This over, they proceeded to rub me down slowly with keesahs, or rough gloves, bringing off flakes and rouleaus of cuticle and epidermis astonishing to behold. Flayed alive, they proceeded to shampoo and knead me, producing the most pleasing and grateful sensations.
The strong man now bade me rise, and then and there began to play the castanets on my vertebral column, beginning at the topmost articulation; this he effected by placing his leg behind me, swinging my body gently backwards and forwards, and then by a sudden jerk, the very reverse of pleasant, producing the desired dislocation and its accompanying crack; having done with the spine, he rung the changes on my toes, knees, and fingers. To effect all this, he entwined his brawny limbs about me in a most gladiatorial style, which was far from agreeable.
At length, after a few more sluicings, I was given to understand that my purifications were at an end; something was then thrown over me, and I was led back to the place from whence I came. There I dressed, and never in my life experienced such a feeling of purity and buoyancy. I felt as if a new man, cleansed mentally and bodily, and ready to open a fresh account with the world.
My kitmudgar, Fyz Buccas, a worthy little fellow, had not been idle or inattentive to my comforts during my absence; for no sooner had I dressed, and was giving the last shake to a clean cambric handkerchief—the finale of the toilet in India—than he presented me with a cup of hot coffee, which he had prepared outside, and brought in afterwards my kalioun, which I had recently set up; taking this then in my hand, and putting the mouth-piece between my lips, I stretched out my legs, leaned my head back, and, half-closing my eyes, immediately departed for the seventh heaven, in a cloud of odoriferous incense.
The following day brought me to Sultanpore, the station of a regiment of native cavalry, about midway between Benares and Chunarghur. Here I stayed a few days with a cornet, to whom I was the bearer of a letter. There are no native cavalry lower than this in the Bengal presidency; these, consequently, with the exception of the Governor-General’s body-guard (who are differently attired), were the first I had seen of that arm.
On the whole, this body of black dragoons pleased me well; their dress was French grey, buckskin breeches, and long military boots, with high blue mitre-shaped caps, terminating at the apex with a sort of hemispherical silver knob; those of the native officers were covered with red cloth, with silver mountings.
The European officers wore helmets (since changed to shakos), but in other respects were dressed like their men. Some of the troopers were tight, well-made fellows, and the native officers large, portly gentlemen; but, if I may be allowed a pun, should say there were more Musulmans than musclemen amongst them.[[47]]
Europeans in general peel much better than natives, though the latter, being generally taller and more equally-sized, look better, I think, in a body; nevertheless, amongst the sepoys are frequently found men, models of symmetry and muscular vigour, with whom few Europeans would be able to cope. Their great degree of strength is, however, in general, artificially induced by the continued practice of gymnastics, the magdas, or clubs, and the use of the iron-stringed bow, &c.
I arrived at Sultanpore during the great Mahomedan festival of the Mohurrum, and the cantonment, neighbouring bazaars, and villages, were resounding with firing and shouting.
This festival, as is pretty well known to all in any degree acquainted with Oriental history, is held in honour of the martyrdom of Hussain and Hosein, the sons of Ali, who fell on the fatal field of Kerbela, a catastrophe beautifully told by Gibbon, and which even he, who attaches no belief to the pretensions of Mahomed, can hardly peruse without emotion.