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242
THE INDIAN ANTIQUARY.
SEPTEMBER, 1898.
The music again grows louder. Jôda brings out a heavy iron chain. "I will beat you with this chain" he says. “Where have you come from?" "From a well," gasps the boy. “What well ?" "This well here." "When did you catch the boy?" "I seized him as he was going out in the morning." The music starts again with a fresh chant. The boy is racked by the Pakan, tossing his head and jerking his shoulders with curious violence. Jôda is quiet, looking hard at the boy. The chief drummer says to the boy :-"Will you eat?" "I won't cat," says the Dükan. "Why won't you eat ?" asks the drummer. The singing begins afresh, and the boy is struck by another spirit. "It is the Musalman woman who was drowned in the well," says Jodå. The boy keeps tossing and jerking. Jôda moves about, looking after the lights. A tile is brought and two sweet balls are laid in it. Jôdâ rises, picks up a lighted wick and passes it round the boy's back and waist and sets it on his head. Jôdi leans down, closes his lips round the wick and puts out the light in his mouth. He repeats this three times. He then picks ap a lemon, lays it on the boy's head, and gashes the lemon with a knife. He sets a lighted wick in the cleft of the lemon, bends down and takes the flame in his mouth, squeezing the lemon with his teeth. He pours sharbat into a bowl, passes the bowl round the boy's head, and drinks the sharbat. "How do you feel"? he asks the boy. The boy is silent. Jôdá pours fresh sharbat into the bowl, waves the bowl round the boy's hands, and drinks the sharbat. Jodå draws the chain up to the boy's spine. He lifts first his left and then his right leg over the boy's bead and makes the boy place his hands on his own spine. He gives the tile with the sweet balls to be taken away, and goes about, putting the oil saucers to right. A woman brings in a child abont three years old and gives it to Jôda. This is Jodi's own child and is not sick. Jôdå takes off his cap and sets it on the child's head, and plays with the child, dressing him in a small red coat. The music plays a moderate accompaniment. All this time the sick Rawaliâ boy is sitting quietly. Jedå gives him sugar in a bowl, and the boy eats the sugar.
Jôdá tells the drammer to sing the praise of Mother Maht San. After the chant to Mahi is began, a big man, Vishņu, a dhobi or washerman, who has been seated near Jodå, begins to shake. His neighbour takes of the shaker's turban. Vishņu sets his elbows on his knees and is fiercely racked. “Ho! Ho!" be gasps, and, as the music stope, adds :"Mahi Mother. May all be well." The music begins again and Vishna has a fresh seizure. "Ho! Ho!" he gasps. "Narsingh. May it be well." The music starts the praise of Narsingh, and Vishnu is stricken with a fresh air. "Ho! Ho!" He pants. "Harakhai Jhampadi," that is Mother Mania of the Gate." Vishğu goes on shaking, the music and singing keep on at a moderate strength. All this time Jôdâ has been resting, playing with his child. Vishņu is again seized. "Ho! Ho! Mabani Bhikotar," that is, Shikötar of the tombs. The drummer starts a plaintive air in Shikotar's honour. Vishņu goes on shaking and jerking, but with less violence and quickness than Jodå. Vishnu holds his hands to his face, and leans against the wall tired. One of his neighbours replaces Vishnu's turban on his head.
The singing goes on, Jodå keeping quiet. The spirit next falls on Nima, a land-owner, a Rabari or camel-breeder by caste. He takes off his turban and tosses his head heavily. "It is. well," he shouts, “Kodiar Mata." He tosses his head, catching the tipe of his hair in his
ingers. "So long as I stay in Umêtha," he gasps and jerks, “no man, no animal will take any harm." A boy, Rawaliâ, comes in and sits in front of Jodå. Nämâ has a fresh seizure, rolling his head heavily. "Mérali," he gasps. The Rawalih boy is quiet, sitting with his knees drawn up and his elbows on his knees. He shakes slightly, Nima has a fresh fit, and the drumming and clashing wax louder. He rolls his head heavily. "Ho! Ho!" he pants. “Mata r.apani," Mother Silver. The drummer takes it up. Rupani Matâ has come, and he fings her praise. A woman of the Koli or Dhôrêlâ caste brings in a boy about seven or eight, reduced almost to a skeleton, with a white shoulder cloth drawn over his shoulder, and a cloth tied round his upper right arm. He is her only child. He has been sick for ten days. Jôda hands.back his own child to its mother. Náma is quiet and sits with his face wrapped in a cloth.
