riser joins the circle, and all, except the Chief, give him
_tazim_--that is, rise and salaam; a coarse jest or two, and the party
disperses. A crowd of servants swarm round the Chief as he shuffles
slowly away. Three or four mace-bearers walk in front shouting, "Raja,
Maharaja salaamat ho; niga rakhiyo!" ("Please take notice; to the
King, the great King, let there be salutation!") A confidential
servant continually leans forward and whispers in his ear; another
remains close at hand with a silver tea-pot containing water and
wrapped up in a wet cloth to keep it cool; a third constantly whisks a
yak's tail over the King's head; a fourth carries my Lord's sword; a
fifth his handkerchief; and so on. Where is he going? He dawdles up a
narrow staircase, through a dark corridor, down half-a-dozen steep
steps, across a courtyard overgrown with weeds, up another staircase,
along another passage, and so to a range of heavy quilted red screens
that conceal doors leading into the female penetralia. Here we must
leave him. Two servants disappear behind the _parda_ with their
master, the others promptly lie down where they are, draw the sheets
or blankets which they have been wearing over their faces and feet,
and sleep. About noon we see the King again. He is dressed in white
flowing robes with a heavy carcanet of emeralds round his neck. His
red turban is tied with strings of seed pearls and set off with an
aigrette springing from a diamond brooch. He sits on the Royal
mattress, the _gaddi_.[E] A big bolster covered with green velvet
supports his back; his sword and shield are gracefully disposed before
him. At the corner of the _gaddi_ sits a little representation of
himself in miniature, complete even to the sword and shield. This is
his adopted son and heir. For all the queens and all the grand
duchesses are childless, and a little kinsman had to be transplanted
from a mud village among the cornfields to this dreamland palace to
perpetuate the line. On the corners of the carpet on which the _gaddi_