the ceremonies are somewhat curious, I shall relate them to you,—observing, that no expedition, whether of a large or small body, can be undertaken without them.
The morning we were to separate on our different destinations, everything having been duly prepared, we repaired to a spot which had been chosen on the road, a short distance from the village, and the whole band was in attendance. Bhudrinath, a man of much intelligence and respectability, and who was learned in the conducting of ceremonies, bore the sacred pickaxe, which had been previously duly consecrated, and was immediately attended by my father and three other jemadars. My father, as the leader of the whole, carried a lota[1] filled with water, suspended by a string which he held in his mouth, down his right side. Had that lota fallen, what a dire omen would it have been to him! Nothing could have averted his death in that year, or at furthest in the year following.
We moved slowly, till we reached the spot fixed on, and there my father stood. Turning his face to the south, the direction we were to
- ↑ A small brass or copper drinking-vessel.
