Page:The Slave Girl of Agra.djvu/52



of the greatest festivals in which the simple joyousness of the Indian people finds expression all over the land is the Holi or the Spring Festival. The cold days of winter are over; wheat, barley and the winter rice have been reaped; pulses, lentils and oil seeds have been harvested. Husbandmen have paid their rents and laid in a stock in their granaries; their wives have indulged in new sarees and bracelets. Village women look with wistful eyes as the bales of itinerant traders are unpacked, and often, when money is wanting, a basketful of the newly-reaped wheat or rice is exchanged for shell bangles, scarfs or clothes of the newest pattern. The mango tree sheds its old green garb in this season, and wears its vesture of budding shoots; the mango flower scents the country with its fragrance. And the kokil, the Indian bird of love, is heard from every bush, and proclaims a season of festival and joy.

The Spring Festival in India is indeed a Festival of Love, and was dedicated in olden days to Kama, the God of Love. But, within the last thousand years, Krishna has unseated the old deity in the popular mind, and all legends and lays of love are his. Women sing of the loves of Krishna in every town and village in India; and men stop their work and devote themselves to merry-making. The Festival reaches its climax on the last day in a universal outburst of joyousness which lasts all night. Then, in the morn-