THE BORAS OF GUJARAT.
Next to the Parsis are the Boras (voharas—) meaning literally, pedlars). They are Mahomedans and followers of Ali, but were originally Hindus. They are scattered over various parts of India, but generally gravitate towards Gujarát. The Borás have their Mohla, as the Parsis have their Dustoor, and the Vaishnava-Hindus their Máháráj. All three peoples are about equally priest-ridden. As a typical Borá, I have much pleasure in introducing my friend Adamji bin [1] Didamji to the reader.
Adamji bin Didamji
[His descent, attributes, habits, manner; his love of man and fear of god, with many other things besides.]
Adamji bin Didamji is a compound product, as his name implies. He is often found loafing about the outskirts of Gujarát; but he is by no means a loafer. His forefathers were substantial Hindu farmers, somewhere between Kapadwanj and Viramgaum, what time the followers of the Prophet went from Ahmedabad lower down, with the sword in one hand and the Koran[2] in the other. As this is not a scientific paper, I shall proceed with a strictly personal history of Adamji, leaving further details of his origin to the faithful chronicler. Suffice it to say, for the present purpose, that Adamji comes of remote Hindu ancestry. He resembles the Hindu of Gujarát more in features than any other people. In habits he is milder than the mildest Hindu. He dresses like the Hindu, except in the matter of the páyamá[3] and the pugri. He speaks the language of the province with a peculiar accent. Frugality and simplicity are the leading features of Adamji's character.
My Adamji.
But to give a true picture of his character, it will be best to write of my Adamji bin Didamji. I made his acquaintance about fifteen years ago. He was then a flourishing young man of seventeen, and I was his junior by some years. Though I belonged to quite another race, Adamji took kindly to me from the very beginning. We met under peculiar circumstances. We were both suffering from a bereavement, and our sympathy was therefore very warm for each other. Adamji often invited me to dinners. When these dinners were private affairs they were extremely frugal. A handful of parched rice was thrown into the sands in which we were sitting, and one by one the individual grains were picked up by us during intervals of discourse. Adamji was, as a rule, my moral preceptor, and his morality was of almost a divine nature when we had to make shift with the parched grain aforesaid. He then talked of Heaven, and said the surest way to go thither was by conciliating the friendship of the Mohla,[4] but it would be pleasanter to begin with marriage than death. One day Adamji brought home his bride from Kapadwanj—his "brand-new wife," as Adamji told me in the pride of his heart. He gave us (me and other friends) a grand dinner on the occasion. A young buffalo formed the backbone of the banquet. Good Surat ghee and sweet Bengal sugar lurked in every nook and corner of the big buffalo dish. Kabobs and samosás, bhujias and hulwás, roast and stew, sweet bread, and pulow and berian formed the other concomitants of this wondrous feast. All of us, about twenty mothers' sons, sat down to the repast, each one of the lot eating out of the same enormous dish. The blooming bride came at the end of the dinner to distribute flowers and pán supári[5] to the guests assembled. It is the custom among Aclamji's people that the bride, under the circumstances, must, be ogled. This we did with extreme unction. We peeped into Mrs. A.'s pretty face, and ogled with outrageous freedom. She gave back defiant smile for smile, whilst the "happy" bridegroom hung down his head and looked extremely foolish under this severe ordeal. But he soon after made up for his temporary humiliation by cold-shouldering us all and walking into his room with the bride and his and her aunts. It was about a week after this that I met Adamji again. I had also many occasions to see his Boo,[6] and though she always kept herself purdar nashin[7] Mrs. Adamji was not a bit of a prude. She chattered freely, and after the birth of little Adamji she did not hesitate to sit by the side of her husband's friends when he, the husband aforesaid, was near.
I had the melancholy satisfaction of seeing old Didamji, Adamji's father, die. He was about sixty years old at the time. He had made his peace with Heaven. Didamji explained to his admiring friends that, though he had not lived an exemplary life,having been only a shopkeeper, still he hoped he had a happy hereafter. He had invited the Mohla for over a dozen times during his lifetime, and had gone to His Holiness about a hundred times; and just before his death Didamji had paid a large sum of his ill-gotten gains to the holy intercessor, the Mohla, for a note of introduction on behalf of Didamji to the address of the angel Gabriel. The note ran somewhat on this wise:—"Dear Brother Gabriel,—My old friend Didamji bin Dosá it has been the pleasure of the all-wise Allah[8] to call away. I have honoured Didamji with my friendship for many a long year, and knowing his worth, I beg of you to receive him hospitably, and to introduce him to the Most High with my respectful compliments." This note of introduction was buried with poor Didamji, and was no doubt taken by the deceased worthy on the day of resurrection, to Gabriel. And there can be no sort of doubt that "Brother Gabriel" did bring Didamji to the favourable notice of Allah, as Mrs. Adamji protested she had seen it all in a dream.
Adamji's life is a dead level of honesty,frugality, and simplicity—and so much the better for him. He is the thriftiest trader and shopkeeper in Gujarát. He begins life with selling matches, and generally ends with a substantial little establishment. In the beginning he can hardly earn one anna (1½d.) a day; and yet you will find Adamji lives happily, and saves something besides. I know of Adamji's countrymen maintaining themselves and their families on two annas a day. But however heavy the expenses, the income is never altogether squandered.
Adamji is prudent by instinct, but never miserly. In ninety cases out of a hundred he makes a true friend. Though gifted with a keen sense of the powers of money, he can make excellent use of it when he lists. Poverty has no sting for Adamji, nor riches au irresistible attraction. He is probably the shrewdest business man of the town; but in other relations of citizenship his simplicity is truly charming. It is guilelessness pure and simple.
But in one thing Adamji bin Didamji differs very materially from every other Gujaráti—he has absolutely no taste for politics. He is utterly callous as to the political management of the country. He has infinite faith in the Government, next only in intensity to his faith in the Mohla. The strongest political agitation in the country fails to strike a responsive chord in the heart. He is a lover of peace. He will put himself to any amount of inconvenience, he will sacrifice anything to secure peace. Peace to Adamji is a priceless blessing; and knowing that a discussion of political questions has a very disturbing tendency he will always refrain from politics. He neither hates nor loves politics; it is a question of stolid imperturbable indifference.
Such is Adamji bin Didamji; and whoever comes to know him well will agree that Adamji is, taking all in all, an exemplary man in every respect. As a son and pupil, as a brother or father, as a friend, his life is a lesson to his neighbours. As a citizen he is invaluable—simple, sober, prudent, and eminently loyal. Long live my friend Adamji bin Didamji, a worthy exemplar to the "educated" jackanapes of the generation.