The male figure in the engraving represents a pakkali or water-man, with his bullock loaded with a skin-bottle of water. His own “loins are girded" for active labour. His leathern bucket hangs across the bullock's back.
Although the city has no great temples, it has a large number of small ones. On a single street, through which we constantly passed, there are thirteen temples, each with its attendants and its idol-god. As you pass and look in, you see a hideous, oily, black stone, cut in the shape of a human figure, or of some imaginary monstrosity, wrapped in muslins and silks, adorned with paint and jewels, and surrounded, in his windowless recess, by lighted lamps. If it is the elephant-headed Ganesha, the god of wisdom, you will often see arranged before it a group of boys from four to fourteen years of age. These are scholars, come upon their examination-day or on some festival, to make offerings and sing praises to this poor thing,—the patron of learning. Some of the temples will be closed. At others, the puja, or worship, will be in performance by the priest, who lights his lamps, tinkles his bell, burns his incense, offers his flowers and cocoanuts before the idol, mumbles his prayers, and makes his
