the dark masses of
the trees, the end of the vista lost in mysterious gloom; twinkling
lights, here and there, about the white awnings of the stalls under
the trees; white turbaned figures of natives moving noiselessly up
and down, ox-carts and pony tongas, wandering sacred zebus, and
all the mixed and varied character of an Indian bazaar form a
wonderful and picturesque ensemble.
Individualistic commercial competition is well illustrated in the
Chandni Chowk. The traveller is besieged by touts thrusting their
cards into his hand, or throwing them into his carriage, or
surrounding it with the most importunate solicitations to see their
shops.
We visited an ivory carver’s workshop in a street leading out of
the Chowk. My impression was about this, as in regard to other
native handicrafts, that it was now a craft as distinct from an art. We
saw the carvers at work, quite a number. It was a species of factory.
There were draughtsmen and designers, and miniature painters and
inlayers, quite distinct from the carvers. The former draw the
patterns on the ivory with a pencil. There were some young boys
learning to draw from the craft; one was drawing a bird on a slate.
The skill of the ivory-carvers was very wonderful: they could carve a
figure inside an open scroll-work and leave it distinct, and there
were feats of this kind of which they seemed to be most proud; but
these craftsmen seemed to work almost mechanically, no doubt
entirely to order, and without any initiative of their own in the way of
design. They sat cross-legged on the floor, and more in one room
than our factory inspectors would probably approve. The works here
were mostly produced for ready sale to the tourist. Elephants and
paper knives were—I was going to say, walking hand in hand—all
over the shop, and small models of the Taj Mahal ran them close,
models of native ox-carts, tongas, and palkis, the native ploughman
and his yoke of oxen, and such-like images of familiar things of
Indian life; elaborate chess-men, and inlaid caskets with little
miniatures of the Taj Mahal and the Jama Musjid inserted, in fact all
sorts of ivory toys were there, consciously prepared for the Western
eye, and too often the Western want of taste. A loquacious Parsee-
looking proprietor or manager showed us over this establishment.
He had the air of a general director of the works, etc. While not at
all pressing, he took care to show all his attractive things, beginning
at the most elaborate and costly articles, and skilfully grading
downwards, until in price they were within measurable distance of
the visitor’s purse.
My wife found that native home-spun linen and silks for
embroidery were difficult to find in the Chandni Chowk, where there
were plenty of European goods.
On January 11th there was a slight frost. The early morning was
quite misty, too, but the sun came out later, and there was a strong
cold wind from the east in spite of the clear, bright, blue sky and the
brilliant sunshine. It suited Delhi far better than the grey sky under
which we had seen it the first morning of our visit, and was
favourable for our excursion to the Kutab Minar, eleven miles out.
Driving through the Delhi and Kashmir Gates again, and along the
road past the Jama Musjid, and out again at a farther gate to the
south-east, we traversed the region known as Old Delhi, a wonderful
tract of ruined cities, shattered buildings, mingled with noble tombs,
mosques, and minarets, extending for many miles outside the
present city. Domes of tombs were seen on all sides, and broken
walls, and the ground was strewn with bricks and stones. Trees
(acacias and tamarinds mostly) bordered the road. Our native
coachman (a good guide) spoke of No. 8 city, and pointed out its
ruined gate, under which we passed. Farther on we took a branch
road and stopped before the noble gate of the ancient city of
Indrapat with its strong walls and bastions. Leaving our carriage, we
passed through the gate and on past a squalid group of wretched
huts, where poverty-stricken natives huddled together about their
tumble-down dwellings, and where native children were inclined to
be rude. Farther along the broken path we reached a spacious
octagonal mosque of red sandstone on a marble platform. This was
the mosque of Shir Shah (A.D. 1541). The contrast between the
dignity of this building and the squalor of the village was striking and
saddening.
 Resuming our road, we next reached the splendid tomb of
Humayun (built by Akbar the Great about 1560 A.D., in memory of
his father the Emperor Humayun). An important gateway led into a
garden with long tanks and flagged pathways, bordered by formal
green hedges, which led up to a spacious platform upon which the
noble tomb was built. In the central chamber under the tomb the
actual tombstone was screened by pierced marble. There was also a
smaller chamber of tombs, each side the central one. The building
was of red sandstone, inlaid with white marble with a central dome
and four minarets. It seemed to be a prototype of the great Akbar’s
own tomb we had seen at Sikandra.
Then on again we went, making another short detour from the
main road to the cemetery of Nizam-ud-din. Entering through the
gateway, we came upon a deep tank, surrounded with buildings. On
the flattened dome of one—the Nizam’s well-house—sat a group of
brown-skinned youths, ready to dive into the water, a dive of about
seventy feet, for backsheesh, and the entertainment of the visitor. A
passage from this led into a marble court, in the centre of which was
the white, marble-domed tomb of the Nizam, brilliantly decorated
with arabesques in colour. It reminded one of the shrine of the
Kwaja in the Dargarh at Ajmir. There were also other tombs in the
court, one to the poet Khusru, whose songs are said to be still
popular in India. An interesting one is that of Jahanara Begum,
daughter of the Emperor Shah Jehan, on which is an inscription to
the effect that she begs that nothing but grass may cover her.
Certainly her wishes are fulfilled, as the grass grows freely in the
marble-sided tomb which has no cover. Up some steps was the
modern tomb of Mirza Jahangir, but a beautiful marble one.
The carving in marble and ornaments of all these tombs were
exceedingly delicate and beautiful, and would compare well with the
work on the Taj Mahal.
The visitor on leaving is embarrassed by the number of
claimants of fees. There seemed to be a different custode for every
tomb in the place, and the crowd of hangers-on, hungry for
backsheesh, rather spoils the pleasure which the sight of so much
beautiful work gives.
Returning to the road again and continuing our drive, it was not
long before we descried the great Kutab Minar rising up above the
trees in front of us. We had indeed caught a glimpse of it miles
away, when the tower was almost lost in the haze. There is a good
little bungalow close by where the traveller can get tiffin, or put up
for the night if so minded.
The Minar, tapering upwards to an astonishing height (238 feet),
piercing the clear blue sky, is of red sandstone with a white marble
top story. There are five stories, and the summit was formerly
crowned by a small cupola and open arcade, which was destroyed
by a storm, and a model of it has been placed near by. Successive
bands of small carving are carried across the deep flutings, both
semicircular and rectangular alternately on the lower storey,
semicircular in the second, rectangular in the third, a plain cylinder
forming the fourth, while the fifth and last is partly fluted and partly
plain. These bands are composed of texts from the Koran, the Arabic
characters having a rich ornamental effect, the carving being
wonderfully sharp and unimpaired, although it dates from the
twelfth and the latter part of the thirteenth century (A.D. 1210–20),
having been built as a tower of Victory, commenced by Kutab-ud-
din, and completed by his successor, Altamsh.
The tower was built in the centre of the old Hindu fortress of
Lalkot (A.D. 1060). At its foot are various ruins, the most extensive
being those of a fine Mohammedan mosque, constructed out of the
materials of, and incorporated with an ancient Hindu temple, the
original columns of the latter remaining to form the colonnade of the
court.
The images of the Hindu gods have been mostly defaced when
they occurred in the carving.
There is a fine Mogul arch of red sandstone, similar in treatment
and style to “the mosque of two and a half days” at Ajmir. In front of
this, in the centre of the court, stands a remarkable pillar of solid
wrought iron, supposed to date from A.D. 300 to 400. It is dedicated
to Vishnu, and there are lines in Sanscrit inscribed around it. The
wonder is that such a massive thing in iron could have been forged
at that early period.
Returning to Delhi by a different road we passed another
important-looking tomb, also near the outskirts of the present city,
the ruins of the Observatories built by different rajahs in the
eighteenth century, which impress one as weighty evidences of the
philosophical knowledge and culture of these native princes. A moon
observatory was pointed out to us, and a vast circular building. The
groups of ruined buildings hereabout recalled to us the Roman
Campagna and its fragments.
Our coachman (who was perhaps more careful as a guide than
as a Jehu) collided rather violently with a tonga just outside the city,
and the consequences might have been serious, but the wheels
were the chief sufferers, and the tonga must have got the worst of
the jolt, one of the native passengers being thrown out. No bones
were broken, and the incident did not seem to be regarded as at all
an unusual occurrence. There seems no rule of the road in India,
and so risks are constantly run. In the crowded streets the drivers
rely on the power of their lungs to shout out warnings of their
approach, and it is a marvel people escape being run over, and that
collisions are not more frequent and worse than they are.
 DELHI DRIVING. WANTED—A RULE OF THE ROAD

At the hotel, where the custom of small, separate, circular

dining-tables obtained, we happened to meet a very agreeable
Anglo-American family from Ceylon, who were travelling in India,
and were returning to their home at Colombo, before visiting Japan
and Europe. We discovered we had several friends in common, and
promised to visit them when we came to Ceylon.
I got a coloured drawing of the Jama Musjid from the plain
before mentioned, where a few trees afforded a little shade, the sun
being very strong, although a cool wind was still blowing from the
east. The light was particularly clear and the shadows sharp, so that
the architecture looked remarkably distinct, the effect being almost
hard.
 We had a stroll in the park-like grounds near the Club. There
was an old and much overgrown Mogul archway here, which had
been considerably battered in the siege. There were fine cypresses
and other trees, and among them little flights of green parroquets
flew with their shrill scream—their flight and their notes reminding
one of our swifts. Toucans were also to be seen, and of course the
palm squirrels. We watched a whole colony of them sleeping in the
hollow of a fine old banyan tree.
 CHAPTER X

AMRITZAR AND LAHORE

W e left Delhi by a night train—the Punjab Mail—for Amritzar,

but we had a long wait at the station, as the train was two
hours late. The station was thronged with natives bound for some
religious festival connected with the approaching eclipse of the sun.
There was a seething mass of dark humanity at the entrance,
through which we had almost to fight our way to the platform.

Our route was by way of Umballa, which we reached in the early

morning. The country was wrapped in a thick white mist before the
sun rose, when it gradually cleared. Beyond Umballa the country
was very flat, the dry lands varied with green crops and yellow with
charlock, as before, and dotted with acacia trees. Occasionally we
crossed wide rivers, or river beds, and the usual flocks of white
cranes and brown kites were seen. Jullumpore was another junction
where our train stopped. It looked an interesting place from the
railway, a walled town with towers and ancient mosques. After
leaving Pillour (the refreshment station) a very broad river was
crossed, and on the wide sands of the dry part of its bed, almost like
a desert, we saw a train of thirty camels moving slowly in single file.
We did not reach Amritzar until about 1 P.M., more than three
hours after time! On emerging from the station, despite our bearer,
we were nearly torn to pieces by hotel touts.
 SHE WON’T BE HAPPY TILL SHE GETS EVERYTHING PACKED UP

The Alexandra hotel had been named to us and we asked for its
representative, but it appeared there was no such hotel at Amritzar.
Each rival tout clamoured for our custom, declaring that the hotel he
represented was the true and only successor to the mythical
A
Alexandra. One went so far as to say he had received a post-card
from us, but when asked to produce it only showed a letter from
some one else! Finally we got into a carriage, which was
immediately stormed by the irrepressible touts, one seating himself
on the box, one on the step each side, and I don’t know how many
hanging on behind. Not liking the look of the first hotel they took us
to, we tried a second and decided to put up there, and so gradually
shook off the touts. There was more of an Eastern character about
our quarters here than we had hitherto experienced. The hotel was
quite an Oriental serai in an Eastern garden, our rooms being in a
sort of Indian villa, opening on to a terrace with steps down into the
garden, with its narrow straight paths between fruit trees, and our
room was rather like a small temple or chapel with recessed walls
and ogee arched doorways, a raftered ceiling, and clerestory
windows. Built for coolness, no doubt, we now found it positively
cold in the mornings and evenings, and although there was a
fireplace the lighting of a wood fire made matters worse, for we
were nearly smoked out.

A
We learned afterwards that it was the custom to
change the names of hotels every six months or
so.
 DEMON HOTEL TOUTS AT AMRITZAR FIGHTING FOR THEIR PREY

There were several English or Anglo-English at table preserving

their characteristic frigidity in the presence of strangers. A
gentleman from Manchester was the only one who showed a friendly
disposition and who had any conversation.
Driving through the city we had recourse to smelling-bottles, as
owing to the open drains each side the streets the odours which
saluted our nostrils were rather trying. I had noticed these open
gulleys at Delhi and in the native quarters in other towns. They run
close in front of the houses and open shops of the bazaars, and are
crossed by slabs of stone placed across them at intervals to give
access to the houses, and as all sorts of refuse finds its way into
them it is not surprising they should be offensive sometimes, though
it had not been nearly so noticeable elsewhere. Amritzar is said to
have the benefit of the advice of an English sanitary engineer.
The street did not strike us as so varied and interesting as other
cities we had seen, and the house fronts seemed plainer and more
modern, as a rule, though the streets were narrow enough.

THROUGH AMRITZAR—SIT TIGHT AND HOLD A SMELLING BOTTLE!

From a sort of terrace we got our first view of the Golden

Temple, which is built in the centre of the large tank or lake in the
centre of the city. A broad paved causeway connects with the paved
walk along two sides of the lake. After the magnificent and
beautifully proportioned Mogul architecture of Agra and Delhi, the
Golden Temple, built at the beginning of the nineteenth century is
rather disappointing, despite its gilded domes, the building looking
rather squat, though the gold reflected in the rippling water has a
charming effect. The gilded dome of the Atal tower also shows over
the buildings behind the temple seen from the terrace. Leaving our
carriage at this spot we were surrounded and eyed by a curious
crowd. Rival guides apparently contended for us, and there was a
sudden quarrel, ending in a free fight, between two of them, the end
of which we did not remain to see. The temple and its precincts is
held most sacred by the Sikhs, Amritzar being their religious centre,
the place is most jealously watched. It seemed impossible to get
away from the crowd, who appeared to be none too friendly to
strangers, and sketching was out of the question without a
bodyguard.
We had a very courteous and kind reception from Dr Dinghra,
three of whose sons we had known in London. One son and his wife
were staying with him, and we spent a pleasant hour under his
hospitable roof, and he presented us with handsome saddle bags,
made of the local carpet, on leaving. He also introduced us to one of
the leading citizens, a magistrate, who had an extensive pile carpet
manufactory, and he showed us over the works. These were long
sheds, having round arched arcades opening on to a court, and in
these were a series of high-warp hand-looms with rows of shuttles
filled with the different coloured wools hanging from the top. The
weavers sat, or rather squatted, in a row on the ground in front of
the warp and worked in the pattern. They were young boys and
youths trained to the work early. They used a small curved knife like
a small sickle to shear off the ends of their threads and press them
home when a particular bit of coloured pattern was finished. Little
oblong labels written in Arabic were placed on the warp in front of
each weaver, which gave the written directions for the colours to be
used in the work. No individual judgment or choice appeared to be
exercised by the weavers.
There was a design room also open to the court under an
arcade, here some quite aged natives were preparing designs,
sketching them out in pencil or charcoal on squared paper, quite in
the European method, and in some cases working from photographs
of special carpets.
 I learned from the manager that the working hours in this
factory were from 8 A.M. till dark. The boy weavers only got one and
a half annas a day! We finally were shown the finished product—a
whole series of large handsome carpets being rolled out for us to
see. One of these, of a Persian kind of design, would be priced at
200 rupees, the manager said. Before leaving we were requested to
write our names, and any remarks on our visit, in a visitor’s book,
where the list had been headed by the Prince and Princess of Wales,
who visited these works on their tour in India in 1905.
In the forenoon of January 14th we saw the eclipse of the sun
from our terrace. It rather took us by surprise—the light quickly
becoming curiously pale like moonlight and the air unusually chilly.
We could see the sun turned into a crescent quite distinctly, and
pass through various phases like a moon, till it gradually regained its
normal shape and power shortly after noon.
 AN INDIAN AUTOLYCUS

As we sat on the terrace a native pedlar approached with two

portentous bundles. He salaamed, and proceeded to unload his
wares in front of us. His stock, however, consisted entirely of
European goods—small wares such as tapes and buttons, studs,
soaps and perfumes, patent medicines, and such articles as are
supposed to meet the wants of travellers. This Indian Autolycus
addressed us as “Father” and “Mother,” and like the “Mad Hatter”
commenced his speeches by saying “me very poor man,” following
this announcement by urgent appeals to us to buy, after each
purchase, beginning all over again afresh. Probably he felt he had to
make the most of his English, as well as of his stock and his
opportunities.
After another look at the Golden Temple, which it was impossible
to approach without a crowd and without clumsy canvas shoes over
our own, we made our way round to the Atal tower. Here, again,
before entering the anything but clean marble court shoes had to be
put off. It is an octagonal shrine, or tomb, having curious beaten
metal plates, gilded figure designs in repoussé over the doors, but
the decorative art here was much inferior in design and detail to
what we had seen further south.
We then drove to the public gardens in which stands the pavilion
of Ranji Singh. The gardens are full of beautiful palms and trees of
many different kinds, including fine cypresses and splendid clumps
of bamboos. The roads around Amritzar are lined with trees, and
one sees enormous banyans spreading their great branches and
masses of dark green foliage and casting deep shadows on the long
avenues. Large plantations and fruit gardens, too, surround the city,
so that it has a very attractive look although on a dead level.
Oranges of a large rough-skinned kind are grown here. They are
deep-coloured, and more like lemons in shape. There was also a
very small circular orange about the size of a large cherry in the
hotel garden, where roses, pansies, and violets were blooming
freely. The native gardener was generally to the fore in offering us
small posies or buttonholes whenever he had an opportunity and for
a consideration.
We left Amritzar for Lahore on January the 15th, having another
long wait for the Punjab mail, this time three hours behind time.
However, about noon another train came up and we were advised by
the stationmaster to go on by that in preference to waiting longer
for the mail. This train, he said, would take us to Lahore more
quickly than the quick train, which sounds like a contradiction in
terms. It is only about an hour’s journey.
 The country between Amritzar and Lahore is, again, flat and has
no striking features. Fields under irrigation green with young crops
of corn, often smothered in charlock, alternated with dry fields or
the standing canes of ripe crops, and stubbles of some newly
reaped. The wells were plentiful. Some of the irrigation wells in this
district are of a different pattern and mechanism to the simple draw-
well seen generally. A pair of oxen turn a horizontal heavy wooden
wheel which has slots at regular intervals around the outside of its
rim. These slots catch the projecting spokes or straight cogs of
another wheel, also horizontally placed and smaller in size, and this
in turn by means of the cogs moves a large water wheel arranged in
a vertical position, the projecting cogs catching the spokes of this
wheel, which has a series of leather buckets or water pots attached
to its broad rim, on the same principle as we see in dredging
machines. As the wheel turns the buckets are dipped one after the
other into the well, and as they rise again full empty their contents
into a trough immediately in front of the wheel, which communicates
with another trough connected with the irrigating trenches, which
are thus supplied with water.
The station at Lahore was comparatively quiet and was a
pleasing contrast to the turbulent crowd at Amritzar. The Charing
Cross hotel received us, but anything less suggestive of the
associations its name recalled it would be difficult to imagine. It was
of the usual extended bungalow type, with long arcades in front of
ranges of ground floor rooms, spacious and lofty and reminding
rather of the vast rooms one sees on the stage with raftered ceilings
and whitewashed walls. The lower wall of our sitting-room, however,
was hung with very interesting Indian hand-painted cotton hangings,
which gave it rather a distinguished appearance. There was a
bedroom, something between a prison and a chapel, and dressing
and the usual bath rooms, with zinc tubs, opening out beyond.
There were large sitting and dining rooms, the latter an enormous
one, like the nave of a church, lighted by a clerestory only, and cold
enough, where people dined rather frigidly, each group at a safe
distance at separate little round tables. We were glad of a log-fire in
the evenings, though the sun was powerful enough during the day.
“The Charing Cross post office” was close by, which had one pigeon
hole, and where the stamps were sold outside under the verandah,
by a native squatting on the ground.

ENJOYING A LOG FIRE AT LAHORE

A fine broad avenue through the English quarter is called “The

Mall,” and here the principal government buildings are situated, the
Law courts and the Museum, and the principal stores and
bungalows. This British residential and business quarter is quite
distinct and lies quite clear outside the walls of the native city of
Lahore. It is laid out in broad drives with tan rides at the side, and
bordered with trees. Bungalows and shops and stores in the shape
of bungalows standing detached in gardens are arranged pleasantly
from the modern residential point of view, and forms quite a “garden
city,” only marred by the atrocious way in which the traders
announce their names and business in staring white block-letters on
black boards. One piano warehouse, I noticed, had even a sky sign.
Even the private residences are often disfigured in the same way by
black boards with the name of the occupier in the ugliest block-
letters.
The gardens and hedges, often of roses trained on trellises of
bamboo, are kept very trim up and down the Mall.
Smart English ladies and officers ride or drive about in their dog-
carts with native tigers behind. We met a very imposing and original
turn out—a fine pair of brown camels, well matched, were harnessed
to a sort of barouche, each ridden, postilion-wise, by native servants
in scarlet, one in the same colour behind the carriage, which
contained two English ladies. This was probably the Lieutenant-
Governor’s carriage. Bicycles were much in use both by Europeans’
(men and women) and natives—the turban and loose pyjama-like
clothes of the latter looking strange on the machine. The natives,
however, everywhere in the towns where the Europeans’ influence
comes in seem to take to machines. The sewing machine is
constantly seen in the bazaars, always, however, worked by a man.
A certain firm’s poster of the eternal woman enclosed in a hideous S
(like a modern Eve and the industrial serpent) looks particularly
incongruous and out of place in India, where there seems to be no
women working at crafts. The men do the washing too, the Dhobee
in white with his bundle of linen being a frequent and characteristic
figure.
No greater contrast could be imagined than that between the
English quarter and the native city lying within its old walls and great
gates, with its narrow picturesque streets and—stinks! Open drains
as at Amritzar run along each side of the streets, close in front of the
bazaar, where the people sit. The fronts of the houses above the
open shops are mostly of wood of a dark rich tone, corbelled
arcaded balconies and windows jutting out over the street at all
sorts of angles, rich with delicate and varied carvings, as if the
builders had vied with each other which should make the most
interesting front. There are charming little covered verandahs and
balconies with slender columns and ogee arches, and pierced
screen-work painted here and there, but mostly the deep dusky
brown tone of the natural wood, dark with age, which forms an
effective background to the vivid colours and glitter of costumes and
draperies of the bazaars. The newly dyed long strips of cotton or
muslin in orange or pink, green or lemon yellow which are hung out
to dry, wave like long banners over the busy life of the narrow
streets, where the turbaned and many coloured, swarthy faced
crowd, jostle along, or stand in chattering groups about the shops,
buying and selling. The types, too, are very varied—the Hindu, the
Mohammedan, the Afghan, the country folk; the Mohammedan
woman in trousers, the Hindu woman in her graceful Sari, with her
glittering silver anklets, and bracelets, toe-rings and nose-rings; dark
eyes and shining whites momentarily seen, and gleaming teeth, the
mysterious-looking figures covered from head to foot in flowing
white drapery, pleated into a close fitting cap, with little perforations
for the eyes, in front, the effect of the whole being ghostly, or even
ghoulish. The white mystery being only betrayed by a brown foot
beneath and the gleam of a silver anklet which tells one it is only the
disguise of a Mohammedan woman.
 “THE WOMAN IN WHITE” AT LAHORE (SUGGESTION FOR A DISGUISE
PARTY)

Here again it was rather disappointing to see the native bazaars

full of European goods, and a trivial cheap kind at that. European
commerce has evidently got its foot in. Blue enamelled basins and
cups, tin ware, tapes and buttons, braces, socks and ugly woollen
scarfs in aniline colours are seen everywhere. It is true that one
occasionally may see a native handicraftsman at work, such as the
man who prints the ornamental borders on the edges of the muslin
veils of the women, and picks them out in silver leaf, silver or orange
being a favourite arrangement. The metal-worker is also frequent,
though he often only makes zinc stoves. The food shops are the
most numerous, set out with piles of curious yellow cakes and
sweets of all sorts and sizes, the cooking stove being often in front
of the shop, made of clay or mud with a tiny hole in which they
produce hot little fires.
Through the bazaars our carriage worked its way as through a
labyrinth. The mixed throng of buyers and sellers, beggars and
brown babies, and cheeky little street Arabs, who are inclined to be
rude to the stranger generally, tongas, buffaloes, herds of goats,
stray zebu bulls, and fat-tailed sheep.
These latter we first saw at Delhi. They are originally from Tibet.
The enormous development of the tail, or fleece of the tail, has a
very extraordinary effect, as if the animal carried a bag of wool
behind it, both broad and long and nearly touching the ground.
Occasionally we saw one of these animals (rams) dyed with orange
colour, and marked with curious patterns all over its fleece.
Passing through the bazaars we arrived at a large open space,
and soon reached the (Roshanai) gate of the Fort on the other side
of it. There the English sentry, after saying an order was necessary,
called an orderly to take us round. Just inside the gate we got a
view of the old wall of the palace decorated by tiles, the colours
being similar to those used at Gwalior, at the Man Mandir palace,
principally turquoise, green, and lemon yellow, the tile-work being
arranged in bands or friezes of elephants and birds in profile, let into
the red sandstone.
The very stolid British “Tommy” in khaki conducted us, in slow
marching order and in solemn silence, up the long sloping road to
the square of the Fort where he pointed out, without emotion, a
colonnaded Hall of audience, and then took us through a gateway
into the rather spacious court of the old palace of Akbar, who also
built the Fort. On one side of the court was an interesting armoury
of Sikh weapons, beginning with suits of fine chain mail and Persian-
looking steel topis, damasceened and bossed circular targes up to
flint-locks, and match-locks, and blunderbusses.
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