Garbás sung by Males.
In other places, especially in temples, you have males keeping up the garbás—Banias and Bhathias swaying backwards and forwards their fat inelastic carcases, ogling one another, and "making night hideous" with their vociferous howls and hand-clapping. I know several influential Hindu merchants, Government officials, and even ministers of native states joining in the incongruous buffoonery. At Bombay you have nothing like street garbás, except those sung by the gipsies for hire. These are wanton wanderers of the lowest order, going about from street to street and asking the housewives, "Will you have the garbo sung, ladies?" The songs are rude, disjointed snatches stolen from here, and there—a sort of patchwork poetry, sacred to Amba Bhowáni.[1]
The Dasará.
At the end of Navarátri you have the Dasará. This is a grand national holiday, commemorating the event of the stupendous myths,the Pandavas,[2] having girded their loins against their cousins,
