d.

There is generally one open space or long street in our village, and in
a hamlet of any importance there is weekly or bi-weekly a bazaar or
market. From early morning in all directions, from solitary huts in
the forest, from struggling little crofts in the rice lands, from
fishermen's dwellings perched on the bank of the river, from lonely
camps in the grass jungle where the herd and his family live with their
cattle, from all the petty Thorpes about, come the women with their
baskets of vegetables, their bundles of spun yarn, their piece of woven
cloth, whatever they have to sell or barter. There is a lad with a pair
of wooden shoes, which he has fashioned as he was tending the village
cows; another with a grass mat, or bamboo staff, or some other strange
outlandish-looking article, which he hopes to barter in the bazaar for
something on which his heart is set. The _bunniahs_ hurry up their
tottering, overladen ponies; the rice merchant twists his patient
bullock's tail to make it move faster; the cloth merchant with his bale
under his arm and measuring stick in hand, walks briskly along. Here
comes a gang of charcoal-burners, with their loads of fuel slung on
poles dangling from their shoulders. A _box wallah_ with his attendant
coolie, staggering under the weight of a huge box of Manchester goods,
hurries by. It is a busy sight in the bazaar. What a cackling! What a
confused clatter of voices! Here also the women are the chief
contributors to the din of tongues. There is no irate husband here or
moody master to tell them to be still. Spread out on the ground are
heaps of different grain, bags of flour, baskets of meal, pulse, or
barley; sweetmeats occupy the attention of nearly all the buyers. All
Hindoos indulge in sweets, which take the place of beer with us;
instead of a 'nobbler,' they offer you a 'lollipop.' Trinkets, beads,
bracelets, armlets, and anklets of pewter, there are in great bunches;
fruits, vegetables, sticks of cane, skins full of oil, and sugar, and
treacle. Stands with fresh 'paun' leaves, and piles of coarse looking
masses of tobacco are largely patronised. It is like a hive of bees.
The dust hovers over the moving mass; the smells are various, none of
them 'blest odours of sweet Araby.' Drugs, condiments, spices, shoes,
in fact, everything that a rustic population can require, is here. The
_pice_ jingle as they change hands; the haggling and chaffering are
without parallel in any market at h