The Seller of Silks.

Hokitika Guardian, 7 December 1921, Page 4

The Seller of Silks.

LAHORE CITY. Silk, silk ( and again silk, is banging in softly billowing folds from roof and door and cupboard; neat piles of the same material arranged on shelves of polished deal; a floor covered with thick carpets from Persia and quaintly patterned numdas (rugs) from Afghanistan such is the general impression we get of the shop as we enter at the door heavily screened with a mat that hangs dripping with water. Within, the pVu-e is dimly lighted, cool and fragrant, and seems a very haven of refuge from the Minding heat of the son. On one side, on a slightly raised wnnihm platlorm, sits Mahmud Hnksh. the owner, dark and lilt and lightly clad with a huge pink castemnrk s'howing from beneath a spotlessly white turlmu.

Rising, be bows us towards some low stools that are placed on his right and then in perfect English, asks us what we desire.

‘‘Lillis (the dresses worn by Indian women)? Why yes. but what kind? Silk or muslin, plain or emhroidcred. heavy or lino?” We tell him what we want, lie gives an order to one of his silentlnoted attendants and in a trice a bundle of mateiial, carefully wrapped in soft unwashed mull and sweetly smelling of musk and lavender, is laid at our feet.

Talking volubly all the time. he opens it and displays his wares rich hand-woveji Lahore silks gleaming strangely hi that dim light: muslins from far off Dacca, so fine that a whole length can be crushed into one blind if one so willed: embroidered cloth of gold from the distant south fit for the raiment of kings; and dainty fabrics of rose and lavender and white •bordered with narrow bauds of silver. Choice is difficult, and we s| end a great deal of tin'm weighing the respectivt* merits of the dill'-rent saris around us.

||cre is a dark blue brocade, interwoven with crimson a royal garment, in s o«th. Reside it lies a length id sea-green gauze delicately ewthroiik-r----od in silvet such wear as the fairies n| our childish dr wen- wont to indulge in. On the dais is unrolled a piece of muslin from Rena res of a texture that Captain Molyneux would love to lashinn into a summer frock lor Deauville or Ascot.

Mahmud Hahsli. with the uecuniulated wisdom of years, studies us iniividunlly our colouring. height, hg ure and not a little does he help to wards a final choice.

We have no t roufih'sonio hats or shoes or gloves to worry os the sari is practically all sulfieient. The mateiial for tlii- little inncr-lMidiee that has to match is easily chosen front the piles „,I the shelves, and its making we know, "ill oiler no difficulties. As we rise to leave tlu* screen is lifted, and the sun. catching the glint „f the hanging silks, light up the dim interior, revealing a wonderland *>t gleaming colours. There on the wooden dais. Mahmud Rnksh has already resunn-d his seat and the Hotter and stir our coming caused have died down even before we have time to teaching the waiting tonga.