Read Online Hindoo Holiday by J.R. Ackerley - Free Book Online

the affairs of the State . . . wasteful . . . generous to a fault . . . a loyal friend . . . he is a very ugly man.”
    When I had finished reading it I looked up. He was not attending to me, but was gazing into the air; my movement disturbed him, however, and he turned his head.
    â€œHave you finished?”
    â€œYes.”
    Probably I was a little flustered, for I got up to restore it to him, but he restrained me.
    â€œPut it on the table beside you. Now; what do you think of it?”
    â€œI think it’s a very good letter, and the writer seems to be friendly on the whole; but I don’t agree with many of the things he says.”
    â€œWhat don’t you agree with?”
    I’d been talking at random, but I reverted to the subject of ugliness, and then retired into the question of how he had got hold of it.
    â€œIt came to me by chance,” he said, without expression.
    â€œAnd what do you think of it, Maharajah Sahib?”
    â€œIt is the truth,” he said, with finality. “I like it very much.” I began to say something else to him, but he cut me off.
    â€œAnd now you should go,” he said. “Good night, Mr. Ackerley.”
    I got up, feeling suddenly rather like a schoolboy.
    â€œGood night, Maharajah Sahib,” I said, bowing to him, and went on, past the cow, to where my chariot was awaiting me in the moonlight to convey me back to the house on the hill.
JANUARY 4TH
    This evening as I was returning to the Guest House, I met His Highness’s “valet” coming from it. With him was the young man who has that fine tress of black hair I mentioned elsewhere, and who is connected in some official capacity with the Guest House, probably as a clerk or accountant. I have seen him about here a good deal, and have noticed him for his pleasant, clean and dignified appearance. He speaks a little English, always giving me a “Good morning,” no matter what time of the day.
    Hindoo men wear a peculiar nether garment, called a dhoti . This is a very long single piece of cloth which they wind round their waists and between their legs. With the poorer people it shrinks to a coarse loincloth, twisted untidily about their middles; but it can be a very graceful garment indeed, when it is made of fine muslin and properly put on so that it drops in front almost to the ankles in two loops which loosely sheathe the legs.
    The Dewan in my sketch (page 229) can be seen wearing one; but he has not put it on very well. To arrange it symmetrically, so that the loops fall equally to the most becoming length, requires a certain amount of care which a man like Babaji Rao, for instance, would not trouble to give; also, since it may have to be taken off, or at any rate disarranged for various reasons, a number of times a day, it must be difficult to have it always quite right. Our trousers are no bother; however often we put them off and on we never find one leg shorter than the other; but the dhoti requires attention and skill, and is seldom properly worn.
    The young man with the tress of black hair looks particularly graceful in his. It is of the finest, softest muslin, with a narrow border of dark blue, and falls almost to the silver buckles of his black shoes. And as he moves, one catches glimpses behind of his slim brown calves and ankles.
JANUARY 5TH
    His Highness has told his “valet” that I thought more beautiful than the Gods. This morning, after breakfast, the young clerk whom I saw with the valet yesterday followed me to the house and asked if he might come in. He told me at once that he knew I had seen the Gods dance.
    â€œHow do you know?” I asked.
    â€œMy friend,” he murmured, “he tell me . . . my friend you say ‘like Krishna.’”
    â€œBetter than Krishna,” I said. “So the Maharajah Sahib told him?”
    â€œYes,” he answered; then added, after a moment, “But do not say to