or by his wrong use of them. But they are far more than outward signs, they are supposed to serve as a kind of spiritual panoply. Unprotected by this armour, a man would be perpetually exposed to the assaults of evil spirits and demons, and even be liable to become a demon himself. The shirt is made of the finest white linen or cambric. It has a peculiar form at the neck, and has a little empty bag in front to show that the wearer holds the faith of Zoroaster, which is supposed to be entirely spiritual, and to have nothing material about it. The sacred shirt has also two stripes at the bottom, one on each side, and each of these stripes is separated into three, to represent the six divisions of each half-year.

It has also a heart, symbolical of true faith, embroidered in front. The kusti, or girdle, is made of seventy-two interwoven woollen threads, to denote the seventy-two chapters of the Yaśna, but has the appearance of a long flat cord of pure white wool, which is wound round the body in three coils. Each end of the girdle is divided into three, and these three ends again into two parts. Every Parsi ought to take off this girdle and restore it to its proper position round the body at least five times a day. He has to hold it in a particular manner with both hands; and touching his forehead with it to repeat a prayer in Zand invoking the aid of Ormazd (AhuraMazda) for the destruction of all evil beings, evil doers -especially tyrannical rulers-and imploring pardon for evil thoughts, evil words, and evil deeds. The girdle must then be coiled round the body three times, and fastened with two particular knots (said to represent the sun and moon), which none but a Pārsi can tie in a proper manner. Every Parsi boy is taught the whole process with great solemnity at his first initiation. When the ceremony is concluded the high-priest pronounces a benediction, and the young Parsi is from that moment admitted to all the rights and privileges of perhaps one of the most flourishing and united communities in the world.

FUNERAL CEREMONIES AND OFFERINGS TO

ANCESTORS AT BOMBAY, BENARES,
AND GAYĀ.

WHEN I commenced my researches in India I was prepared to expect much perplexing variety in religious and social usages, but the actual reality far outdid my anticipations.

On one occasion, soon after my visit to the Parsi Towers of Silence, I gained admission to the Hindu burningground on the shore of Back Bay at Bombay, and witnessed a curious funeral ceremony there. The body of a man about forty years of age had been burnt the day before. On the morning of my visit about twenty-four men, his relations, gathered round the ashes to perform his funeral rites and soothe his departed spirit supposed to be hovering near in a state of feverish excitement after the fiery process to which the body had just been subjected. They offered no objection to my standing close to them, nor even to my asking them questions. The ceremony commenced by one of their number examining the ashes, and carefully separating any portions of the bones that had not been calcined by the flames on the previous day. These he collected in his hands and carried outside the burning-ground, with the intention, I was told, of throwing them into the sea near at hand. This being done, the whole party gathered round the ashes of the pyre in a semicircle, and one of the twentyfour men sprinkled them with water. Then some cow-dung was carefully spread in the centre of the ashes so as to form

H

a flat circular cake of rather more than a foot in diameter, around which a stream of cow's urine was poured from a metal vessel. Next, one of the men brought a plantainleaf, and laid it on the circle of cow-dung so as to form a kind of dish or plate. Around the edge of the leaf were placed five round balls (pindas) probably of rice-flour, rather smaller than cricket-balls, mixed with some brown substance. Sprigs of the Tulsi plant and fresh leaves of the betel, with a few flowers, were inserted in each ball, and a coloured cotton cord loosely suspended between them. Next, one of the relations covered the five pindas with the red powder called gulal. Then five flat wheaten cakes were placed on the plantain-leaf inside the circle of the five pindas, and boiled rice was piled up on the cakes, surmounted by a small piece of ghi mixed with brown sugar.

The funeral ceremony being so far completed the deceased man's nephew, or sister's son, took an empty earthenware vase, filled it with water, and held it on his right shoulder. Starting from the north side he commenced circumambulating the five pindas and the five wheaten cakes, with his left shoulder towards them, while one of the relatives with a sharp stone made a hole in the jar, whence the water spouted out in a stream as he walked round. On completing the first circuit and coming back to the north, a second incision was made with the same stone, whence a second stream poured out simultaneously with the first. At the end of the fifth round, when five streams of water had been made to spout out from five holes round the five pindas, the earthenware vase was dashed to the ground on the north side, and the remaining water spilt over the ashes. Next, one of the relatives took a small metal vessel containing milk, and, with a betel-leaf for a ladle, sprinkled some drops over the rice piled on the wheaten cakes. After which, taking some water from a small loța-or rather making another relative pour it into his hand-he first sprinkled it in a circle round the pindas, and then over the cakes. Finally, bending down and raising his hands to his head,

he performed a sort of pūjā to the pindas, which were supposed to represent the deceased man and four other relations. This was repeated by all twenty-four men in turn. After the completion of the ceremony, the balls and cakes were left to be eaten by crows.

At Benares, honorific ceremonies and offerings in honour of departed ancestors, called Śräddhas, are constantly performed near the Maņi-karṇikā-kund. This is a well, or small pool, of fetid water, not more than three feet deep, and perhaps not more than twenty feet long by ten broad, lying at a considerable depth below the surface of the ground, and declared in the Kāśī-Khanda of the SkandaPurana to have been originally created by Vishnu from the perspiration which exuded from his body. Its highly sacred character in the eyes of the orthodox Hindū may therefore be easily understood. It is said to have been named Mani-karṇikā, because Mahadeva on beholding Vishnu's well was so enraptured that his body thrilled with emotion, causing an earring to fall from his ear into the water. It is also called Mukti-kshetra, 'holy place of emancipation,' and Pūrṇa-subhakara, cause of complete felicity.' This wonderful well is on a ghat, by the side of the Ganges, and is resorted to by thousands of pilgrims, who may be seen all day long descending the flight of steps by which the shallow pool is surrounded on all four sides. Eagerly and with earnest faces they crowd into the water, immersing their whole bodies repeatedly, while Brahmans superintend their ablutions, repeat and make them repeat Mantras, and receive handsome fees in return. In a niche upon the steps on the north side are the figures of Vishnu and Siva, to which the pilgrims, after bathing, do honour by bowing down and touching the stones underneath with their foreheads. The bathers, though manifestly much dirtier from contact with the foul water, go away under the full conviction that they are inwardly purified, and that all their sins, however heinous, have been washed away for time and for eternity.

There is another well of almost equal sanctity, named the Jnana-vāpī, or 'pool of knowledge,' situated under a handsome colonnade in the interior of the city, between the mosque built by Aurangzib on the site of the original Viśveśvara-nath temple and the present Golden Temple. It is a real well of some depth and not a pool, but the water is so abominably offensive, from the offerings of flowers and rice continually thrown into it and left to putrefy, that I found it impossible to do more than take a hasty glance into the interior of the well, or even to remain in the neighbourhood long enough to note all the particulars of its surroundings. All the day long a Brahman stands near this well and ladles out putrid water from a receptacle before him into the hands of pilgrims, who either lave their faces with the fetid liquid, or drink it with the greatest The supposed sanctity of this well is owing to the circumstance that the idol of Śiva was thrown into it when the original temple of Viśveśvara-näth was destroyed by the Musalmans. Hence the pool is thought to be the habitation of Mahadeva himself, and the water to be permeated by his essence.

reverencc.

On the ghat near the pool of Maņi-karṇikā, on the day I visited it, a man was performing a Śraddha for his mother, under the guidance of a nearly naked and decidedly stout Brahman. The ceremony was the Dasama-śrāddha, performed on the tenth day after death. The officiating Brahman began by forming a slightly elevated piece of ground with some sand lying near at hand. This was supposed to constitute a small vedi or altar. It was of an oblong form, but only about eight or ten inches long by four or five broad. Across this raised sand he laid three

stalks of kusa grass. Then taking a number of little earthenware platters or saucers, he arranged them round the vedi, putting tila or sesamum seed in one, rice in another, honey in a third, areca or betel-nut in a fourth, chandana or sandal in a fifth. Next, he took flour of barley (yava) and kneaded it into one large pinda, rather smaller