THE VILLAGE HAJAAM.
Another curiosity, by the way, is the village Hajaam, the barber. No native can do without the Hajaam, and as he attends to many other little offices of life besides shaving, it may not be amiss to give an account of his "life and labours," in these days of cheap biography. The Hajaam in Gujarát is Hindu by caste; sometimes he is Musalman. There is no Parsi Hajaam. There are several little handicrafts at which the Parsi flatly refuses to work. He may be a professional gambler or thief, but a Hajaam or blacksmith—never. There are religious scruples in the way of his becoming a Hajaam. According to his Shástras[1] there is sin in paring the nails or picking up, clipping, or shaving the hair. Very well. This is how the strictly religious Parsi shaves; he sits down to a Hajaam with a prayer to Ahurmazd,[2] probably to restore him his neck safe from the Hajaam's keeping, and an anathema against Ahriman.[3] He would not, for fear of having to endure the pangs of perdition, allow a single hair to go astray. As soon as the Hajaam has done his work, the religious Parsi collects all the shavings and buries them in a solitary place after certain vigorous ejaculations. Though this practice is said to be eminently philosophic, it has somehow fallen into disrepute; and Parsis of the day do not only disregard the practice itself, but have so far diverged from the original firman[4] as to shave their chins and whiskers themselves. There is your wicked English education at the bottom of this revolution.
How the Hajaam operates on a Hindu.
But to return to our Hajaam, and how he operates upon an Aryan brother. The operation generally takes place on a Sunday noon, immediately after tiffin. Patient and operator squat before each other, each chewing pán supari—a process which the ignorant might mistake, from a distance, for either making faces at the other. After discussion of the latest news, the Hajaam takes out his tonsors and falls to picking the hair of the patient's forehead. There is torture unutterable in this part of the operation; but be it said to the credit of both that the more vigorously plies the hand of the Hajaam, the more gratefully grunts the Aryan brother. The object is high polish, and both have set their hearts on that object. As soon as the tonsorial part of the operation is finished, the Hajaam presses the patient's head downwards; and meek as a lamb, the latter bows till his head is fairly ensconced in the Hajaam's brotherly lap. The water is now applied for a few seconds, and then is applied the trusty razor. As it moves backwards and forwards, the razor makes a distinct noise—a sort of wail complaining of the rough surface to which its edge is applied. When much put out, the razor sometimes makes a gash here or there; but the patient being persuaded that a little blood thus drawn averts apoplexy, submits to the razor's vagaries with cheerfulness, encouraging the Hajaam every time there is a gash, with a vigorous smack of the lips, as if to say the owner of the lips entered into the fun with all his heart. It takes about an hour to shave a well-developed Aryan. The razor has to glance north to south, east to west, to see that all is smooth as an ivory ball. This much ascertained, the Hajaam takes a handful of lime-juice and rubs it on the newly-shaven cranium with a smart air of superiority. The patient smarts under this operation just for a moment, but, knowing it to be for his own good, he is the last man to complain. But the operation is not yet complete. The head is as smooth and shiny as ivory, if not more so. But there is something yet to do. There are the cheek-bones to be similarly treated, the hair on the upper lip to be touched up, the hair in the nose and the ear to be picked out, for, with Oriental charity, every respectable Aryan cultivates hair in both these organs to a considerable extent. After the picking, clipping, and shaving are over, there is the nail-paring. Then follows the shampooing. Here the Hajaam puts the patient in various positions, and rubs and scrubs and currycombs with a smart vigour that would do good to the heart of a veterinary surgeon to witness. After half an hour thus employed, the patient is released, and the Hajaam is paid about a penny-worth of copper on the assurance that the operation will "answer" fifteen days.
His Miscellaneous Duties.
Thus plies the Hajaam at his principal work. He is good at many other jobs besides. He is the hereditary torch-bearer of the village, and has the honour of lighting in or out the Collector or his young man. The Hajaam is also a good pleader; not a High Court or District Court pleader, please, but a pleader—that is, he pleads the cause of the enamoured youth before his (that is, the e. y.'s) divinity. The village Hajaam is the priest of Hymen, and his wife is the accoucheur-general of the village. This is a fair division of labour between husband and wife.
The village Hajaam is also a good herbalist, and in this respect a more trustworthy person than the modern L. M. and S.[5]—he never poisons his patients.
The village Hajaam labours under one sad infirmity. He has a very loose tongue. He is an incorrigible gossip. The best use you can make of your enemy's secret is to entrust it to the Hajaam. If you want the secret to be most widely known, just say you give it him in the strictest confidence. He will rush off to the bazaar[6] directly he leaves you, and will not rest till the whole village knows the secret, of course with due exaggerations, but in the strictest confidence.
But though the village Hajaam is a great "spendthrift of his tongue," he never dabbles in politics. He has an idea that the Police Superintendent is the natural enemy of those who discuss politics, and that he has the power of hanging any such person in the back part of the jail at the Collector's command.