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Updated: June 13, 2025
In addition to this cloak is worn the waist-cloth, and a tight-fitting skull-cap of monkey skin, with three enormous hornbill feathers stuck upright in it, completes the costume. This is called a Kaluri, and although possessing but five separate notes in a minor key, the tone is not unmusical, though very melancholy.
There were stately warriors in paint and blankets, young braves stripped to the waist-cloth for a game of ball, maidens whose cheeks were ruddy with vermilion, robed in embroidered and beaded garments of fawn skin, and naked children, frolicking like so many puppies.
Through these eyes I rove a sort of ridge-rope, leading it also through the eyes of several stancheons that were firmly stepped on the thwarts. The effect, when the ridge-rope was set up, was to give the boat the protection of this waist-cloth, which inclined inboard, however, sufficiently to leave an open passage between the two sides, of only about half the beam of the boat.
While their shaven heads were adorned with the helmet crest and eagle plume, they bore round their necks ornaments of the gayest kind. A magnificent cloak of buffalo-skin adorned their shoulders, while a spear, shield, tomahawk, bow and quiver, formed their arms. Leggings, moccasins, with wampum garters tied below the knee, completed, with the waist-cloth, their attire.
The Bearer-in-waiting carries about a small pillow all day long, and from time to time Baby is applied to it. But Baby does not sleep, and even Indian patience is exhausted. So Sunny Baba must sleep, and the Bearer has in the folds of his waist-cloth a little black fragment of the awful sleep-compeller, and Baby is drugged into a deep uneasy sleep of delirious, racking dreams.
In the centre of the crowd of furious half-naked men, the fat bare back of a Burman, tattooed from collar-bone to waist-cloth with writhing patterns of red and blue devils, holds the eye first. It is a wicked back. Beyond it is the flicker of a Malay kris. A blue, red, and yellow macaw chained to a stanchion spreads his wings against the sun in an ecstasy of terror.
The sultan came to visit us very suddenly on the afternoon of his arrival a rather handsome, sly-looking man. He wore a purple velvet jacket embroidered with gold, and a many coloured turban and waist-cloth forming a petticoat to his knees and leaving his fat legs bare. His complexion is of a greenish brown. His first question was as to my husband's age, that of the Wali of Aden, and of various other officials. He brought some honey and made himself most agreeable till we spoke of going to Al Kara. He then immediately began to speak of danger. He read the letter of introduction with more discretion than I have observed in any of the Arab sultans I have seen. Instead of reading to a crowd of slaves, he banished all but one very confidential, though dirty man, who was lame and carried a long lance adorned with silver bands, and read this letter and one previously sent. When he left, my husband told him the sooner he sent a message as to the possibilities of going to Al Kara the better it would be for him; and we also told Mus
At that moment something intercepted the sunshine, and a dark shadow fell across the floor. I looked, and saw a native standing on the threshold, salaaming and waiting to be spoken to. He was not one of our men, but a common ryot, clad simply in a dhoti or waist-cloth, and a rather dirty turban. "Kya chahte ho?" "What do you want?" asked Isaacs impatiently.
He found the place full of various kinds of fruits and sweet-scented flowers, and they cut him a melon and seated him on a stool of ebony, whilst the bathman stood to wash him and the slaves poured water on him; after which they rubbed him down well and said, 'O our lord the Vizier, may the bath profit thee and mayst thou come to delight everlasting! Then they went out and shut the door on him; and he took up the waist-cloth and laughed till he well-nigh lost his senses.
At the mouth of the PELUTAN he wept anew, throwing aside the crocodiles as he explored the bed of the river. At LONG SALAI he found his wife's coat and wept again. At LONG LAMA he found his wife's waist-cloth and gave up hope, and at TAMALA he clucked like a hen, so great was his grief. Still he went on wading down the river.
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