Sometimes when the traveller is passing along one of the rivers or canals he will hear the sound of merry music close at hand. He probably pulls ashore, and goes to see what is happening. There is no need to wait for invitations in this free-and-easy country. He makes his way to the place where the band is doing its best to deafen all the poor creatures within reach, and there he finds a motley crowd—men and women in their best and brightest clothes, priests in their most brilliant yellow, actresses with chalked faces and hideous masks, dogs, cats, and children. Amongst the many people assembled together there is one child, about eleven or thirteen years old, laden with jewellery—necklaces, gold chains, armlets, bracelets, and anklets. It is on this child's account that the people are feasting together, the theatre playing, and the drums booming. We will suppose that the child is a boy. He is holding a great party. The visitors have come to see him get his hair cut! This, however, is not an ordinary visit to a barber, but a ceremony as important as a wedding or a funeral.

From the very earliest years the heads of the children are shaved completely, with the exception of one little tuft in the centre of the head. Each day this precious tuft is oiled and curled, a jewelled pin is stuck through it, and a tiny wreath of freshly woven flowers is twined around it. No scissors are ever allowed to touch the cherished lock until the boy is eleven, thirteen, or fifteen years old, and by that time it is often a foot or more long.

When the parents think that the proper time has almost arrived for the top-knot to be removed, they visit an astrologer, who fixes a lucky day for the operation. If the hair were not cut off on a lucky day, and in just the proper fashion, no one knows what terrible things might happen to the child. He might become ill or insane, or he might die, or, worse still, demons might come and live inside him. So extremely great care has to be taken that all is done in a fitting manner. After the astrologer has appointed the day, people are invited to be present at the ceremonies. Actresses, priests, and friends are called together, and for two or three days there are prayers and plays, feasts and fiddling.

The performance is opened by the priests. They ascend to a platform some feet above the ground, and sit down cross-legged like tailors on the mats. They chant long passages from the sacred books, and ask the spirits to be kind to the boy and to keep all evil away from him. While they are chanting, they hold a piece of white thread in their hands. One end of this thread is tied round the clasped hands of the child, and as the priests call down blessings from above, these blessings pass through the hands of the priests, along the thread, and so into the body and soul of the boy. It works like a telegraph wire, and no one sees the good influences flashing along the cotton. There is also a thread fastened right round the house and the gardens to keep out the naughty little demons that take a delight in spoiling the proceedings.

On the second day, the chief person present takes a pair of scissors and clips off the top-knot, after which a professional barber comes along with a nice sharp razor, and the boy's head is shaved completely, so that it looks very much like a new clean ostrich egg. The boy now dresses himself in white robes, and the priests lead him to a seat raised from the ground and shaded by a canopy of white cloth. First the parents, then the relations, and last of all the friends, pour holy water over the boy's head. Everybody likes to play his part, and there the youngster sits in his drenched robes, as the crowd files by and half drowns him with the water. When the last person has emptied the last bowl, the boy is dressed in the gayest clothes that he possesses, or that can be borrowed for the occasion, and is seated on a throne. On each side of him is a stand laden with rice, fruit, flowers, and other things. These are offerings to the spirits of the air. The band strikes up; the people form a kind of procession, and walk round the child five times. Each person carries a lighted candle, which is blown out when the fifth turn is made. The smoke is wafted towards the young person on the throne, and as it circles round his shaven crown, it bears towards him a supply of courage and good luck sufficient to last him for the rest of his life.

All this time the child is probably more bored than delighted with the honour paid to him. But the next part of the ceremony gives him every satisfaction. It would please anybody. The relatives and friends present money to the child, each giving according to his means, so that if the boy has many rich relatives he gets quite a handsome sum. The gifts vary in value from about half a crown to ten pounds.

All is not yet over, for a long and jolly feast is the necessary termination of the important event. The priests are served first. When they have finished, the rest of the party fall rapidly and heartily upon the multitude of tempting dishes that have been prepared.

People who are very poor and have no friends merely go to a certain temple and ask one of the priests to cut off the top-knot. Rich people, on the other hand, spend enormous sums of money in entertaining their friends and in giving presents. The gifts to a young princess on one of these occasions amounted to £10,000.

The hairs that have been cut off are separated into two bundles, long and short. The short hairs are put into a little vessel made of plantain-leaves, and sent adrift on the ebb-tide in the nearest canal or river. As they float away, they carry with them all the bad temper, the greediness, and the pride of their former owner. The shaven child gets a new start in life, freed from all that was disagreeable in his character. The long hairs are kept till he makes a pilgrimage to worship at Buddha's footprint on the sacred hill at Prabhat. This footprint is about as big, and exactly the same shape, as a bath. The hairs are given to the priests, who are supposed to make them into brushes for sweeping the footprint; but in reality so much hair is presented to the priests each year that they are unable to use it all. They wait till the pilgrims have gone home again, when they throw all the hair that they do not want into a fire.