168 JUNGLE PEACE 



waited, like the tethered heifer, looking furtively 

 at his circle of well-wishers. His little, shriveled 

 mother came and squatted close behind him, 

 toboggan-fashion, and flung a fold of her cloth 

 over his back. Then she waved various things 

 three times over his head: a stone grain-crusher, 

 a brass bowl of water, and tossed rice and pel- 

 lets of dough in the four directions. Red paint 

 was put on her toes and feet and caste marks on 

 her son. 



Meanwhile the dancer had begun and his 

 musicians were in full swing; but of these I 

 shall speak later. The groom was backed into 

 an elaborate head-dress, a high, open-work affair 

 of long wired beads with dangling artificial 

 flowers. First it was placed on the mother's 

 head and then on the turban of the long-suffer- 

 ing young man. An outflaring of torches and a 

 line of white-robed and turbaned coolies from 

 the other end of the street of six houses roused 

 the groom and his friends to new activity. He 

 climbed upon one of the men, straddling his 

 neck, and what appeared to be a best man, or 

 boy, mounted another human steed. They were 

 then carried the few feet to the house of the 

 bride, the shiny, black-rubber soles of the filched 



