At the police-chowkee of Ghundeala, ten miles from Amritza, a halt is
made for rest and a drink of water. To avoid trampling on the caste
prejudices, or the sanctimonious religious feelings of the natives,
everybody drinks from his hands, or from a cheap earthenware dish that
may afterward be smashed. The Sikhs and Mohammedans of the Punjab are far
more reasonable in this matter than are the Brahmans and other ultra-holy
idolaters of the country farther south. Among the Hindoos, where caste
prejudices exist throughout all the strata of society, to avoid the awful
consequences of touching their lips to a vessel out of which some
unworthy wretch a shade less holy has previously drunk, the fastidious
worshipper of Krishna, Vishnu, or Kamadeva always drinks from his hands,
unless possessed of a private drinking vessel of his own. The hands are
held in position to form a trough leading to the mouth; while an
assistant pours water in at one end, the recipient receives it at the
other. No little skill and care is required to prevent the water running
down one's sleeve: the average native seems to think the human throat a
gutter down which the water will flow as fast as he can pour it into the
hands.
The flowing yellow flood of Beas River, now at flood, and spreading
itself over the width of a mile, makes an impassable break in my road
soon after mid-day.
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