By-Ways of Bombay | Page 4

dressed in a red "lungi" and white cotton jacket, and
the cry of the "bajri" and "chaval" seller, clad simply in a coarse "dhoti"
and second-hand skull-cap, purchased at the nearest rag-shop. And as
he passes, bending under the weight of his sacks, you catch the chink of
the little empty coffee-cups without handles, which the itinerant Arab is
soon to fill for his patrons from the portable coffee-pot in his left hand,
or the tremulous "malpurwa jaleibi" of the lean Hindu from Kathiawar
who caters for the early breakfast of the millhand. Mark him as he
pauses to oblige a customer; mark his oil-stained shirt, and loose turban,
once white but now deep-brown from continual contact with the bottom
of his tray of oil-fried sweetmeats: watch him as he worships with
clasped hands the first coin that has fallen to his share this morning,
calling it his "Boni" or lucky handsel and striking it twice or thrice
against the edge of his tray to ward off the fiend of "No Custom." But
hark! the children have heard of his arrival; a shrill cry of "Come in,
jaleibiwala" forces him to drop the first coin into his empty pocket; and
with silent steps he disappears down the dark passage of the
neighbouring chal.
[Illustration: The seller of "Malpurwa jaleibi".]
Now, as the Faithful wend their way homewards, bands of cheerful
millhands hasten past you to the mills, and are followed by files of Koli
fisherfolk,--the men unclad and red-hatted, with heavy creels, the
women tight-girt and flower-decked, bearing their headloads of shining
fish at a trot towards the markets. The houses disgorge a continuous
stream of people, bound upon their daily visit to the market, both men
and women carrying baskets of palm-leaf matting for their purchases;

and a little later the verandahs, "otlas," and the streets are crowded with
Arabs, Persians, and north-country Indians, seated in groups to sip their
coffee or sherbet and smoke the Persian or Indian pipe. Baluchis and
Makranis wander into the ghi and flour shops and purchase sufficient to
hand over to the baker, who daily prepares their bread for them; the
"panseller" sings the virtue of his wares in front of the cook-shop; the
hawkers--the Daudi Bohra of "zari purana" fame, the Kathiawar
Memon, the Persian "pashmak- seller" crying "Phul mitai" (flower
sweets), start forth upon their daily pilgrimage; while in the centre of
the thoroughfare the "reckla," the landau, the victoria and the shigram
bear their owners towards the business quarters of the city. "Mera
churan mazedar uso khate hain, sirdar," and past you move a couple of
drug-sellers, offering a word of morning welcome to their friend the
Attar (perfumer) from the Deccan; while above your head the balconies
are gradually filling with the mothers and children of the city, playing,
working, talking and watching the human panorama unfold before their
eyes.
[Illustration: A Koli woman.]
So the morning passes into mid-day, amid a hundred sounds symbolical
of the various phases of life in the Western capital,--the shout of the
driver, the twang of the cotton-cleaner, the warning call of the anxious
mother, the rattle of the showman's drum, the yell of the devotee, the
curse of the cartman, the clang of the coppersmith, the chaffering of
buyer and seller and the wail of the mourner. And above all the roar of
life broods the echo of the call to prayer in honour of Allah, the
All-Powerful and All-Pitiful, the Giver of Life and Giver of Death.
* * * * *
EVENING.
[Illustration: The "Pan" Seller.]
As the sun sinks low in the west, a stream of worshippers flows through
the mosque-gates--rich black-coated Persian merchants, picturesque
full-bearded Moulvis, smart sepoys from Hindustan, gold-turbaned

shrewd-eyed Memon traders, ruddy Jats from Multan, high-cheeked
Sidis, heavily dressed Bukharans, Arabs, Afghans and pallid
embroiderers from Surat, who grudge the half-hour stolen from the
daylight. At the main entrance of the mosques gather groups of men
and women with sick children in their arms, waiting until the prayers
are over and the worshippers file out; for the prayer-laden breath of the
truly devout is powerful to exorcise the demons of disease, and the
child over whom the breath of the worshipper has passed has fairer
surety of recovery than can be gained from all the nostrums and charms
of the Syed and Hakim. Just before and after sunset the streets wear
their busiest air. Here are millhands and other labourers returning from
their daily labours, merchants faring home from their offices, beggars,
hawkers, fruit-sellers and sweetmeat-vendors, while crowds enter the
cookshops and sherbet shops, and groups of Arabs and others settle
themselves for recreation on the threshold of the coffee-sellers' domain.
There in a quiet backwater of traffic a small crowd gathers round a
shabbily-dressed Panjabi, who,